Speaker 1: The hat Man by Rebecca Lee Wesson. South of Julesburg
is a stretch of vacant and unspoiled American frontier. Unique
to this place is the way it subtly displays the
untapped potential we so often read about in the journals
of the pioneers who crossed it. There are no bright flowers,
chirping insects, or gentle rains flagrantly boasting these promises. There
are no great rivers or snowcapped mountains in the distance
to serve as a finish line. Instead, one gets the
distinct impression that underneath the deceiving layer of melancholic emptiness
draped across its unremarkable terrain is an indescribable richness. This
hand is remiss in attempting to describe it with words,
knowing that a proper explanation could only ever be accomplished
by a skilled paintbrush or eldritch bird song. There is
something innately mysterious and wonderful about it all. And in
this terrain, permanently washed by deluded blues and grays, no
matter the season or position of the sun in the sky,
we know deeply in our hearts that the land has
a voice, and we desperately beg of it to tell
us the thousands of colorful stories at Hydes just under
the surface, Signed Claude Eugene shaw nineteen forty. My teacher
made me stand up and read that article for smarting off,
and I humiliated myself in front of the rest of
the sixth grade trying to say words like eldritch and melancholic.
I had no idea what it meant, but I liked
the photograph that it came with. It wasn't anything remarkable,
just a dead tree looking out over the low rolling
hills of open land, as big and wide as the
eye could see. But there was something special about it.
To me. It felt familiar. It felt like I had
belonged there all this time, and only by some divine accident,
ended up in the dumpy little town of Price, Missouri.
On the right side of the picture was the front
of mister Claude Eugene Shawl's old nineteen thirties Chevrolet. I
knew it was a Chevrolet because it looked like the
one resting in the junkyard behind Mama's trailer, except the
one in the picture still had its bullet lights and
fenders and didn't have a family of raccoons living in it. Later,
I asked my friend Tina what the article meant. She
was the smartest person I knew. She said that the
place mister Shaw was talking about in northeastern Colorado was
special and had a lot going on under the surface.
She was just as taken with the articles as I
was with the picture, and we decided to see it
one day with our own eyes. That was a big
deal for two girls from the world's worst small town.
We may as well have made a pack to fly
to the moon. Nobody got out of price not alive anyway.
That was the same day the hat man started showing
up in my life. He wasn't the first ghost I
had seen, but he was definitely the only one in
a pin striped suit and bowler hat. There wasn't anything
particularly scary or mean about him except that he was dead,
except that nobody else could see him, except that I
knew he was waiting on me, and that meant I
wouldn't grow old like my best friend. Seven years and
two months later, there we were driving through Nebraska on
our way south of Julesburg, Colorado. Tina Duck taped the
photograph from mister Shaw's article to the dashboard of her car,
and we high tailed it out of Price, like two
inmates busting out of jail, going as quickly as Tina's
old red hatchback would take us. In my lap was
a wooden box with my name, Francis Brenda Hooper stamped
over a hand painted cardinal. I tapped the top of
it with my fingers like a drum to the song
on the radio, looking from the picture on the dash
to Tina and smiling my ass off. It was the
first time in our lives we had left Price, and
it felt good. It felt gooder than good. Even my
mama's relentless, blistering voice had stopped berating me. The hat
man was still following me, though I could see him
in the field, standing there watching me from a distance.
A disco song came on the radio, and I tried
to change the station, but it crackled and garbled under
my clumsy fingers. I couldn't even get that right. Tina
cursed and slammed her fist on the dashboard, eventually getting
the radio to work again. She glanced at me sideways,
and I tried to keep my blundering hands to myself.
Five hours into our escape, we passed by the first
sign for the town of Oglala and I laughed out loud.
