others　I　have　known。　Thus；　before　I　knew　it；　mid…week　had　dissolved　into　the　final　night　of　camp；　and　I　was　chaperoning　the“last　dance。”　The　students　were　doing　all　they　could　to　savor　every　last　moment　with　their　new　“best　friends”—friends　they　would　probably　never　see　again。

樹下的男孩（3）

As　I　watched　the　campers　share　their　parting　moments；　I　suddenly　saw　what　would　be　one　of　the　most　vivid　memories　of　my　life。　The　boy　from　under　the　tree；　who　had　stared　blankly　out　the　kitchen　window；　was　now　a　shirtless　dancing　wonder。　He　owned　the　dance　floor　as　he　and　two　girls　proceeded　to　cut　a　rug。　I　watched　as　he　shared　meaningful；　intimate　time　with　people　at　whom　he　couldn’t　even　look　just　days　earlier。　I　couldn’t　believe　it　was　the　same　person。

In　October　of　my　sophomore　year；　a　late…night　phone　call　pulled　me　away　from　my　chemistry　book。　A　soft…spoken；　unfamiliar　voice　asked　politely；　“Is　Kevin　there？”

“You’re　talking　to　him；　who’s　this？”

“This　is　Tom　Johnson’s　mom。　Do　you　remember　Tommy　from　leadership　camp？”

The　boy　under　the　tree。　How　could　I　not　remember？

“Yes；　I　do；”　I　said。　“He’s　a　very　nice　young　man。　How　is　he？”

An　abnormally　long　pause　followed；　then　Mrs。　Johnson　said；　“My　Tommy　was　walking　home　from　school　this　week　when　he　was　hit　by　a　car　and　killed。”　Shocked；　I　offered　my　condolences。

“I　just　wanted　to　call　you；”　she　said；　“because　Tommy　mentioned　you　so　many　times。　I　wanted　you　to　know　that　he　went　back　to