"Wow," Darcy said upon entering the hotel suite, "this is nice."

"All part of the package." Bruce set his suitcase down just inside the doorway. "Which bedroom do you want?"

"Are they both the same?"

"I think so. You choose. I'm fine wherever."

"Can we go sightseeing after we get unpacked?"

"There's not much to see. It's a small town."

"Yeah, but I've never been to Ohio before! You can show me around town and tell me all about what it was like growing up here."

Bruce looked away. "I'd rather not, if it's okay with you. I don't have good memories of this place."

"You must have had some good times."

She picked up her new red suitcase that Bruce had bought her because "you can't bring a plastic garbage bag full of clothes on an airplane!" It wasn't her fault she didn't have any real luggage; she didn't travel all that often. When she did, it was by car. You could stuff a plastic garbage bag full of clothes in the trunk of a car. But apparently, airlines had standards.

"I'll just take this room," she said, indicating the room closest to the door. "That okay, Doc?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Should we go out to dinner, or order something from room service?"

"The Sunshine Diner is still there. We can eat there."

"Someplace special for you?"

"Maybe," he said, breaking into a smile for the first time since they'd arrived. "We'll head out around five o'clock. They get busy between five-thirty and seven, so we want to beat the crowd."

"What kind of food they got?"

"Standard diner fare. Burgers. Simple stuff."

"Any chance of a vegetarian meal?"

"You're not a vegetarian."

"I'm thinking about it. Only I'd go lacto-ovo, you know, instead of full-on vegan. Cause people don't like vegans, cause, y'know, they're all up in your face like 'Meat is murder!' But if I eat eggs and dairy, that's not as extreme."

"Whatever you say."

"You must've eaten a lot of weird stuff in your travels. What's the most exotic dish you've ever eaten?"

She was flitting back and forth across the room as she talked a mile a minute, hanging clothes in the closet, opening and closing drawers, and he was still standing there in the doorway. He should at least bring his suitcase into the bedroom. In a minute.

"I don't remember," he said.

"What time did you say we were going out?"

"Five o'clock."

"What time is it now?"

"Don't you have a watch?"

"I don't wear a watch. Who wears a watch these days? I have the time on my phone."

"So what time is it on your phone?"

"I don't know, it's in my other bag."

Bruce gave up and looked at his own watch. "Twenty past three."

"So what do we do between now and five?"

"Unpack? Relax? See what's on TV?"

"Okay, I guess." She came out with a bag of bathroom stuff and saw him still standing by the door. "You gonna put those away, or what?"

The Sunshine Diner was just as he remembered it. There was even the same nick in the front counter. One thing was different, though: just inside the entrance was a framed photo with a plaque underneath it. IN MEMORY OF MARJORIE GLENNON AND HER THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS OF LOYAL SERVICE. 1971-2008, YOU WILL BE MISSED.

"She finally retired, huh?" Bruce asked the young blonde woman behind the counter.

"No," the woman said. "She died. Lung cancer. She smoked like a chimney."

"I'm sorry. I used to come here all the time when I was a kid. That would have been . . . back in the Eighties." How long ago it sounded. Sometimes it seemed a thousand years ago. Sometimes it was like yesterday.

"Way before my time, sorry. What can I get you folks?"

"Do you still have a bacon grilled cheese?" Bruce asked.

"Sure do!"

"I'll take mine without the bacon, thanks," said Darcy.

"Anything to drink?"

"Coffee." He didn't usually drink coffee, but Bruce remembered the Sunshine Diner's coffee being pretty decent. He wasn't sure they did decaf.

"What kind of coffee do you have?" asked Darcy.

"Black. If you want fancy, Starbucks is half a mile that way."

"You got cream and sugar?"

"Real sugar, or artificial?"

"I'll take the real stuff."

"Be right back," said the waitress, and went over to the station at the far end of the counter.

"We used to come here on Saturday nights," Bruce said. "We'd sit in that booth right over there. After my mom died, Dad would bring me here once or twice a month. Then when I was older, I would come here after school for a milkshake. I'd sit in the booth, if it was available, and do my homework till quarter of five. Then I went home, so I'd be there when Dad got home."

"See? You do have some good memories!" Then Darcy spotted something across the room. "Oh, wow, is that a real jukebox?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, been there since 1958. I think they change the music once or twice a year. At least they used to."

Darcy went over and browsed the musical offerings. "Looks like they haven't changed it in a while. Lot of Eighties on here. Holy cow, it's a dollar fifty! For one song!"