Oh my lord, it's real, I said, wide eyed and
looking at Tina. When we mapped our way to Colorado,
we saw Oglala on the map, and I told her
there was no way that place really existed, And each
time I tried to pronounce it, I gagged and swallowed
my tongue, embarrassing myself and desecrating the name of what
was probably an honorable historic town. Tina nearly peter Pants
laughing at me. She smiled in the driver's seat and
shook her head. Now I guess she was having the
same memory as me. She was still mad at me, though,
and I knew why. I wanted to bring it up,
but I couldn't. She wasn't talking to me anyway, not
after what I did. Twenty minutes later, we were in
line at the most wonderful place in the world, the
Oglalla Walmart. Tina may have been giving me the silent treatment,
but I knew she liked me because she was buying
me my favorite jerky and a brand new roll of
duct tape. It was all I ever bought there. I
felt there were a few other things you needed in life.
The guy ahead of us was wearing scrubs, and the
lady behind us smelled like a craft store. Behind her
was the hat man. He looked at me and nodded,
and I turned around quickly, pretending I didn't see him.
Tina and I stood there in silence and waited our turn.
The checkout lady wasn't particularly friendly, but I liked her.
I had long gray brown hair, silver rings on every finger,
and one of those nothing surprises me anymore looks on
her face. When we got closer, I saw she had
a tattoo of a cardinal on her arm. That was
my favorite bird. I elbowed Tina and pointing to it,
but her reaction wasn't what I wanted. She looked away
from it and sniffled, and when it was our turn,
the checkout lady eyed me suspiciously. I shrugged and stood
off to the side, and when our stuff was bagged,
she eyed me again and looked at Tina sympathetically and
wished her a nice day. I didn't take it personally, though,
in my whole life, Tina was the only person who
had ever liked me? In the car again, Tina looked
at me in the box in my lap, wanting to
say something, but having too many words and none at
all at the same time. She opened her glove compartment
for the tissue, but instead found the envelope a note
I had put there for her before we left on
this trip. She paused for a second when she saw it,
and then took it out and opened it. Inside were
three hundred bucks I had saved up for her. She
tried to read the note I wrote on the envelope,
but couldn't make it out. I leaned over and tried
to read my handwriting, but it was pointless, something about
apologizing for hurting her and thanking her for her friendship,
if I remembered it correctly. My appalling lack of vocabulary
made my feelings difficult to describe. Though maybe it was
better an illegible scribble than her witnessing my failed attempt
at being poetic. I sighed at my atrocious penmanship. It
looked like a squirrel had gotten a hold of a crayon.
I know it isn't much, I said, but it'll help
you get settled. Tina stared at her steering wheel, leaned
her head against it and cried. I hung my head
and looked at my hands. Mama was right. No matter
what I did, I messed everything up. And yet after
all that I put Tina through, there she was still
taking me to Colorado. I didn't deserve her. I wish
she'd get mad and yell at me and get it
all off her chest. But she didn't. She wiped her
eyes and put her sunglasses back on, over the mess
and got us back on the highway. Two weeks earlier,
Tina and I were walking down Main Street and Price
gathering everything she needed for school. She had gotten accepted
into college all the way over in Colorado, which was
unheard of for a kid from our town. She was
actually going to leave. Nobody did that. If you weren't
pregnant by sixteen, you were either dead or in jail
by twenty. Not Tina, though she was going places. She
had this innate ability to get through hell with grace
and acceptance. While the rest of us wallowed in our
pitiful fates. Tina found a way to roll up her
sleeves and thrive When we felt stuck in the bubble
of our pitiful town she found a way to get out.
She was just built different, unlike Tina, whose wits and
sensibility never could rub off on me. I knew i'd
never leave Price alive. It didn't bother me though. It
was just one of those things. Some people were meant
to go places, but not me. I had accepted that
fact since I was a kid. There was something wrong
with me anyway. I saw people no one else could,
and the last time I had to spend living with
that unfortunate talent, the better. I waited outside mister Wallace's
computer store while Tina looked for a cord he probably
didn't have a stopped. I watched several cars go by
and waved at people who didn't like me, and squinted
in the hot sun. But as I waited, the noise
slowly faded and the hairs on my arms went rigid,
and I looked down the block and saw the hat
man in his old bowler in suit waiting for me.
