Rev and Dylan reconnect twenty years after teachers' college...
“What are you doing here?” she said next. Okay, that sounded wrong, she thought, fully aware of her arrested social development, but not really giving a damn.
She took in the well-worn jeans, the lime green t-shirt, and the second-hand suit coat he managed to make so very his own. Still loose and lean. The pink rat’s tail was gone though.
“I thought you were teaching up in, what was it—Nelson?”
“You were all excited about it. Small community, informal school. I was a bit surprised, actually.
Thought you’d go for the action of some inner city school.”
“Yeah, well, that must’ve been Monday.”
“Tuesday I joined a bunch of drunken Indians,” he smiled cheerfully, the Irish lilt still in his voice, “and we formed a band.”
She broke into a grin. Typical Dylan, really.
“What’d you call yourselves?”
“A Bunch of Drunken Indians.”
She burst out laughing.
“I didn’t know you played an instrument,” she said in the ensuing silence.
He hesitated. She waited again, sure it would be good.