"Used to be three for a quarter. Went up to fifty cents when I was in high school."

"Do I have change?" She groped in the bottom of her bag until she found six quarters. "I see just the song for you, Doc."

She plunked the money in the slot and pushed a few buttons, and a moment later, Bruce Springsteen was singing about his high school friend who played baseball.

"I didn't understand this song," Bruce said, "when it came out. I thought, what's this guy talking about? Why is he still obsessed with high school when he's in his thirties? Hasn't he done anything since then?"

Darcy shrugged. "Some people peak early. You, though . . . you were a late bloomer. Your life now is awesome! No regrets, huh?"

The waitress came back with their coffees and a stack of cream and sugar. Her name, Bruce noted, was Sarah Jane.

"Your parents Doctor Who fans?" he asked her.

"Yes," she sighed, in a tone that suggested she had been asked this many, many times before. "They met in this sci-fi club in high school."

"Let me guess-your last name is Matthews, right?"

She stared at him in shock. "How did you know?"

"I was in the same club with them. George Matthews and Kristen LaPorta, am I right?"

"You know them?"

"I knew them. In high school. They were dating pretty seriously. I remember George said he wanted a Star Wars wedding. Did they do that?"

"No," she said. "My mom talked him out of it. What's your name?"

"Bruce Banner."

"Hmm. I'll ask them if they remember you."

"I'll probably see them at the reunion tomorrow night."

"Order up!" the cook called, sliding two plates into the warmer. Sarah Jane scooped them up and delivered them.

"Here we go, with bacon, and without. Enjoy."

"Thanks."

The grilled cheeses (one with bacon, one without) came with crinkle-cut fries. Darcy smothered hers in ketchup. Bruce chose to eat his plain. The fries were pretty good here too, and his first bite of the bacon grilled cheese confirmed that it hadn't changed in a quarter-century.

They didn't see Sarah Jane for a while. Once Bruce thought he saw her standing just inside the door of the kitchen, talking on her phone. Was she taking a break now? He flagged down the other waitress who had just come on shift and asked her what was up.

"She'll be back in a minute, honey," the woman, whose name was apparently Rose, said. (Possibly another Who reference, but probably not.) "Do you need your check?"

"Not just yet." Bruce turned to Darcy and asked, "Want dessert? They do a great strawberry rhubarb pie here."

"Nah. Maybe next time."

"We'll let you know when we need the check," Bruce told Rose. She nodded and went to serve her next table. The place was starting to fill up already for the dinner rush.

By the time they had finished their meals, Sarah Jane had returned. She placed the check face-down on the table and said, "Have a good night, now, and have fun at the reunion."

"Thanks." Bruce turned the check over to find out how much he owed her. As it turned out, the amount due was zero.

I talked to my folks, the note she had written said. They said you introduced them, so basically you're responsible for my very existence. So this is on me. Thanks for making me possible!

"Huh," Darcy said, reading over his shoulder. "Do we still have to tip her?"

After they went back to the room, Bruce used the hotel's complementary Wi-Fi to Skype Nathan and let him know they had arrived okay.

"Don't forget to stop by and visit Mrs. Harper."

"I'll tell her you said hi."

"And take lots of pictures! With you in them!"

"I will."

"I'm serious, Dad. I know you hate selfies, but there needs to be photographic evidence that you actually exist! One in front of the school, at least."

"It's not the same school, you know. They tore the old one down and built a new one fifteen years ago."

"It's the principle of the thing. And one in front of the house, if you can."

"Hey, Nay!" Darcy stuck her head into camera range and waved. "What's up with you?"

"Just hanging out. Reading a lot."

"You can hold a book?"

"Only if it's big enough. Mostly I read on my tablet. The book I'm reading now is about dragons."

"Is it Pern? I've read all the Pern novels."

"No. Should I check those out next?"

"I think you'd like them, yeah."

"Check online," Bruce suggested. "Some sites have big deals on e-books. Or you can wait till your birthday and see if maybe you get some gift cards you can use to buy them."

"But that's forever away! It's not till October! It's only June!"

"It'll be here sooner than you think. You'd be surprised how fast time goes when you don't want it to. Anyway, we'll see you Sunday afternoon, buddy, okay?"

The boy sighed deeply. "I guess."

"Bye, Nay-Nay! We'll send you pictures!"

"Night, Dad. Night, Darcy. I love you."