I ducked into the narrow alley next to the store
and peeked out, relieved to see that he was gone.
But just as my heart beat went back to normal,
I felt someone in the alley behind me. It wasn't
the hat man, though, it was Mama. Her strain, breathing
in the wreek of stale cigarettes assaulted my senses, turning
my stomach and making my hands quiver. She walked her
fingers up my arm and clutched her lifeless, bony hand
around my shoulder. Give the hat man what he wants, you, twit,
she whispered hatefully into my ear. The smell of her
rotting skin filled my nose, and tears welled in my eyes.
As if her presence in my life when she was
living wasn't hellish enough, she had dedicated her death to torturing
me too. The bell on the door of mister Wallace's
shop rang, and Tina stepped out, looking for me. I
ran out of the alley as fast as I could,
startling her. What's going on, she asked me, worriedly. I
watched Mama's pale, twisted face creep back into the shadow
of the alley, and then looked at Tina, and I
shook my head. I think there's a dead rat in there.
Scared me as all, I said, rubbing my neck and
praying for a subject change. Squeak, squeak, squeak, by miracle,
the most annoying sound in the world filled the air.
We heard Rodney, the deep enemy of women, everywhere before
we saw him. He drove a rustling old Alchemy with
a squeaking suspension and serpentine belt that sounded like it
was ready to snap off. The passenger window was missing,
and there were still old cigarettes in the ash tray
from the previous owner that Rodney refused to throw away
because they quote added to the vibe. He pulled that
beater up next to us on the sidewalk and squeaked
slowly down the parking lane with one hand on the
steering wheel and his head bent low over the passenger
seat to get a word in with Tina, and to
her horror, he had a crush on her since the
eighth grade. Tina, Hey, Tina, He shouted over the wine
of his rustbucket, wearing flaming orange wayfarers and a baseball
hat with the rim bent upward. When he swerved dramatically
back onto the main stretch to avoid mister Wallace's park truck,
Tina took cover in Miss Patty's boutique. Rodney steered back
toward the sidewalk and crept up the parking lane, and
when he looked for Tina again, he got Francis Brenda
Hooper and all her husky goodness instead. I slammed my
hands on the roof of his car and squatted down
next to the passenger door. Hey, I shouted, quickly wedging
my thick torso into the frame of the window before
he could drive off. Rodney screamed like a gopher. What
the hell's wrong with you? Hoop? He said, as my
wide behind stuck out the window and got a free
ride down Main Street. I slapped the hat off his
head and finished his warm coke and the cup holder
for him. I crinkled the can and tried to throw
it out the driver's side window, but I realized too
late that it was rolled up, and the can hit
the glass, hit his knee and fell to the floor
at his feet, and he groaned and rolled his eyes.
Damn it, Hoop, he said, putting his hat back on
his head. My bad, tell me ride, I said, with
one hand on the dash and the other on the
head rest of the passenger seat. You gonna drive yourself
to prison? Or is your mullet gonna take you? Shut up?
Friz Whizz Rodney sneered, it ain't a mullet. Get out
of my car. No way, this is kind of comfortable,
I said, looking around the dusty, cigarette stained cloth interior
and nodding my approval like the real estate people did
on TV. I tried to adjust my stomach to the
window sill, but I couldn't. Anyway, I'm stuck. Where's Tina?
All I wanted to do was tell her goodbye? While
you always got a butt in when I'm talking to her,
he asked, looking like my presence afflicted him in every way.
He veered back onto Main Street again to avoid the
blue sedan. As my feet dragged slowly along the pavement
and pleasantly in tow, one of my flip flops fell
off and my butt knocked into Miss Betty, who was
loading groceries in the back seat of her car. She
dropped a bag of food and hurst at me, and
then through my flip flop at Rodney's bumper. Sorry, Miss
b I shouted over my butt and turned back to Rodney.
