Free Memorizing You by Dan Skinner Page B

sir,” I said.
    “Well, you sure got the right setting for it.”
    I was confused. “Setting?”
    Bill looked toward his son. “You didn’t tell him?”
    “I was saving it for a surprise.” Ryan said, wiping his mouth on a napkin and rising from the chair. “Wanna follow me?” He looked at me with a sly expression.
    “You guys have a fun night!” his mom called after us as I followed him across the field.
    “What kind of surprise?” I said, straining to see ahead in through the encroaching twilight. Just barely viewable halfway across, I made out a shape that looked like…a tent. A campsite. A ring of rocks with a small fire burning in it. A stack of wood next to it.
    “What the hey?” I was amused by the idea. Reading scary stories by a campfire.
    “I thought you’d like that,” he said, running ahead of me toward the tent.
    I ran to catch up and was surprised that it was a good sized tent with a lantern, a stash of graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate for s’mores, a couple of thermos of grape Kool-Aid, some pretzels, and chips.
    The fire had been started earlier and had dwindled down. Ryan threw two more small logs on it to rekindle it. refrigeratorImy
    “There’s gonna be a full moon tonight. That’ll make it even better.” The guy was something else. Who would have thought of turning a study time of Edgar Allan Poe into a campfire side story?
    Darkness fell fast, and from where we were situated we couldn’t even see the lights of his house. Only our campsite and the canopy of stars in the cloudless night. We pulled the sleeping bags from the tent around the fire, and propped the lantern on the outside of the tent.
    I started with The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar . The story of a dying man being hypnotized and still able to communicate after he was dead. Ryan listened intently, only breaking the discourse when he didn’t understand the meaning of a word.
    Next I read The Fall of The House of Usher , then, The Masque of Red
    Death , and finally, The Tell-Tale Heart .
    Ryan looked at me after the last sentence and said, “Wow, that Poe was one sick puppy. He shoulda been in a home.”
    “Yes, but he was probably a greater influence to the modern writers of horror and suspense than any other writer. He was more readable than the others. The terror was more realistic. That’s why he’s so important.”
    In the flames of the fire I could see he was looking at me with what appeared, to my eyes, to be admiration.
    “How do you know all of this stuff?” he asked. “Are you like some whiz-kid genius?”
    “I just like to read,” I answered. “Never made a lot of friends; wasn’t good at sports much. So, I read.”
    “Well, good for me,” he said. “I get a tutor and a running buddy all rolled into one.”
    He made s’mores and we ate them watching the full moon rise high in the starry night. There was no doubt he was a true nature boy. He loved everything about being outdoors. He sat bow-legged in the semi-darkness listening to the sounds of the night like they were a song being sung for him.
    I cannot lie. I was captivated by his raw beauty. His blue eyes shone in the lunar light. The curve of his head with its close-cropped blond hair made me think of an imposing Roman statue of a conquering hero. The masculine inclination of his nose from a square forehead, the slope of cheekbone to a strong block of chin, both alluring and majestic.
    “Such a beautiful night,” he commented, his eyes still fixed on the moon. “People lose sight of how beautiful the world is that we live in by sitting in front of the boob tube every night.”
    I stared at the curve of his back, the full bicep as he raised his s’more and ate. The blond hair on his legs gleamed in the duo of light.
    He turned to look at me, orange embers catching his face again. “Where do you plan to go after high school? Which college?”
    I explained to him how it was unlikely I’d be able to attend any college. Our