"I love you too, buddy. See you soon."

Saturday morning, after an "order what you want" breakfast consisting of coffee, pancakes, bacon, and chocolate chip ice cream, they went on a walking tour of the town. Bruce pointed out all the things that were the same-and there were more than he thought-and all those that were different-a depressingly high number. Houses had been built on previously unused space. There was a whole street, nine houses standing side by side like soldiers, on the vacant lot where he used to attempt to play ball with his dad. Said attempts usually ended in frustration on both parts, and an angry, shameful walk home.

They passed Mrs. Walker's house, and Bruce remembered his promise to Nathan. He just hoped she was up already.

He went up and rang the bell. There was no answer. Maybe she wasn't awake yet. It was only nine o'clock in the morning; maybe she slept late.

He was about to turn and leave when the door of the house next door opened. "You here to see the house?" a man in a brown bathrobe asked.

"We're looking for Mrs. Walker," Bruce told him. "Did she move?"

"You friends of hers?"

"Her son was my friend when we were growing up. Why?"

"I thought someone would have told you. She died in April. Some niece of hers was all set to move her to a nursing home in Indianapolis, closer to her home. Came to pick her up, and she was lying on the couch like she was asleep. Only she wasn't."

Bruce was stunned. Mrs. Walker hadn't seemed all that frail when he and Nathan had visited her in September. A lot could happen in a few months. "I'm sorry to hear that. Has she been buried yet?"

"Yep. Up in the town cemetery, next to her husband and her son. You want the niece's number?"

"No, that's all right. Thanks anyway." He stepped down off the porch and walked back to where Darcy stood waiting. "Nathan is gonna be crushed. He really liked her."

"I take it we're making a side trip to the cemetery later?"

"Well, I wasn't going to, but why not? Let's go to some happier places first."

They walked on towards the elementary school, which was the same as it had ever been. Right there was the flagpole where Dad had waited to pick him up every day. They had replaced the old metal playground equipment with some fancy new wood and plastic contraption that looked like it belonged on the Smash Room's obstacle course.

On the corner, just down a little ways from the school, was Bud's Convenience Store, just as it always had been. Bruce could remember stopping here on the way home from school to buy bubble gum cards and little glass bottles of soda.

"They were about this big," he said, indicating something about the size of the average coffee cup, "and only cost twenty-five cents."

"Wow. Can't get anything for a quarter anymore."

"I know." They went inside. The same old bell over the door jingled, and the same bins of penny candy sat at the end of the counter. The price had gone up, though: $3.99 a pound.

Then he saw the gentleman behind the counter. With a huge smile on his face, he began singing, "Green and Gold attack! Get them back! Move the ball down the field, rah rah rah!"

The man turned and beamed at him. "Bruce? Brucie? Hey, man, you look great!"

"Hey, Jack." Bruce turned to Darcy. "This is the football player whose arm I broke senior year."

"Really?" She looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or cringe. "No hard feelings, I hope?"

"Nah, none at all. Now, if it had happened during the regular season, things might have been different . . ."

"I don't know if I told you at the time, but I'm sorry. I was in a really bad place back then."

"Oh, I know. We all knew about your dad. He used to come in here every night and buy two six-packs. Every night. My dad said, 'Either that man's building up a massive bottle-cap collection, or he has a serious problem.' We should have done something, but . . . it's hard to know what to do."

"It all worked out in the end. I went away to school, I got a great job-"

"He works for Tony Stark," Darcy piped up.

"I work with Tony Stark. He doesn't give me orders. Just lab space and equipment."

"That's amazing," Jack said. "Were you in New York two years ago when that thing happened?"

"Sort of."

"Everything's good with you now?"

"Everything's great. I have a son; he's in private school upstate. I'll show you a picture tonight. You are going tonight, aren't you?"

"If I can squeeze this magnificent physique into a suit," Jack said, slapping his ample midsection. He'd gained a lot of weight since high school.

"I look forward to seeing you."

"Oh, sure. Is your girlfriend coming too?"

It took Bruce a moment to realize that he meant Darcy. "Oh, no, she's not my girlfriend. My girlfriend is in Chicago at a conference. Darcy is just a friend."

"Really?" Jack waggled his eyebrows comically.

"Really. I'll tell you about her, too. And I hope you bring your wife and pictures of your kids."

