Noreen: The Tent, 1971, pt. 2

I was walking downtown with Stash, early winter, when he said: “That story about Noreen; you said the Grandfather had shot her old man in the head – did he?

“I don’t know…I think so.”

“How do you know? I mean, the whole thing is too far out.”

“I saw a report in the Spectator, I think it was, after the shack burned down. A man was found in an abandoned car along the beach strip, under the Skyway, eh? He’ been shot in the head.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“They said it was a 22.”

“That still doesn’t prove it.”

“Maybe. At any rate, Noreen’s gone and nobody knows where.”

We walked along in silence; just as we got to the bridge, Stash said, “You know, I think maybe Rickie’s right – I think maybe you were sweet on that broad.”

Maybe I was. At any rate, I felt sorry for her. One other thing I never told anybody is that she gave me a homemade card, out of red construction paper for Valentine’s Day. I knew she was poor, so I figured she was the one who would have made it, would have had to make it; I didn’t get too many love notes from the other girls, but the ones I did get were all store boughten. 

 All except for this crummy construction paper heart: FROM YOUR SECRET ADMIRER.

I put it down the garbage chute in our apartment building.

I felt sorry I had done that now.