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Comentario
CHAPTER ONE
Poplar Street/3:45 p.m./July 15, 1996
Summer's here.
Not just
summer, either, not this year, but the apotheosis of summer, the avatar of summer,
high green perfect central Ohio summer dead-smash in the middle of July, white sun glaring
out of that fabled faded Levi's sky, the sound of kids hollering back and forth through the
Bear Street Woods at the top of the hill, the
tink!
of Little League bats from the ballfield on
the other side of the woods, the sound of power mowers, the sound of muscle-cars out on
Highway 19, the sound of rollerblades on the cement sidewalks and smooth macadam of
Poplar Street, the sound of radios — Cleveland Indians baseball (the rare day game)
competing with Tina Turner belting out 'Nutbush City Limits', the one that goes Twenty-five
is the speed limit, motorcycles not allowed in it' — and surrounding everything like an
auditory edging of lace, the soothing, silky hiss of lawn sprinklers.
Summer in Wentworth, Ohio, oh boy, can you dig it. Summer here on Poplar Street, which
runs straight through the middle of that fabled faded American dream with the smell of
hotdogs in the air and a few burst paper remains of Fourth of July firecrackers still lying here
and there in the gutters. It's been a hot July, a perfect good old by God blue-ribbon
jeezer
of a
July, no doubt about it, but if you want to know the truth, it's also been a
dry
July, with no
water but the occasional flipped spray of a hose to stir those last shreds of Chinese paper
from where they lie. That may change today; there's an occasional rumble of thunder from the
west, and those watching The Weather Channel (there's plenty of cable TV on Poplar Street,
you bet) know that thunderstorms are expected later on. Maybe even a tornado, although
that's unlikely.
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