the Ohio, and then the mighty Mississippi, down to the warmer climes where there is no snow to find a girl.
It was a wonder, too, to think as the “Ave Maria” split the sky in twain and the hearts and faces off the gathering of what must’ve been the entire town, that the only two faces laid blank, laid bare, were that of Lt. Colonel Charles Krause and his handsome wife, Dorothy.
What would it all mean, that Technicolor rush, that parade of technology, a mad dash into the future, ahead of what, exactly? What was being kicked into the past backward, impatient to drink, what future? And then, that sunny sunny morning, that dirty killing plane, that towering cloud of dust. Then the second, its mean little twin, flying willful, a fire wrath, a great gasping horror, an innocence felled. What would become of it? Who would succeed, who would collapse, and who would follow? What world would we have to save now? Two thousand three and the cards had been dealt but the hand had yet to be played.
And now, this new breed. Born after Star Wars. A litter of consumers, giddy-grasping.
But some of them were not so simple. Look at Katy She had joined Spring Youth in the summer of 2002, mostly for the skiing. There were two trips to Mammoth, Colorado. One in fall. One in spring. Never mind that it was a Christian group. That wasn’t the point. The point was that it was the only way to get to those powdery Colorado slopes from Muskegon, Michigan, twice a winter for next to nothing.
Yes, they sang Christian songs at the meetings. She actually liked that part. She especially liked “Southern Cross.”
“When you see the Southern Cross for the first time . . . ”
Those folksy lyrics, the guitar twang. It didn’t seem harmful, sinister, or any of the other things her sister rolled her eyes about. Who cares about God. Katy never thought about it. Although sometimes she wondered where He had been that crisp sunny morning in September, two years earlier. No one knew what to make of it. And, to be quite honest, she did think some of the lessons from the Bible-study book were good lessons. Love thy neighbor. Well, you couldn’t argue with that, now, could you?
So, when the head of the Spring Youth, Muskegon, chapter insisted she apply to Hope College on a Christian Youth scholarship, she didn’t blink. What was wrong with that? These were good people. A couple of them were a little scrambled, but for the most part, these were kind, modest people. People who baked banana bread.
When Katy won the scholarship to Hope College, mid-June, she was whirling with excitement, didn’t think twice about landing straight on the honors list and maybe more. That’s the way things happened for Katy. Quiet, pragmatic, redheaded Katy with wavy hair and green imploring eyes.
She didn’t notice, much, the attention in her Film & Television seminar from Brad or Lars or Danek. Even though it was obvious. Anyone could see it. You would have to be a complete imbecile not to see them all circled around, leaning in, facing her.
Film & Television 101 was not in the curriculum, by any means, but Katy had a yen to learn documentary filmmaking and travel the world to places with exotic names and somehow save everyone.
Brad, Lars, and Danek took the class because Katy did.
Brad, tall and spindly. Lars, short with sandy mop hair. Danek, dirt-haired, glasses, and smarter than Hope itself. It was clear Danek was destined for greatness, even with his funny little glasses, one day you would see him in The New York Times perhaps. An article maybe. But for now, the three freshmen, along with their beloved Katy, sat listening to Professor Wishik’s theory of film, which didn’t so much amount to a theory as a concoction of thoughts, thrown in a pot, boiled up and served as a stew. Oh, Professor Wishik. You really were behind the times.
This fluorescent room, these blue chairs with metal legs, these white beech laminate tables, everything plastic and pale, a gutless kind of learning place, dry as chalk.
Somehow through the draining drone of facts and names and titles came an assignment.
Find a subject. Make a documentary. Simple enough.
Now Katy leans in, as do Danek, Brad, and Lars, as the quest is taken up.
Danek says it, almost out of the blue. The others talking, distracted.
“That Krause case.”
A lean in, a pause.
“That Krause case. From the ’70s. That girl. You know, the one that went here.”
Brad and Lars stay silent, taking their cue from Katy. She will make the decision.
“The dead girl?” Katy doodling, somewhere else.
“Yeah. The Hope student.”
Silence.
“It’s an unsolved case. They never solved it.” Stupid. That’s what unsolved means, Danek kicks himself. Katy turns him into a dolt, tongue-tied. If only he could get her alone sometime, out of the way of this mediocre audience. Maybe he could introduce her to his parents.
“I dunno.” Lars had something more sunny in mind, maybe a documentary about snowboarding.
“No, you know. I think we should. It’s got everything. And it’s all here. We could do the research ourselves. Interview the people.” Katy now up from her notebook, quick, animated.
“Um. Wasn’t that like twenty-five years ago?” Lars sees Aspen in his future. A History of Snowboarding. They would start with skiing and move on. He would research. Vail. Steamboat.
“They’re still here. The parents. Live down on Rose.” Danek nudges, sees a win coming.
Silence. Brad draws in his notebook, waiting for the verdict, apathetic.
“Oh, I love it! Can we? Can we please?” Katy leans in to Brad and Lars, pleading.
The boys look at each other. She has no idea, does she? How they think of her when they turn out the lights. It’s silly, almost. Is she blind? They’d kill Professor Wishik himself and boil him in a pot if she said so. Not understanding why. Maybe it was the fact she didn’t care so much. How she said marriage was stupid and had yearnings to travel the world by herself. By herself! A girl by herself in Bali! India! Singapore! What a funny girl she was. Independent. Giddy. What would become of her?
Danek settles in, a victory. “Of course we can. I mean, if you guys want to.”
Just some stupid assignment. Coulda been anything. Coulda tossed a coin and it’d turn out different.
“Twenty-five years from 1978 to 2003. Twenty-five years wherein, you name it. Computers. A personal computer. A laptop. An Internet. An email. A new thing, called Friendster. A newer new thing, called Myspace, burbling. A ‘social network,’ whatever that was. A phone in the car. A mobile phone the size of a brick. Now a cell phone. A cell phone that takes a picture. A cell phone that takes a picture and sends it to your friend . . . in London. Yes, folks, twenty-five years.”
Danek
