Hickory was some kind of founding father, sitting atop a large horse
with the feet firmly planted. I hadn’t gotten the story yet about the
purpose of this chunk of bronze, but the bushes had grown up against
the pedestal, a perfect hiding place.
Unfortunately, the frat search party thought so too. So to escape
notice as they approached, we climbed the statue. Me first, then
Angie. I know this doesn’t sound too reasonable as a course of action.
But over the years, the university had allowed the trees about Hickory
to grow freely. Now the leaves and thin branches afforded a certain
amount of concealment.
We got up on good ol’ Hickory’s horse, me right behind him, and Angie
clutching at me in turn directly behind. That’s when it really
started. The rustling in the bushes below soon subsided.