It?s almost 12:30 when I?m done sweeping the front steps, so I go inside and stash the broom and dustpan and lock the closet door. In the foyer there?s a crisis hotline flier on the bulletin board; beneath it, next week?s sign-up sheet. Professor Wardlaw has volunteered for Friday, her usual night. I walk out of Cromer Hall and into a November day warmer and sunnier than you usually get in these mountains. The clock tower bell rings. In my mind I move the heavy metal hands ahead to 8:30 p.m. Kerrie has already finished supper and is getting ready to go to sleep. Over at the ATM, students pull out bank cards like winning lottery tickets. I wonder if there?s a single student here because of the Army college fund. The nice cars and SUVs, like the tuition, argue it unlikely. Probably not one of them ever thinks that, while they?re sitting in a classroom or watching a basketball game, kids their own age are getting blown up by IEDs. I think again about how we wouldn?t be in Iraq if there was still a draft. You can bet it?d be a lot different if everyone?s kids could end up over there. Just a bunch of stupid hillbillies fighting a stupid war, that?s what some jerk on TV said, making a joke of it. There are times I want to grab a student by the collar and tell them how good they got it. Other times I tell myself I?ve given Kerrie more than my parents gave me. But I also think how if I?d had more ambition years back and gotten a welding certificate or a two-year degree at Tech, maybe Kerrie wouldn?t be in Iraq.
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