You're not allowed to talk to Tina because friends don't
let friends talk to guy's name Rodney driving El Caminos,
I said, grimacing at the old cigarettes I'm pretty sure
had started to decay. Plus, man, you look like this
car smells. I can't let you tarnish the reputation of
Prices star child with your vibe. Shut up, Hope, you
look like an eighties Walmart greeter. I patted my short
and frizzy blonde hair that refused to grow longer than
a couple of inches and tried to figure out what
he meant by that. I guess it was supposed to
be an insult, but it didn't work on me, because,
first of all, the eighties had the best music. Is
this kid really gonna insult me by saying I look
like I'm from the era of def Leopard m Hell? Yes,
and thank you? And second of all, I love Walmart.
Where else can you buy emergency beef jerky and duct
tape at ten pm on a Tuesday? Anyway, since Rodney
gave me a compliment, I returned the favor. Oh yeah, Rodney,
I said, well, you look like you're great President mister
George Washington. Rodney scrunched his nose up and scowled at me.
Why do you always got to be so weird? Who?
He said? I shrugged and looked at my stubby nails.
I don't know, just lucky, I guess, I said, picking
off the last chunk of blue polished Tina put on
the week before. Rodney sighed, still leaving on Saturday, He asked, yeah,
and you're sorry as better stay away from her until then. Hey,
run me into that mirror there, I said, pointing to
the side of view mirrors sticking out of an old,
abandoned Ford that had been parked on the side of
Main Street for the last year. Rodney obliged and steered
toward it. As the mirror hit the side of my butt,
it pushed on my hips and unwdged me from the window.
I stood up and dusted the vibe of the El
Camino off my shirt, and before I could harass him anymore,
Rodney hit the gas and flip me the bird. Peace out, loser,
he said, as he drove away. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I
slapped his bumper with my palm and waved my hand
high in the air. Thanks for the ride, Ridney. Say
hi to your mom for me in jail, I shouted
as loud as I could. Tina caught up with me
and handed me my flip flop and a stick of
fruity gum. Thanks for saving me, she said, what the
rat king want this time? I slid my sandal back
on and shoved the gum in my mouth and bobbed
my head to side with my hands on my hips,
trying to sum up the long winded a philosophical conversationation
Rodney and I had. Oh, you know, his majesty told
me that I'm the coolest person he ever met, and
he wanted to tell you goodbye. Do I smell like
cigarettes now? I asked, holding the front of my t
shirt up to my nose. Tina laughed, It was a joe.
Mama used to smoke inside, and there wasn't a thing
in the entire trailer that didn't smell like newport menthols,
including all the old clothes in her closet. It was
like she went on a shopping spree one time in
nineteen eighty seven, and ever again after that. The day
I turned sixteen, she took a ride on the cowcatcher
of a southbound locomotive, leaving her broken down trailer and
a whole closet full of eighties clothes for me as
a parting gift. Her suicide was kind of a birthday present,
I guess, since she was a frightening person and her
clothes were all that fit me. Anyway, are you coming over?
