364
JONATHAN STRONG
and ran up to him and asked if he was not Arthur Supperburger
even though I knew he was. Then I told him I had heard his
Symphony, which embarrassed me later because I looked at the
program back in my room and it was not a Symphony but a Sym–
phonic Suite, but he did not say anything except that he was glad
I liked it. Then he walked on. I am used to talking to people on
the street, and I am able to tell what they are thinking. Most people
would think this composer fellow was simply not interested in talking
to a kid, but I can tell when someone is a snob and when he wishes
inside he could talk. I was pretty sure Supperburger wished he knew
how to talk to me but was so embarrassed and surprised that he
wanted to avoid the situation. I could tell because I noticed his eyes
catch sight of the way my bright yellow shirt was unbuttoned a few
buttons so my dark red T-shirt would show. The light was good
then. We were standing by one of the gas lamps they have to make
the street look more Victorian. He only looked for a second, but
usually
if
a person looks only a little it means he likes me. I think
it
is
strange how most people do not try to look good.
If
everyone
did, it would be more interesting. I decided to see Supperburger
again, though I did not run after him. That would make him even
more uneasy, so I left him and went to look in a phone book for his
address. The next night I stood across the street from his house,
looking up at the window I am sitting inside now. I usually change
my shirt, as I said, but I thought I would wear the same one
again that night, so he would remember. He came out early in the
evening and noticed me. Supperburger is a nice looking man, but
he is in his forties and could have been my father. His hair
is
sandy
gray, and he is rather tall. Once I tried to imagine him as a kid,
but I do not think he was one for long, maybe only once one
summer, and then it stopped when September came. It
is
hard to
tell, but I have given it a lot of thought.
It
is
September now, when
I am sitting inside his house and most of my friends are back at
school, so I am thinking of him with September colors in his face
and hair, but it was early August when I met him, and I had a
feeling he was remembering an August many years before. I am
good at telling people's feelings, and I think I may talk to him
about it tonight. Anyway, that night he came out of his own house
and saw me standing across the street. While I had been waiting
