Michael Leali - The Civil War of Amos Abernathy

For Mom and Dad

Sunday, August 15, 2021

Dear Albert,

Writing letters to dead people isnt something I usually do, but this feels weirdly... right? I dont know how to explain it exactly. Its like even as I wrote the words Dear Albert, I felt like maybe, just maybe, you could hear me. Which I know is ridiculous, but I sort of need you to hear me.

Ever since I was a little kid, like eight years old, Ive volunteered at the Chickaree County Living History Park as a nineteenth-century historical reenactor. People like to walk through the grounds and dream about that simpler time, but they have NO IDEA. Theres nothing simple about growing and harvesting (and killing) your own food or having to make anything you want from scratch, and dont even get me started on the lack of indoor plumbing. Not to mention slavery and racism and white people stealing land from Native Americans. I guess what Im saying is, I get that life back then wasnt easy.

Dont get me wrong. I love reenactingalmost everything about it. When I put on my pioneer costume, its like time traveling. For a little while theres no cell phones or social media and its just me and a butter churn. The leaves are brighter, the suns warmer, the birds are louder.

Ive always felt like Ive belonged at the Living History Park. You see, Moms been the lead interpreter (which is sort of like the manager) since I was born, so its always been a homestead away from home. She organizes all the volunteers and oversees restorations, and Ive been by her side for almost all of it. The nineteenth century is in my blood.

So, maybe its only natural that I have a nineteenth-century pen pal! If Im being honest, though, I didnt just decide to begin writing you letters. All of this started because of Ben Oglevie. Maybe I should tell you about him first.

I met Ben in March at this years junior volunteer orientation, sitting in an icebreaker circle on the floor of New Hope Church (built in 1874). Most of us junior volunteers have been at it for years, but every now and then someone new shows up. Ben Oglevie was one of only two fresh recruits, so of course Mom put them both in my group, because Im essentially the one-boy welcoming committee for new volunteers. (Yay for perks of being the bosss kid.) ANYWAY, Bens sitting across from me, all elbows and knees, chin nearly tucked under his arm like a chicken settling in for the night. Cool, cool, cool, I think. Another kid who doesnt want to be here. (The other new kid, this pale freckled girl named Samantha, quit by the end of May.)

After we said our names and a pizza topping to match (I was Anchovy Amos), we went around and shared why we wanted to be historical reenactors.

Samantha: My mom is making me.

(See what I mean, Albert?)

Ben: I like history. Um, a lot.

Okay. Not a my-parents-made-me-do-it kid. Maybe hes just shy? I could work with that.

Yada yada yadathe get-to-know-you questions went on, until we got to my favorite one: What historical figure do you think you know more about than anyone else in the circle?

Samantha: Uh, I dont know. No one?

(UGH.)

Ben: Abraham Lincoln.

I mentally cracked my knuckles. Um, Abe, one of the most famous people from Illinois, is my guy. So, I said, Lets see what you got. When was he born?

February 12, 1809. In Kentucky. Near Hodgenville.

I didnt ask for city and statea bit of a show-off, but okay. How many siblings did he have?

Two. Sarah and Tommy.

The other kids eyes bounced between us as I fired off another question. The longer we went back and forth, the more excited I got. Somehow, I ended up crouched like a frog. Ben, thoughhe started to unfold, limbs relaxing, stretching out.

Since it looked like he was getting too comfortable, I lobbed a real corkscrew. Abes in the hall of fame for what athletic event?

That was the first time I saw him smile. Kind of crooked. Goofy. But he held my stare. Wrestling.

I fell back on my behind and smiled. Bingo.

After that display, he pretty much had no choice but to be my friend.

Id pegged Ben as shy, but it turned out hes just one of those quiet, observant types thats thinking a million miles a minute, and all of his thoughts are deep, existential thoughts, not just, I think I want a turkey sandwich instead of ham. It might be because hes homeschooled, but I dont want to stereotype.

Lucky for me, Ben and I were able to work most of the same shifts (knowing the person in charge does occasionally have its benefits). I introduced him to my best friend, Chloe Thompson, and it was instantly like the three of us had always been together. Ben and I went to most of Chloes softball games in April. The three of us became regulars at the ice cream shop downtownhe and Chloe really bonded over their shared passion for coconut ice cream (ewww). We even have a pact to shave our heads if any of us decides to ditch our friend group.

Just kidding. BUT WE SO WOULD.

So, okay, heres the other thing about Ben...

Wow.

This shouldnt be THAT hard to say. But, I mean, I guess Ive never said it about anyone I actually know, so...

Okay, Amos. You got this.

Here it is: Bens cute.

Like, really cute. Hes a little taller than me, and white with blond hair. He has eyes like old pennies, and I mean that in a good way. Theyre a million shades of browncopper and chocolate and mudand theyre always watching. Sometimes, when hes working on something, I just like to watch him paying attention to whatever hes doing. Hes got a dimple on his right cheek. A square chin. And theres something about the way his neck meets his body, like he just comes together in this seamless way thats smooth and sharp all at the same time. But its his collarbone that really does it for me.

There. I said it.

AAAAHHHHH!

Albert, Ive thought before that boys, in general, are cute, but Ive never said a specific boy is cute. Honestly, I didnt even think Ben was that good-looking at first. The weirdest thing in the world changed my mind. It was mid-Juneoh my god, this is going to sound so dumb, Albertand Chloe, Ben, and I were at the LHP walking from the Wakefield House, this grayish building that used to be a doctors office, to the homestead. Ben had a stick, and he was dragging it along the wrought iron fence, which Chloe legit thinks is beautifulshes obsessed with anything that comes out of a blacksmith shopand then suddenly he had two sticks and the tick, tick, tick turned into tick, ticka-tok, ticka-tok as he drummed along the posts.

I laughed. What are you doing?

Whats it look like? The sticks jumped from the fence to my shoulders. He grinned and said, Making music.

I shook him off and called him weird, still laughing. But that was the moment. It was like waking up. My heart wouldnt slow down. I got goose bumps. It was weird.

I felt WEIRD.

So, now its been months of this me-watching-him-watch-things... thing, and I dont know what to do. I feel like I should have good gaydar, but maybe Im not gay enough? I dont know. Ive been out since fourth grade, but living in the semirural Midwest really puts my abilities to the test. I mean, Ive got the internet and Ive watched all of