I want to show you something, Tina said. Ahead of me,
I saw the hat man again. He had a toothpick
in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. I
didn't dare tell Tina about him. I didn't tell her
about any of them. She was my only friend and
I couldn't lose her on account of my being haunted. Yeah,
let's go, I said, turning my head away from the
hat man. As we passed by him, I brushed his
shoulder with mine and felt a sickening chill cascade down
my back. I put my hands in my pocket so
Tina wouldn't see them shake, and pressed my lips together
hard against the feeling of nausea that bubbled up. We
turned down the block to the neighborhood behind Main Street
and walked the broken sidewalk toward Grandma's little bungalow at
the end, and like me, Tina's parents were out of
the picture. Her mom passed away when she was a kid,
and her dad died in a car accident. It wasn't
a unique story, though not for price. Tina's new Hatchback
was in Grandma's driveway. It was probably fifteen years old,
but it had all four wheels. It was painted cardinal
red too, and that's all that mattered. Is this your
getaway car? I asked excitedly. When Tina got accepted into college,
the whole town seemed to celebrate. Kids around here barely
finished high school, much less even attempted to do something
with their lives. She was the star child in our
pitiful little town, and to celebrate her, Grandma bought her
a car. Yep, Tina said, running her hand on the
hood as we walked past it. That's what I wanted
to talk to you about. She sat on the front
porch step and looked at her hands, and I sat
down next to her and waited for her to speak.
Sometimes it took her a minute to compile all her thoughts.
Maybe all smart people were like that. I wouldn't know.
I'm thinking about selling it and getting Grandma her money back,
she said. The hell is all I managed to say.
Why on earth would you do that? You have a
ride out of here? This is all we've ever talked about.
She looked at me and rolled her eyes and stared
at her hands again, because we were supposed to go together,
she said. I looked at my hands too. I knew
i'd never leave Price, and I felt guilty about it.
My heart sank at the thought of saying goodbye to Tina,
and part of me wanted to cry and beg her
to stay. But I couldn't do that to my best friend.
I smiled and elbowed her playfully. You're not staying in
Price for my sorry ass, I said. You know me,
I always find my way. She picked a weed growing
up through the wooden words of the porch and started
fussing with it. You could get a job out there,
she offered. I laughed, what and leave all this, I said,
presenting the Rundown neighborhood around us. Besides Price needs me,
who else is brave enough to protect the neighborhood kids
from the rodneys of the world. Tina threw the weed
on the ground and crossed her arms. Price isn't the
end of the road. Who hell, maybe Julesburg is. Don't
you want to find out for yourself, she said. I
chewed on my lip and pretended to think about what
she said, If I were anyone but me, I would
have said yes. But the funny thing about having a
physically and emotionally abusive alcoholic mother is at some point
you start to believe all the terrible things she said
about you. I was an ugly, overweight, good for nothing,
waste of a child who ruined the motherhood she thought
she deserved. And she let me know what every chance
she got. And as if her feelings about me weren't enough,
everyone in town seemed to share her sentiments about me too.
When I dropped out of school, I don't think my
teachers noticed. That's how it was in price though. If
you fell out of school, there was no one there
to pick you up and put you back. If a
kid liked me disappeared, nobody noticed, and nobody cared. I
sighed heavily and looked at the tattered brown grass in
Grandma's yard. And when the train on the west side
of town cut its horn through the air, I caught
a glimpse of the hat man again at the end
of the block. He looked in the direction of the
train back at me, and rocked on his heels. My
stomach turned again, and I put my hands in my pocket.
Before I started to shake. I felt the folded envelope
in my pocket and thought about giving it to Tina
before it was too late. A few weeks earlier, I
cash my last welfare check and put it in an
envelope with a TOAT scribbled on it. Now, I kept
it in my pocket, waiting for the right time to
give it to her. I wouldn't be needing the money anyway.
I wasn't ready to give it to her yet. Though
I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I made an excuse
to get out of there, and I told Tina i'd
see her tomorrow. I didn't go to Mama's trailer though
I hadn't been there for weeks. The power and water
had been shut off for mines, and the food and
the refrigerated had long since spoiled. I'm pretty sure the
family of raccoons living in the old Chevrolet had moved
in too, But that's not what kept me away. Every
time I tried to sleep, Mama's ghost would appear next
to me in bed, spitting insults and threats. Sometimes other
folks would come around, too, desperate for someone to talk
to who could actually see them, and then dump all
their terrible regrets on me. When the hat man started
showing up more frequently, I gave up ever being able
to sleep again. I walked through the woods to the
railroad tracks. I spent more time there than anywhere else.
