1964

"AJ, I know about Emmet McCaley," my boss, Ellen, said. Reaching across the table, she placed her hand on mine. "I don't mean to pry, but why did you take a job in a restaurant directly across the street from the place where he died?"

"I won't look out the window anymore," I said, standing. I brushed at my apron intentionally avoiding Ellen's eyes.

"I'm concerned about you AJ," Ellen said.

"I'm fine," I answered.

"Come on, AJ You're just turning sixteen and you're slipping around with a man nearly thirty years old. I'm not preaching, but I wondered why you would even look at a man like Jason Colby. He's scum that preys on young girls like you."

"Jasons okay," I answered, curtly.

I intentionally neglected to tell Ellen that I had recently broken up with Jason, the man who had pursued me ardently for the past four months.

"I knew Emmet," she said. "He would come to the restaurant with his buddies every now and then. Seemed like a nice guy."

"Lots of people knew Emmet McCaley," I answered.

"You must have loved him very much," she said quietly.

I looked at her perplexed. Why would she make that assumption about my feelings for Emmet McCaley? My memories of my Uncle Will's deceased best friend were vague at best. I had a dim picture of riding with him in the back of someone's convertible. I had even developed a girlish crush on him the first time I saw him, but why people seemed to link me with my uncle's friend was confusing. Ellen had not been the first to make that unsettling connection

Jason had placed enormous importance on Emmet McCaley. He had even incorporated Emmet's death into his frequent attempts to seduce me. "Remember what happened to Emmet. Tomorrow something could happen to you or me. Why shouldn't we take what makes us happy today?" he had argued. Jason had employed many variations of this same theme for months and finally, losing patience, I had broken up with him.

"Barbara told me he was crazy about you," Ellen said, interrupting my thoughts.

"Who?" I asked

"Emmet. Barbara said you two were really in love," Ellen answered.

I laughed at my co-worker's misperception. Barbara was a sweet girl, but her notion that Emmet McCaley and I had been more than casual acquaintances was nave. She imagined herself in love with every man she dated more than twice. Now, she was apparently extending her romantic delusions to me.

"Emmet was my Uncle Will's best friend," I explained to Ellen. He must have been around the house a lot and I had a crush on him, but I can't believe Barbara built that into a big romance. No wonder people think shes a nut."

"If that's true, why do you keep looking across the street at those railroad tracks under the Floyd Road Bridge? That is where Emmet died, isn't it?" Ellen asked.

"I don't know why I look out. It's not to stare at a stupid bridge. I don't know why. It's a habit, something to do when there's nothing else going on."

Seeing my barely masked irritation, Ellen dropped the subject of Emmet McCaley and the Floyd Road Bridge. We filled the sugar containers and ketchup bottles in silence. I wasn't angry as much as dumfounded. My maudlin fascination with the bridge and railroad tracks facing our establishment was a mystery to me. Despite where I might be working in the restaurant, I seemed to always end up at the window looking out at nothing. No thoughts filled my head when I would abruptly find myself standing there. It was like a magnet drawing me throughout my workday. Perhaps there was something to Ellen's assumption that I looked at the Floyd Road Bridge because that was the place my uncle's friend had died. Emmet McCaley had been too young to die and I had known him.

"How does it feel to be sixteen?" Ellen asked.

Like my life's still on hold," I answered. "I can't wait to get out on my own."

"Your Mom mentioned you were planning to double up on your classes again this year so you can graduate a year early," she said. "Why the rush?"

"She and Daddy said I could start singing after I graduate," I explained. "I can't wait."

"Don't rush so fast. You're only young once," she said.

Why did people like Ellen and my parents seem to believe that being young was so wonderful? Where had they grown up that life was so perfect for any person under eighteen? The rules and regulations governing young people prohibited any possible enjoyment of life. My age prevented any serious pursuit of my ultimate goal to become a professional singer. Until this day, my youth had kept me from enjoying a normal social life with peers, but the magic sixteenth birthday had finally popped up. At one time the privilege of dating would have brought me enormous happiness. Now, instead, an unexplained sadness swallowed me up filling my eyes with tears. I escaped to the bathroom before Ellen noticed. Something important was supposed to happen today, I thought looking into the mirror over the bathroom sink. Something important. I struggled to remember what. As so frequently happened, I lost track of time staring at my reflection. That feeling that I was watching through another's eyes was stronger today. When Ellen tapped at the Lady's Room door fifteen minutes later, the haze cleared.

"We better get going," she called. "Your Mom will worry if I get you home late."

Our front yard was crowded with cars when Ellen pulled up. Many of those vehicles were familiar. Barbara's. Will's. Butch's. My heart began to pound with fear. Something had happened. I was certain. When people gathered unexpectedly I couldn't finish the thought. Leaping from the car, I ran to the front door and pulled it open, my heart pounding painfully.