"Robert Reed - Will Be" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

ROBERT REED

WILL BE

What lies ahead for Robert Reed? The following story should discourage anyone
from making such predictions, but we'll wager that Mr. Reed's next book will be
a collection of short stories entitled The Dragons of Springplace. Perhaps it
will even be published this April or May. But who can really say for sure?

WE WENT TO SCHOOL together. Kindergarten right up through high school. But Marv
and me were never what you'd call good buddies. In grade school and junior high,
I bet we didn't say ten words to each other. In high school, Marv was in one of
my gym classes, and because of our last names -- Donner and Dubrook -- we were
stuck in the same homeroom. And yeah, sure, our senior year we shared a locker.
And that's it. That's all. Even considering how things are going now, that's all
there is to tell. To me, Marvin Donner was this scruffy little blond twit who
always had to wear his hair longer than anyone else and who said, "Cool," and,
"Neat," while grinning way too much. The twit loved to smoke that ditch weed.
From junior high on, he was our official class doper. The best thing I remember
about him is that when we were locker mates, he kept telling me, "Don't look
behind my books, Steve. Okay? And if you've got to look, don't take any more
than you really need."

"Okay, Marv," I would tell him.

"Cool. Neat. Thanks."

Despite what you hear, a lot of us kids managed to stay sober and clear-headed
in the '70s. The occasional beer was it for me. I was this upstanding boy trying
to hang out with the college-prep crowd. While Marv Donner was stuck in some
blue-collar, pot-haze track. Shop classes and bonehead English, I'm guessing.

He was already playing the guitar. But back then, every guy tried playing it. We
thought gifts liked a man good with his fingers. Marv used to sit outside at
lunch, strumming hard and singing little songs that he must have written
himself. Must have, because I didn't recognize any of them. And because they
weren't very good. I can sort of remember their cheery noise and his scratchy
little-kid voice and how he would strum and pick until something sounded
absolutely awful. Then he would stop the show and twist the knobs, telling
stupid jokes while trying to fix what could be fixed.

Singing and pot. Marv's life in the shell of a nut.

During my last semester, I had an early geometry class. One morning, about a
week before graduation, I got to school late. One of the counselors was waiting
at my locker. Ms. Vitovsky was this chunky little woman who took everything
seriously. She said, "Steve," with a voice that made me hold my breath. She
said, "I have awful news." Then she gathered herself before telling me, "Marvin
Donner was in a car wreck."