I'd stand off to the side, wait for the general
vibration of the rails, and then close my eyes and
guess which way the train would be coming from. When
it would whip by, i'd savor the wosh of air
hitting my skin and get high off the adrenaline rush
of being a little too close. The drivers would hank
their blaring horns at me and yell as they sped by,
but I waved anyway, wondering where they were from, where
they were going, and what it felt like to go places.
When the trees cleared, I walked past my sleeping bag
and cooler full of food and stood next to the rails,
and I closed my eyes and waited for the metal
to start rumbling. It didn't take long until I heard
it north to south, I thought to myself, and crossed
my fingers. I waited till the sound got closer, and
then opened my eyes. It was going in the opposite direction,
and I clicked my teeth and frowned at myself. I
never once had gotten it right. When the blaring horn sounded,
I took a couple of steps back and waved at
the driver as he yelled at me for being too close.
You have a good day, sir, I yelled back, knowing
he couldn't hear me. I watched the box cars speed
by and breathed in the wind and clanging metal rushing
past my face. When several flat cars passed by, I
saw the hat man. He was standing on the other
side of the tracks. Several more box cars passed by,
and he disappeared behind them. When another flat car passed,
I saw him again, this time much closer. I smelled cigarettes,
and the future stench of rotting skin and in chill
exploded up my spine. I clenched my fist and braced
myself for the drawl of mama's nasty voice. Well go on,
she said, ushering me toward the moving train with a
weak nudge. Get it over with. When another set of
flat cars passed by, the hat man was only feet
away from me on the other side of the tracks,
toothpick in his mouth and hands in his pockets. Mama
was behind him. Now, her face twisted into a horrible grin.
She started to cackle, and my legs began to shake.
Even if I could run, I wouldn't. I knew I
couldn't escape the hat Man. I knew Mama's vicious, hostile
voice would be in my head until the day I died.
I clenched my fist even harder and held back a tear.
And when the last the box cars passed by, the
hat Man and Mama were gone. The next day, I
lied to Tina and I told her I'd come to Colorado.
I knew it was the only way to get her
to finish packing. We spent the next couple of days
moving her things out of Grandma's house and squeezing it
all into her hatchbag, taking occasional breaks to meander around
the town for the last time and hide from Rodney.
The hat Man had gone from occasional visits to walking
with me wherever I went, and Mama's voice was a relentless,
horrible ringing in my ears, reminding me that my time
was running short. When the end of the week rolled around,
Tina addressed the elephant in the room and asked where
my stuff was and I told her I didn't have anything,
and she accused me of lying to her. She said
I had never planned on coming and slammed the door
in my face. That was the last interaction I had
with my best friend, a fight. I wanted to explain
everything to her, but the words came out all wrong.
I had a thousand things to tell her, but too
few words to do it. I once read about something
called a Stockholm syndrome. My relationship with my mama and
Price sort of felt like that. I stood there with
my head against the door, knowing I ruined everything and
that Tina wasn't going to leave now. And then I
felt my chaperone behind me. I dug the envelope of
cash out of my pocket and glassd at Tina's car.
And when I turned around to finally acknowledge the hat man,
I saw a cardinal land on Grandma's bird feeder behind him.
I realized something, and I let out a quiet laugh.
The only way to get Tina out of Price now
was to give the hat man what he wanted. As
I walked toward the railroad tracks, a song came into
my head. It was one of the few country songs
I couldn't find a way to make fun of It
was about a guy who came back home from the
war and found out the love of his life had
gotten married. He was heartbroken over it, and no matter
how hard his friends tried to get him to move on,
he gave in to his demons and he took his
own life. Lately, I was feeling sympathetic to the lyrics.
