The Riot!

Peter and Harry are trying to get Catherine to her car.

There were few cars traveling along US 51, and we crossed the road quickly and found a gravel path that led to a bridge spanning a creek. Past the bridge, we blundered through heavy brush and slid down a vegetation-choked hill, half falling and grabbing for branches as we skidded toward the Illinois Central train tracks.

“My heavens, I’m scratched to pieces,” said Catherine as she caught her breath. The three of us were dirty and sweaty and had cuts from the sticker bushes all over our hands, arms, and faces.

We walked up the tracks, single file. Up ahead and to the left, the haze and smoke were cast in a bluish glow by the mercury vapor lights, so that the campus was obscured.

“Man, I can’t see anything,” Harry said.

To our right—out of sight beyond a hill that sloped down to the tracks—were the Brush Towers and University Park. And stretching over the tracks and highway like a black rubber band was the pedestrian overpass.

“It looks pretty clear,” said Harry. “If we just walk along the tracks, we’ll be home free.”

“I don’t know, Harry, we can’t see through the hill, and I don’t want to be surprised by whatever might come over it,” said Catherine.

“Listen,” I said. “Just listen.”

We heard nothing but the buzz of cicadas and the humming of the air conditioning systems from the distant buildings.

“I think the riot is over, man,” said Harry. “Let’s go up the tracks, and Catherine, we’ll have you in your car heading back to Murphysboro within 10 minutes…..guaranteed! I think we’re home free.”

Catherine looked as if we were by no means home free.

 

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