History.

Ray Ray hears the sound of laughter, puts down the book, and peeks out the window.

Here they come now, children of the ancient ones--the hewers of wood, the cutters of cane--barreling down the sidewalk on their Huffys and Schwinns. Little legs pumping over fat rubber tires, brakes squealing as they pull into the drive, standing on tiptoes as they straddle their bikes and stare up at the house with their mouths hanging open.

Just like before. Some of them he still remembers: he made out with that girl’s sister in the seventh grade, played basketball with that boy’s uncle in high school. This one was all right until his brother joined the army, that one was okay until her daddy went to jail.

And you see that girl in the back? The chubby girl standing by the curb, next to the brand-new Schwinn? She hasn’t been the same since the Invasion of Grenada three years ago, in 1983.

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