Chapter 3

September 1979. I woke before dawn.

My mom had breakfast ready. There were grits, cornbread straight from the skillet, and a plate of fried eggs.

The eggs were from the hen Uncle Henry had brought over. My mom had saved them up for three days until she had four.

"Eat up." My mom slid the eggs onto my plate. "You'll be hungry on the road."

I ate two. The other two I couldn't finish. It wasn't that I was full. My throat had tightened up, and I couldn't swallow.

My dad carried my things to the front gate.

I had an old canvas duffel with my bedroll and a couple of changes of clothes, a handled bucket with my soap, razor, and tin cup, and the cloth bundle of boiled eggs Uncle Henry had given me.

"Let's go," my dad said.

We stepped out into the dark, stars still winking overhead. At the edge of the property, I looked back. My mom stood in the doorway, small and still.

"Come on," my dad said again.

We followed the dirt road toward town. We hadn't gone far when I heard a shout behind me. "William."

It was Amy.

She was out of breath, braids coming loose, face slick with sweat. When she caught up, she pulled a small cloth pouch from her pocket and pressed it into my hand.

"What's this?" I asked.

"My savings," Amy said. "For school supplies. All of it. For you."

I opened it. Pennies and nickels, a few dimes, and some crumpled dollar bills. Counted it up. A dollar seventy-two.

My nose stung. I crouched down to look at Amy. "I can't take this. You keep it."

"No." Amy shook her head stubbornly. "Mom said you need money for school. I can't do much, but this is for your notebooks."

I hugged her, tears burning my eyes. "Amy, I promise. I'm going to make sure you get to go to school, too."

Amy nodded, spun around, and dashed off. After running a good distance, she turned back and shouted, "William, you take care of yourself."

I stood there watching until her small figure vanished into the morning mist.

My dad and I reached the town center and boarded the morning bus to the county seat. My dad stood outside the window and handed me a paper bag. Inside were two leftover biscuits.

"For the road," he said.

The bus pulled away. I leaned out the window, watching my dad grow smaller and smaller. He stood there, not moving, until I couldn't see him anymore.

At the county seat, I transferred to the Greyhound. Coach seat. It rumbled and swayed for two days and a night.

I didn't buy food at the stops. I ate my biscuits and boiled eggs, washing them down with water from my tin cup. The biscuits ran out fast.

I still had a few eggs left, but I couldn't bring myself to eat them. I wanted to save them for when I got to school.

The Greyhound rolled into Stillwater late that third afternoon. I stepped off into the station plaza and froze. The downtown buildings towered over me. The tallest one had five, maybe six whole floors.

Trolleys ran down the street, their poles reaching up to the overhead wires, sparking and crackling.

People were dressed sharp. Women with permed hair, men in polished leather shoes.

I looked down at myself: worn canvas sneakers, a faded blue work shirt, an old duffel bag slung over my shoulder. I looked like a beggar.

It took forever to find the campus. When I checked in, the registrar looked at me, then at the duffel on my shoulder. There was something in his eyes I didn't understand.

The dorm was a double quad, eight guys in bunk beds. Seven were already moved in. The lower bunk by the window was open. I walked over and dropped my duffel on the mattress.

"Hey, new guy, where are you from?" A round-faced guy with glasses leaned out from the top bunk.

"Shorefield," I replied.

"Which part of Shorefield?" he asked.

I told him the name of my town.

He nodded. "That's a historic place. I'm George White, from Ironwood."

"I'm William Hale," I said.

"William?" George grinned. "That name's great. It means a man with real willpower, right?"

I smiled too. It was the first time I'd cracked a smile since I got to Stillwater.

That night, my roommates were chatting. George asked what my family did, and I told him we were farmers. Then he asked if I had the money for tuition, and I said I did.

He didn't ask anything else, but I knew exactly what was on his mind. From the way I was dressed, it was obvious I was from a poor family.

After lights out, I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The bed was much harder than the thin mattress back home, and the blanket was thinner, but for the first time, I felt truly grounded and safe.

I got into college. I was really here, in Stillwater.

Moonlight spilled through the dorm window. I thought of my mom standing in the farmhouse doorway. I thought of my dad at the bus window, pressing those leftover biscuits into my hands.

I thought of Uncle Henry's empty storage shed. I thought of Amy's crumpled bills and coins. One dollar and seventy-two cents.

I buried my face in the pillow and cried silently.