For Young President, Flecks of Gray

Taken from the March 5, 2009 online edition of The New York Times.

For Young President, flecks of gray dancing atop the warm, dry Nebraskan air signaled that a distant bonfire blazed, fueled by mounds of dried summer wheat and the blithe energy of mobilized youth. His shoulders dropped, and Young picked up a rock from the dusty ground, tumbling it around in his hand. A summer celebration glowed in the distance without him, where the older high school kids gathered to drink warm beer and talk to pretty girls in flimsy sundresses. He sat on the second step of his back porch, feet on the ground, elbows resting on scabbed knobby knees. He wanted to go. But he was grounded for sneaking out of the house three weeks ago to the day, called by the floating ash to join the bonfire when he was supposed to be watching his little sister. At 4 am, alerted by an unfortunate creak in the stairwell, Young's father caught him returning home, tipsy and covered in ash. His excuse was that Maddie was asleep, and the house was locked, and she's old enough to be alone--she's six! He'd never been to a bonfire before! But his argument fell on deaf ears.

It was his favorite summer night so far, that night three weeks ago. He remembered how overwhelmed he felt as he approached the fire. No one noticed him until he stood hands in pockets next to Mara Stelford, a pretty redhead with freckles who was popular in school for her singing voice. "Young! Young's here! Get him a beer!" she said, and hugged his neck. She smelled sweet like yeast and grain and summer fruit. Mara let go and danced away to a friend near the fire lighting a cigarette. A junior named Dan Yansen handed him a warm can of brew. It was Young's first ever, but he popped the top like a Coke and took a long swig to validate his presence. Dan nodded and turned to a tall brunette standing behind him. For the remainder of the night, Young didn't speak except to ask for another beer, but he enjoyed it all the same. He sat on an empty cooler in front of the fire, watching his new friends flirt and laugh and drink and sing. 

Young squeezed the rock in his hand before lobbing it long. Tonight, his parents were home, so Maddie had company. He couldn't stay in tonight, as he had for the past three weeks. School started on Monday, and he knew it would be the last bonfire of summer. Looking back at the house, he saw it was quiet and dark. He stood up, resolute, and began to move against the ash.

The article. 

from The New York Times