Enthusiastic
I remember how enthusiastic my literary friend was - how I enjoyed listening to him, but how I argued too much with him on evangelical points. He wanted to remain Catholic; he could have, I know now. He was quoting Teilhard de Chardin - a theologian. I couldn’t remember the points. What he was getting to, I couldn’t understand. I remember visiting his home in Middletown, Delaware. I remember how big his house was, how nice the old homes were on the main street, and meeting his mother. I remember how he came to visit in Rhode Island - it was somehow strange; he arrived all ready, but probably everything was humbler than he expected. The Newport evening out I remember; him liking my sister. Other parts, I can’t remember. But I do remember he was dramatic; things were almost always literary. It was natural that he should become an English professor, even while the road ahead was long. The last I saw him in person, he was going to Ireland, or had just returned.