"I'll do that. Man, twenty-five years, where does the time go? You remember the Thanksgiving game our senior year, when we were down by five and then Muzzer threw a corkscrew pass that sailed down the field and landed smack in Ed Hacker's arms? And we were all like 'Go, man, go!' And he ran that sucker right across the goal line in the final five seconds of the game. Twenty-one to nineteen final, and we whooped and hollered all the way home. Remember that?"

"I was there," Bruce said. "On my own, but I was there."

"Paul Wilkins is bringing the tapes of the whole season. If we can find a VCR to play them on. Think the hotel will have one?"

"I don't know."

"Well, anyway, you can come up and watch 'em with us. See you at seven, Brucie. Bye, miss. Nice meeting you."

"Bye," she said. It wasn't until they were out in the street that she realized she'd gone into a store and hadn't bought anything. "So that's nice, huh? No hard feelings?"

"I guess not. It was a long time ago. I didn't know that everyone knew about my dad, though. No one ever said a word to me."

"Maybe it's like he said: they just didn't know what to say."

"It would have helped if someone had said something. It would have made a difference."

"Regrets, Doc?"

He stopped and seemed to be doing deep breathing exercises to gain control of himself. "No," he said finally. "None at all. What happened then made me who I am now. And I like where I am now. I wouldn't change it for anything."

"I hope I'm a part of that."

"You are," he said. "You're a big part."

They ate lunch at the Starbucks, which Bruce remembered as having been an ice cream place in his childhood. Some of the old places were still around, but a lot of them were gone. Too damn many.

"So what else is on the Magical History Tour today?" Darcy asked, in between bites of her spicy tuna roll. "I want to be back by three so I can get ready."

Bruce looked at her in surprise. "The reunion isn't till seven! Even with travel time, you don't need four hours to get ready!"

"Easy for you to say! All you have to do is comb your hair and put on a suit. I have to do my hair, put on my makeup, zip up my new dress, shine my new shoes, tuck everything I need into my new bag-it's Kate Spade; isn't it to die for?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen it."

"You will."

"You went out and bought a whole new outfit, complete with shoes and bag, for one night?"

"It's a special occasion! Besides, I can wear the dress again. Maybe. If we have a fancy party to go to."

"We?"

"Well, me and whoever else I'm being we with at the moment."

"How many contenders are there?"

"Depends on the party. Wait till you see this bag, you'll love it!"

"I don't know. Women's handbags generally don't do it for me."

She laughed at that. "You're something else, Doc. You really are. So what other wonders can we fit in before three o'clock?"

"I promised Nathan we'd get a picture in front of the house."

"What house?"

"My old house. The one I grew up in. He's seen it, but I don't think you have. We didn't take pictures last time."

"Sure, let's do that. Drop by the old homestead and see how it's changed."

"It hasn't. Not at all. Not unless the present owner made major renovations since September."

"Oh."

"He wants a picture of it, so let's go take a picture outside it. A selfie. I hate selfies."

"Why? Is it an ego thing? You don't think you're good enough?"

"No, it's . . . I don't know. But it's what he wants, so let's go take some selfies."

The house was still the same. It looked like there might be a new coat of varnish on the fence, but the house was the same color.

"Okay," Darcy said, "let's get over there right in front of the place. Yeah, right there. Turn around. Now just hold that till I get there."

Just as she was about to join him and take the photo, the front door opened and a woman came out. "Can I help you folks?"

"Wait just a minute," Darcy said, and moved the phone so it framed them perfectly with the house in the background. "Oh, shoot! I blinked. Can we do that again?"

"You're on my front lawn," the woman said.

"Yeah, sorry about that, but I couldn't get the house in unless we were right here. We'll move in a minute. Smile, Doc!"

"I think we're done," he said, and moved onto the sidewalk. "Two pictures is enough."

"Why are you taking pictures in front of my house?" the woman asked.

"Because this used to be my house," Bruce explained. "I promised my son I'd take a picture in front of it."

"They were here in September," Darcy added.

"You weren't home when we came by the first time, and I didn't want to bother you anyway. It's been a long time since I was here. I've been . . . traveling. I just wanted to see if the house was still here, and not only is it still here, it's still the same. And I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. And I'm babbling, I'm sorry. We'll leave now."

"Are you kidding?" The woman started back up the walk. "Come on in!"

Her name, it turned out, was Alice Munroe. She had bought the house in 1997, the year before Bruce's father had died.

"I knew he wasn't well," she said, "just looking at him. He had that look about him, you know? Like he was just . . . failing. He didn't talk about you much. He said he had a son, but he'd left home a long time ago and hadn't been back."

