Arrive in Keene. Check in. A brief wander. Stop by a co-op
to pick up some snacks. Wine tasting in the back corner. I promptly spill my
Malbec. Spilling already and I haven’t even had anything to drink yet. The man
at the table tells me a story about spilling all over his father-in-law to make
me feel better. I drink what’s left in my sample and ask to taste the Cab. I
buy two bottles (one Malbec and one Cabernet Sauvignon). I’m not just being
polite because he made me feel better about spilling. The wines are excellent.
I think he suspects that I’m just buying the wine because I’ve made an ass of
myself, but I can’t let myself be too concerned about that.
JH stops by the room, and we wait for ZL and JBH. JH is an
SCCC colleague. ZL and JBH I met in Tunisia and visited Reykjavik with. We’re
short a JM, and we all miss him terribly. When ZL and JH show up at my door, we
slip into familiar rhythms without any of the awkwardness that sometimes
accompanies reunions. We’ve all been up to so much, have so much to talk about,
are at least vaguely aware of what’s going on in each other’s lives that there’s
simply not time for awkwardness. Or maybe it would be better to say that our
awkwardnesses align, because there’s plenty of awkward to go around. The one
real moment of discomfort is the one where JH and ZL realize there’s a woman in
my room who isn’t my wife. The moment right before I introduce JH and explain
that she’s in for the conference and going to be joining us for dinner.
We walk to a microbrewery just less than a mile from the
hotel. JH is already one of us. She already seems to know JBH and ZL as well as
I do.
We’re walking down Gilbo. Across a parking lot is an
abandoned looking warehouse. It could be a granary. Or a factory of some sort.
Possibly a mill, though this seems the least likely possibility. At any rate,
it’s old and dangerous looking. It has either a chipmunk or a smiling acorn
painted on the façade.
“Let’s go check it out,” JBH says, echoing the opening lines
of countless horror films and every episode of Scooby-Doo.
Much of the rest of the walk is dedicated to either
suggesting we go have a wander around the building, or to discussing how a
horror movie starring us that opened with a visit to the granary would turn
out. It is very quickly decided that I would not survive the night. The brewery
is set well out of the downtown area. The way is lined with streetlights and we
walk through patches of light like sidewalk ellipses.
At the brewery they’ve got Trivial Pursuit cards on all the
tables in case conversation runs dry. Ours never does, but we pick up the
Trivial Pursuit cards anyway, because we’re giant nerds. We ask answer. We
argue about answers with each other, and with the cards. We complain that the
cards are out of date. ZL complains that the cards are “too American.” Often we’re
more embarrassed by the things we know than by the things we don’t.
It’s surprising how empty the brewery is for a Thursday
night in a college town. I suppose there is a combination of factors. We’re not
far from campus, but we’re also not particularly close; it’s still a bit early
by college standards—though, I did both my undergrad and my grad work in, or in
the vicinity of, major metropolitan areas so I suspect my views on “early” and “late”
may be a bit skewed—and while not expensive, the restaurant isn’t inexpensive
either. I should also look into Keene’s commuter enrollment, though based on
the vibrancy of the downtown area, I have to assume that a fair proportion of
students are either residents or at least spend a goodly portion of their time
locally. Perhaps Thursday just isn’t a big night for going out around here.
Everyone happily splits the check rather than asking the
waitress to split it or parsing out who had what.
Conversation on the way back once again turns to the grain
silo. There’s a creepy van parked in front of it. We’re pretty sure we see flashlights
either in the van, or in silo, or both. Now we really think we should check it
out.
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