Bryan Wells
1978 Roger Johnson's Sophomore English. Typical for a W, I'm in the last row, closest to the windows, second, maybe third seat. As I remember it, Hilda was behind me, Sherri Snowden was across the row, Jill Meskimen was just past her, and then there was Rick Howard. Rick and I were not yet buds and frankly, he was kind of invisible, positioned as he was.
Roger is in about the fourth week of torturing us with early American literature; we've moved from the least titillating adultery ever to witchcraft and Salem etc.. Towards the end of class the topic turns to certain rituals, and I'm 15 and I can't figure out how they could have these rituals without somebody questioning why people are disappearing, but I'm not sharing my ignorance.
Just then, from somewhere past the M's, comes the question, "So, what? You mean they're killing a virgin every time they have one of these?" And, I'm sitting there, nodding my head in solidarity thinking 'great question, dude.' "Uhhhh, no," says Roger, sheepishly.
Rick, undeterred, "So where do they get the blood?"
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