"I won't trouble you with the details," Bruce said, "but we didn't have a very happy relationship. I couldn't wait to get out of this house."

"Yeah, he went to CalTech and never looked back," added Darcy. "Since then, he's been to Brazil, Ecuador, Mexico, India . . . where else?"

"Wakanda," he said, "though I don't remember much. I was out of it for the last few days before they airlifted me out."

"Oh my goodness! Were you hurt? I heard there was a war going on there!"

"Fortunately, no. It was a virus that cleared up in no time once they brought me back to the States. Worried the heck out of my son. He hasn't let me leave the country without him since."

"How old is your son?"

"Ten and a half. He's in private school in upstate New York."

"You don't look old enough to have a ten and a half year old," she said, and it took Bruce a moment to realize she was talking to Darcy.

"Oh, I'm not his mother," she said. "I'm sort of the big sister/best buddy/bad influence. His mom's . . . gone. Since he was a little kid."

"Oh, that's too bad. Do you have any pictures?"

Bruce showed her the one they had carefully Photoshopped from his Facebook avatar. "That's him. He's tall for his age. Wears a men's XL."

"Sounds like you have your hands full. Would you like the tour now?"

"That would be great."

She showed them around the living room, which had been dark-paneled and was now painted light green, the bright yellow kitchen with new cabinets, the sewing room that had once been Bruce's bedroom. He took a quick look around in that one, but he refused to enter the master bedroom, even though he knew it was all different now.

"Too many bad memories," he said. "And sad ones, too. My mom died when I was eight. For a while, everything reminded me of her. Her perfume, her clothes, the way she would sing to herself while she was cooking dinner . . ."

"I'm sorry there wasn't more happiness for you here," Alice said. "Would you like some cookies to take home with you?"

"What kind of cookies?"

"Peanut butter chocolate chip."

He smiled. "My mother used to bake those. I would sit with her and eat them one by one. I'd love some, thanks."

"You and your peanut butter, Doc," Darcy said, shaking her head.

They made two more stops: one at the cemetery, where Bruce spent a moment at his parents' grave before going to pay his respects to Mrs. Harper; the other at the new high school.

"Maybe tonight," he said, "they'll have pictures of the old school. Just so you could see it. It wasn't half this size."

"Town was a lot smaller then," Darcy pointed out. "They didn't need a big school till all the immigrants moved in and the population exploded."

"It started in my junior year. We got a lot of Asians for some reason. Cambodian, I think, but I could be wrong. Then the Indians. I remember the first Indian family to move onto our block, the Patels. They lived in the brown house diagonally across from us."

"I don't remember a brown house."

"It's white now. Looks like they've added a second floor, too. Things change . . . but they don't really change. Does that make any sense?"

"Maybe."

"I've been all around the world," he said, as they started the long walk back to the hotel. "I've been to exotic places, seen amazing things, done some things I never would have dreamed of. I fought freaking aliens from a hole in the sky two years ago. Why, then, does anything still surprise me? Why do I come back here and expect things to be the same?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Cause you want it to be the same. You want to go back and do it all over again. That's what nostalgia is, the longing for a simpler time. Even though it wasn't the best time of your life, you have some good memories. Hang onto those. That's what tonight's all about. Share those good times with those who were there."

"High school was absolute hell for me. Not so much the classes-I loved my classes-or the other kids, who were mostly nice to me. I just hated having to go home to that house. To him."

"Your dad really messed with your head, didn't he?"

"He created the Hulk. Not the gamma explosion-that was just the catalyst. All that rage, all that frustration, the need to strike out at the whole world-that was him. That was how he dealt with his problems. That's why I've never even raised my voice at my own son. I don't want to repeat his mistakes."

"And you've been great with that! Look at you: you've moved on, you've made a great life for yourself. You're awesome, Doc! So stop looking back at the one part of your life that was a mess. Let him go. When you think of this town, of your high school years, don't think about him. Think about people like Margie, who served you chocolate milkshakes with a smile. Think of Jack the quarterback, who didn't even get mad at you for breaking his arm cause he knew you had your reasons. Think of Mrs. Harper, who took her last breath in the house she called home. Think of your mom, who made peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and always shared them with you."

She stopped and looked up at him. "You've learned the lesson from those dark times. You're an awesome dad. Nay-Nay just loves you. He talks about you all the time. So come out of that room and get on with your life."

