Chapter 47

           TwonightslaterIwentovertoTammie’splaceonRusticCourt.Iknocked.Thelightsweren’ton.Itseemedempty.Ilookedinhermailbox.Therewerelettersinthere.Iwroteanote,"Tammie,Ihavebeentryingtophoneyou.Icameoverandyouweren’tin.Areyouallright?Phoneme...Hank."

           Idroveoverat11amthenextmorning.Hercarwasn’toutfront.Mynotewasstillstuckinthedoor.Iranganyhow.Theletterswerestillinthemailbox.Ileftanoteinthemailbox:"Tammie,wherethehellareyou?Contactme...Hank."

           IdroveallovertheneighborhoodlookingforthatsmashedredCamaro.

           Ireturnedthatnight.Itwasraining.Mynoteswerewet.Therewasmoremailinthebox.Ileftherabookofmypoems,inscribed.ThenIwentbacktomyVolks.IhadaMaltesecrosshangingfrommyrearviewmirror.Icutthecrossdown,tookitbacktoherplaceandtieditaroundherdoorknob.

           Ididn’tknowwhereanyofherfriendslived,wherehermotherlived,whereherloverslived.

           Iwentbacktomycourtandwrotesomelovepoems.

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