“Trent, a loud confrontation like this is completely out of place at a community gathering,” Arthur said, holding both hands out at his waist.

“Shut up, old man, before I break your glasses,” Trent said, never turning his head.

Arthur stopped in mid-step, his hand still resting on the bridge of his glasses, and didn’t say another word.

I put my white paper plate down on the wooden picnic bench behind me.

I undid the cuffs of my old Sears flannel shirt, taking my time with every plastic button.

I unbuttoned the shirt all the way down from collar to hem, slid my arms out of the sleeves, and folded the heavy flannel neatly over the bench seat.