"Maybe you're right," he said. "Maybe I should forgive him and move on."

"What time is it?" She pulled out her phone and clicked the button to show the time. "We've got time to go back to the cemetery if you wanna tell him goodbye. Tell him what you've done with your life in spite of him. Tell him that you've stopped letting him hurt you. But do it fast, cause I've gotta get in the shower."

"Maybe tomorrow," he said. "Before we leave. Don't want to keep you from your shower."

"Did you bring your black suit, your brown suit, or your blue suit? Wow, talk about boring."

"The blue suit," he said. "Why? Will it clash with your stunning dress?"

"No, that's fine. It's perfect, in fact. You'll see. Race you!"

Before he knew what was happening, she had taken off running. He ran after her, but she had two decades on him, and he fell behind, panting. His heart was racing, and he forced himself to take deep breaths and calm himself before something . . . green . . . happened.

"Gettin' old, Doc! Can't keep up?"

"Nope. You're gonna have to wait for me."

"You're just letting me win. I know you could beat me if you went all out."

"Let's not test that theory just yet. We've got to get dressed. Which takes me ten minutes, and you, apparently, four hours."

"I told you: hair, makeup, making sure my jewelry doesn't clash. I brought it all cause I didn't know which dress I was gonna wear."

"You brought all your jewelry?"

"What did you think was in that case that was so heavy?"

"I don't know. Shoes?"

"Nope, the shoes are in the carryon. Tell ya what: while I'm taking my time getting dressed, you head back to the cemetery and make your peace with your dad."

"I can't-"

"I'm not letting you leave till you do. See, all these bad feelings you're talking about don't come from other people. Other people all love you. The only one who has a problem with you . . . is you. You gotta let go of all that anger, all that hate, or he wins. You can't run away from it forever. You tried to run away from the Hulk for years, but he kept finding you. Till you did . . . what?"

He saw what she was getting at. "I turned and faced him."

"It's time to do the same with your dad. He's not a monster. In the end, when you get right down to it, he's just a deeply flawed human being. You have to recognize that and forgive him. C'mon, Tony's made peace with his dad. It's your turn."

"All right," he said. "I'll do that. Just make sure the shower's free when I come back."

"Give me time to shave my legs."

"I so did not need to hear that."

So here he was now, back at the cemetery, in front of that stone again. And now, he knew what he had to say.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry I wasn't the son you expected. I'm sorry I didn't want to play ball with you, or go hunting or fishing or all the other things you liked to do. I'm sorry that you couldn't accept me for the person I am. But that's you; that's not me.

"When I couldn't get through to you, all I wanted to do was hurt you. It never occurred to me that you might already be hurting, and just didn't know how to deal with it. I wish you could have talked about it instead of just lashing out at me. I talk to my son all the time about what's bothering him, and I try not to judge him. He is what he is. I think you would have liked him, once you got past his physical appearance, which is totally not his fault.

"I'm sorry that I was so blinded by my need for your approval that I couldn't see how many other people were on my side. Margie . . . Jack . . . George and Kristen . . . I was surrounded by love and I didn't even know it. I know now, and I appreciate having friends . . . having family.

"I'm sorry I never came back to see you before the end. I should have . . . but I couldn't face it all over again. I wish we'd had more time. I wish I could have made peace with you while you were still here. We don't appreciate what we've got till it's gone. And now it's too late to tell you that in spite of everything you've done to me, I have survived. Just like Uncle Nathan, whom I named my son after. Terrible things happened . . . but I survived. And I'm here to tell the tale.

"I'm not afraid of you any more, Dad. I feel sorry for you, sorry that you couldn't be the man you wanted to be. Sorry that you had to numb the pain with two six-packs a night. Sorry that I couldn't help you.

"Goodbye, Dad. I'll see you again someday. And we'll have a lot to talk about."

As he walked back to the hotel, he felt a huge weight lift itself from his soul. Tonight, he would go to the reunion with a clear conscience. He would drink and dance and chat with the old club members about whether Nine was better than Seven or Eleven, and whether there would really ever be a female Doctor. He would watch videos of old football games with the guys who had been on the field. He would toast fallen classmates, and share kid photos.

And he would never again be afraid to come back to this town.

And that was what Springsteen had been getting at in the song. Hanging onto old memories isn't foolish. You remembered the old days, and when you looked back, you realized how far you had come. And you celebrated the teenage you, the person who made you the older person you were now.

No regrets. Not now, not ever again.