Free Time to Hunt by Stephen Hunter Page A

the tribes,” said Donny.
    “It’s the gathering of our generation,” said Trig.
    Being with Trig was like being with Mick Jagger. He knew everybody, and at least three or four times he had to stop the Triumph and clamber out as protégés came upon him for hugs or advice, for gossip or news, or just to be with him. Astonishing thing: he remembered everybody’s name.
Everybody’s
. He never fumbled, he never forgot, he never made a mistake. He seemed to inflate in the love that was thrust upon him, by boy and girl, man and woman, even some old bearded, be-sandaled radicals who looked as if they’d probably protested World War I, too.
    “Boy, they love you,” Donny said.
    “I’ve just been riding this circuit for seven long years. You get to know folks. I am tired, though. After this weekend, I’m going to crash at a friend’s farm out in Germantown. Paint some birds, blow some grass, just chill. You ought to bring Julie, if she’s still here, and come out. Route thirty-five, north of Germantown. Wilson, the mailbox says. Here, here, I think this is it.”
    Donny saw her almost immediately. She had camouflaged herself in some kind of Indian full-length dress and wore her hair up, pinned with a Navajo silver brooch. He had given it to her. It cost him $75.
    The asshole kid Farris was near her, though he wasn’t talking to her. He was just watching her from a ways away, utterly mesmerized.
    “Hi,” Donny called.
    “I brought Young Lochinvar from out of the West,” Trig said.
    “Oh, Donny.”
    “Enjoy,” said Trig. “Let me know when you want to get out of here. I’ll go listen to Peter Farris whine for a while.”
    But Donny wasn’t listening. He looked full into the person that was Julie, and his heart broke all over again.Every time he saw her was like a first time. His breath came in little spurts. He felt himself lighting up inside. He gave her a hug.
    “I’m sorry I wasn’t making much sense last night. I couldn’t put it together fast enough. You know how slow I am.”
    “Donny. I called the barracks.”
    “Sometimes those messages get through, sometimes they don’t. I was just all out of joint yesterday.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “Ah, it’s too complicated to explain. It’s nothing I can’t handle. How are you? God, sweetie, it’s so good to see you.”
    “Oh, I’m fine. This camping stuff I could do without. I need a shower. Where’s the nearest Holiday Inn?”
    “When this is all over, don’t go back,” he suddenly blurted, as if finally seeing a path that made some sense. “Stay here with me. We’ll get married!”
    “Donny! What about the big church wedding? What about all my mother’s friends? What about the country club?”
    “I—” and then he saw she was joking, and she saw he was not.
    “I want us to get married,” he said. “Right now.”
    “Donny, I want to marry you so much I think I’ll die from it.”
    “We’ll do it after this weekend thing.”
    “Yes. I’ll marry you as soon as it’s over. I’ll move into an apartment. I’ll find work. I’ll—”
    “No, then I want you to go home and finish your degree. I’ll go for the early out and I’ll move back home. There’ll be G.I. Bill money. I can work part-time. We’ll get some kind of married-student housing. It’ll be great fun! And you can tell your mother we’ll have all the parties then, so we’ll keep her happy too.”
    “What brought this on?”
    “Nothing. I just realized how important you are to me. I didn’t want this getting away from me. I was an assholelast night. I wanted to put us back together as the first priority. When I get out, I’ll even help you in this peace stuff. We’ll stop the war. You and me. It’ll be great.”
    They walked a bit, amid kids their own ages, but stoned and wild, just celebrating the youthfulness of their lives in a great merry adventure in Washington, DC, stopping the war and getting stoned and laid in the same impulse. Donny felt