careful going back up, Frankie. Don't get caught up in the tree roots or mud."
George stepped into the water and disappeared under the surface. Frankie followed right behind him, the two friends leaving one world and returning to another. Moments later they burst through the surface of the river, gasping for air. They swam the short distance to shore, then lay on the rocks letting the morning sun move over them.
"So we'll go to the party tonight, Frankie?"
"Sure, why not?”
George sat up and touched Frankie's arm.
"Come on, we can have a cool time.”
"Hand me my shirt, I got to get home. My mom wants me to help her do some shopping."
"You're such a good boy, Frankie, such a good boy," George said sarcastically. Frankie shoved him away.
After walking for fifteen minutes, they arrived at the stretch of pre-fab, cheaply built houses that made up the East Falls housing project. George watched Frankie disappear into his house at the end of the block. George then entered his home and heard his mother walking around upstairs in her bedroom. He noticed the mail on the table and flipped through it knowing it would be mostly bills. When he reached the bottom of the stack, he spotted the large, official-looking envelope with his name on it. He knew what it was before he opened it. He ripped it open and read the letter three times before placing it in his pocket. He thought for a moment to call his mom and let her know he had received his notice to report for his Army physical in a month, but he didn't want to worry her yet. There would be time enough for that. At least he would have the summer, he thought to himself. Maybe he could get some of that peace and love everybody was talking about. He still had time he thought, as his mother shuffled around upstairs like a ghost searching for her lost life.
CHAPTER TWO
As the last rays of sun disappeared over the tops of the project houses, the streets came alive with teenagers hanging on street corners and radio music filling the air. George caught up with Frankie as he was leaving his house. They were both dressed in knit pullover shirts and tan pants. Sweet-smelling cologne drifted off of them into the evening air as they traveled up the street. They wanted to look good when they got to this party. They didn’t want to look like they came from the project.
They stepped into a small grocery store. Frankie picked up some gum while George walked back to the beer cooler and grabbed a quart of beer for them to drink on their way. The old man at the counter gave George the once-over before he took the money out of George’s hand, then handed him the beer in a paper bag. George and Frankie headed through the middle-class section of the neighborhood, taking swigs on the beer, keeping their thoughts to themselves. They passed a few people sitting on stoops who studied them suspiciously, as if they didn’t have the right to be there. The suspicious looks were really aimed at Frankie; the color of his skin created fear and hatred. The predominately white, middle class neighborhood hadn’t changed much in the last fifty years until the government built the housing projects in the Sixties. Most of the poor families were shipped in from other neighborhoods, and since many were black, racial tensions grew.
Frankie and George slipped through the middle-class section into the wealthy area which was both literally and figuratively on the other side of the tracks. Most of the people living in this upscale neighborhood were professionals who worked downtown. A few guys George had played football with in high school came from this upscale neighborhood. They were the sons of the rich and powerful and would let you know it every chance they got.
As they continued along toward the party, Frankie realized he had been on this street before. He must have been thirteen at the time when a police car had pulled up next to him, the cop asking him where he was going. Frankie could still see the angry look on the cop's face as he studied him. He told the cop that he was just walking, nothing more. That he was new to the area. The cop asked him where he lived, and when he told him that he lived in the project, the cop told him to get in the car. He drove him back to the other side of the tracks in silence. Nothing more was said, just for him to go home. It was at the moment Frankie understood just how much the color of his skin might determine where he could go and who he could be.
"This is it, my man!" George yelled, as they stopped in front of a large white house with music blaring from the backyard.
"Oh man, the Beach Boys," Frankie groaned, hearing the music coming from the backyard.
They crossed the lawn and went around to the back of the house where they found a crowd of white teenagers drinking and dancing. Frankie recognized a few of them from high school, though he hadn’t been friends with any of them.
George walked directly over to a wooden barrel where cans of beer were floating in ice. He grabbed two and handed one to Frankie.
"There's some sweethearts here, Frankie. We could get lucky tonight."
Frankie noticed a few of the local boys standing in a far corner of the yard watching him.
"I don't think I blend in that well around here."
George spotted a big, blond hair guy wearing a football jersey.
"Relax, have a beer, I got to talk to that guy." George walked over to the big guy with the large R on his football shirt in the corner and slapped him on the back.
Frankie stood alone, drinking his beer, when he spotted a very pretty girl dancing in the middle of the yard. She was spinning to the music, her head back, completely in her own world. She was wearing a soft flowing dress and had three red flowers tucked in her blond hair. Frankie could not take his eyes off of her. He didn’t want to stare, but he had never seen anyone like this girl, she danced like she was totally alone in the yard and was one with the music. She drifted toward him, the song carrying her along.
"You want to dance?"
Frankie looked at this amazing girl with sky blue eyes and light blond hair that fell around her face and shoulders.
"Oh, no thanks, I don’t really dance.”
She grabbed the beer out of his hand and set it down on a small table. She took his hand and pulled him towards the center of the yard.
“Come on, can’t you feel it all around you?”
Frankie suddenly felt himself in the arms of this white girl. He could sense the eyes of the crowd on them as he held her and wondered who she was.
"I'm Eva, I live here. I saw you and your friend come in.”
He couldn't get over the smell of her hair as it brushed against his face.
"I'm Frankie Johnson. My friend over there drinking all the beer is George Bannon. We decided to come; I mean George suggested we come because he knows…”
"I'm glad you’re here. These parties are always pretty boring; the same people from the same families, talking about which colleges they are going to in the fall.”
"Well, there's nothing wrong with college," Frankie said. He realized how stupid it sounded, even before he got all the words out.
"No, I guess not. But I’m going to San Francisco. Become part of the scene. It’s where everything is happening.”
The song ended. Eva took Frankie’s hand and lead him to a wrought-iron bench
