Apprehended

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I was eating lunch by myself, thinking about whether I could talk my best friend and roommate Lydia Pastorini, still in her last class of the afternoon, to brave the crowds in the bookstore before I gave her a ride home. My thoughts were interrupted when Mark Kesterson asked, “Hi, Irene, can I join you?”

“Sure,” I said.

Mark and I had known each other for a long time. We’d gone to the same high school, and I had interviewed him while working on the school paper. His father, already starting to build the wealth that now allowed the family to live in a waterfront mansion in one of Las Piernas’s richest neighborhoods, had grown up in poverty, and he worked with Mark to start a program to ensure that young children in the city’s poorest neighborhoods received breakfast before school. I’d talked to Mark and his dad about it, who openly acknowledged modeling it on one started by the Black Panthers in Northern California. That caused Mark a little trouble at school from a few of our fellow students, but it didn’t discourage him from his work or from forming a friendship with me.

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