Cemetery Street

***

The following day I again trekked down the Schuylkill Expressway, this time passing Laurel Hill on my way to Atlantic City. As angry as I thought I was with Genise, I felt obligated to visit her. Diane gave me directions to the cemetery and Genise and Jerome's gravesites. I stared blankly at Genise's grave. I thought of our afternoon. I remembered what she told me of Shannie's expectations. I remembered her smile, her freckles, and her stricken expression as I betrayed our secret. I walked away. At Jerome's grave, I remembered little, other than guilt for not being able to attend his funeral.

I decided to drive by Genise's apartment in Lower Chelsea. This little corner of the city, tucked along the Intra-coastal waterway could pass for a ghost town. I parked my father's car and stood on the sea wall across from Genise's old brick apartment. A strong wind whipped across the bay stinging my face. I gazed across the water towards the setting sun. Although beautiful, I preferred the aesthetics of a Bitterroot sunset; mountains are wondrous, mysterious things. I jumped off the sea wall, climbed into the car and headed for Beyford. As I left Atlantic City I caught my last glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean in the rearview mirror.

***

On New Year's Eve day as Diane took leave for a few hours to visit Shannie, my father and I watched the world greet the new millennium on the same television Shannie, Diane and I witnessed the opening of Desert Storm. There's irony for you, I thought.

"Nervous?" I asked my father.

"Nope," my father lied. "What's there to be nervous about?"

"It's only your wedding day," I chided.

"Second time's easier. Anyway, I'm not marrying the wicked witch of San Francisco."

If you only knew how envious I am, I didn't say, instead opting to watch Sydney Australia great the new millennium. I'd give the world if today was Shannie and my big day.

"You know," my father spoke. "I could have told everyone that this Y2K hype was much to do about nothing. Do you know that in the computer world it's a status symbol if you have to work tonight. What a crock of shit. Serves 'em right," my father laughed. "I'd rather get married then sit in a stale, fart smelling office sipping cheap coffee. Idiots."

"You are nervous," I reproached my old man. "I never heard you talk so much."

"Maybe excited," my father snickered.

By afternoon the house was host to a flurry of activity. I escaped for a walk down Main Street and across the hallowed tracks. I spent the last day of the century much the way I did my first day with Shannie, eating candy while watching the river from atop the Main Street Bridge.