Friends tried to brighten healed the heart in his chest,
but death offered comfort, so he joined him instead. I
walked to the train tracks with a hat man by
my side. I heard my mamma heckling me from the trees,
but this time I tuned her out. I stood in
the center of the rails, closed my eyes and waited
for the subtle vibration of the metal north to south,
I thought to myself. As the locomotive's blaring horn sounded
in my ears, I smiled, and for the first time,
I was about to get something right, and for the
life of me, Tina and I were finally going to
leave Price. When Tina and I crossed the border into Colorado,
I pushed my luck and fussed with the radio, but
the knob gurgled and crackled under my fingers. Tina hit
the dash with her fists and cussed at it and
found a station again. I smiled an awkward apology and
looked at the scenery out the open window that had
changed from wide open Nebraska planes to wide open Colorado planes.
I felt excitement creep up from my stomach, and as
if it shared the feeling, the damn radio crackled again,
and in the field outside my window, I saw the
hat man. When we passed the sign for Julesburg. Tina
pulled off the road on an unmarked exit and made
her way down an old westbound gravel path until it ended.
She put the car in park and we stared out
at the scenery ahead of us. There it was the
same dead tree looking out over the same low rolling hills.
I looked at the picture on the dash and smiled.
We had actually made it. It really is the end
of the road, I said, with a smirk. Tina didn't respond.
She grabbed a jerky and duct tape in one hand
and the cardinal box in the other and got out.
I followed her to the front of the car and
stood behind her with my hand on her shoulder. She
took her sunglasses off and stared ahead at the wide
open terrain, thinking something to herself and coming to a
conclusion or two that she didn't share with me. And
then she opened the box. The funeral home had crewmated
my remains for free because I had had no family,
and Tina paid with her own money for the cardinal
to be handpaided on the urn. She let the wind
spread my ashes for her and cried as the millions
of pieces of Francis Brenda Hooper spread across the plains.
I wanted to comfort her and tell her it wasn't
me and those ashes, that I wasn't bound to that urn.
But she needed to say goodbye to me. She needed
to say goodbye to price. If that's how she needed
to do it, then that was all right with me.
When the box was empty, Tina put the jerky and
duct tape inside and closed it again. She ran her
thumb over the cardinal, and with all of her strength,
she threw that thing as hard as she could into
the grass ahead of her. Then, to my unfathomable relief,
she finally spoke to me. He was writing about you,
you know, Tina said, her voice brake king clawed Eugene Shaw.
He didn't know you, but he was writing about you.
I squeezed her shoulder and felt kind of proud. My
best friend thought mister Shaw's big old words could describe
simple old me. To our right, the hat man appeared,
toothpick in his mouth, hands in his pockets, leaning against
his old Chevrolet with the big fenders and bullet lights.
He stared into the open plane and then looked at
me and tipped his hat. Tina stared at that spot
ahead of her for another minute and sniffled, and then
she wiped her eyes and put her sunglasses on over
the mess. Not a girl. I thought, if any kid
from Price had a chance of making it in the world,
it was her. And when she walked back to the car,
I let her go alone. And then I grinned. Jewelesburg
wasn't the end of the road, it was the beginning.
I let my eyes get lost in the scenery ahead
of me at all sage and slate colored grass had
suddenly erupted in color, and the ground under my feet
was warm and familiar, as if it had been waiting
on me all that time. And I looked at the
hat man. You hear that mister shaw, I asked him,
with a big goofy grin on my face. He took
the toothpick out of his mouth and shook his head curiously.
The only sound was of the light breeze blowing over
the rolling hills. Mama's voice was finally gone. I closed
my eyes and savored the silence. Exactly, I said. Back
in her car, Tina turned the engine on and looked
one last time at the dead tree and rolling hills.
Then she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward over the
dash to see better. Sitting on a branch in the
middle of the tree was a cardinal. It hopped from
branch to branch, higher and higher in the tree until
it reached the top. She heard its hauntingly beautiful trill
and watched it fly toward her. It leaped over the
hood of her care and then took off into the sky.