The Frisbees were different colors, sailing in long lazy trajectories through the cavernous Civic Arena in Pittsburgh. The lights went down. The band was led onto the stage by flashlight beams pointed at the floor. The audience stood to clap in unison with the music.
The young woman Scott Delaney was with put an arm around his waist. She looked up openly into his face. Scott had been back from Vietnam six years now but she made him feel like a teenager again. Nothing seemed to have consequences. It was easy not to think of consequences with her pressed up against him. Near the end of the concert thousands of tiny flames flickered in the vast darkness.
She and Scott ended up parked on a back road in the suburbs under a clump of trees under a moonless black sky of millions of stars. He had no rubbers and she wasn’t on the pill. In the back seat they went all the way. The windows fogged over. After it was over and still breathing hard, they held each other tight. Her skin was damp and very warm. The car smelled of sex. He sensed she had already started to worry. Suddenly, he started to worry, too. How could he have been so stupid?
She phoned him several days later to say she was late and she was never late. He felt his world shift as he stood holding the receiver. She phoned again two days later to say happily it was all right because she had started and there was nothing to worry about. He felt his world slide back into place. His relief made him feel selfish and small.
But he knew she was relieved, too.
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