These things made me feel good on Friday:
• Searching for the repair shop in the morning, I saw three kids walking slowly by the road in town. Two girls—an older brunette teen and a blonde younger one, unsmiling. Desultory, and sultry—both in skirts, both with huge orange tiger lillies in their hair. The blonde 9 year old brother, head down, smiling about something, following.
• We stopped at the family restaurant in the truck stop. Went into the now familiar smell of cigarette smoke and food. Passing the salad bar, I spotted homemade. Homemade coleslaw. That's what I ordered. Then the french fries I saw on their way to another table. Since Andre had finished his peach cobbler a la mode, we shared the fries. Another gray-haired couple, older than we were, sat down together. When she got up to go to the salad bar, I saw her from the back, long-legged in jeans. I traveled right into the wide open spaces of her brown-toned western shirt: one horse, some mountains, big sky. Perfect. After awhile he got up and headed toward the salad bar. Same shirt. Same strangely engaging fantasy.
• I drove in the heat, wind and passing tractor trailer trucks tearing at me. No other music. The Bounder held steady at 58mph. Even following, I was so free. The sun got redder and redder. Sank. Dusk returned. We made it to Joplin. Past Joplin. No traffic, no towns. Near the Arkansas state line, the air, already smelling more familiar since Missouri, changed. In the dark that smell took me home.
• From the McDonald's parking lot in Arkansas, I took the lead. It was dark. Traffic was heavy. I left messages for my sister, We are coming tonight after all. And I looked again at the directions, and remembered park near the gas pumps. The Bounder followed so slowly, the Friday night traffic speeding by. Familiar towns. Then Jeanie called back from the mall, and they're on the way to meet us. Six exits for Fayetteville. Finally ours, right turn at the end. Straining to see, to find the Wal-mart sign, the last stoplight, the last turn into the lot. Parking beside the Bounder. Andre comes out smiling with Elvis. I get the eager Sam, then Phuphuu. No sign of Jeanie and Bob. Sam happily exploring dark patches on the asphalt, snatching something up and gulping it down, moving on. We stand between the car and the Bounder. A van noses up the steep lane by the gas pumps. I see the outline of my sister, her hand waving. Bob at the wheel. The doors open. She is tall, cool in her shorts and t-shirt, her beautiful gray hair just cut. Smiling. Hugging me tight. Bob and Andre hugging. Bob and me hugging. Jeanie and Andre hugging. Happiness and relief bloom in a parking lot. Later, Jeanie tells me— touching her chest—she told Andre, you will have a special place in my heart. She says he said, I delivered her to you. Something like that.
• Searching for the repair shop in the morning, I saw three kids walking slowly by the road in town. Two girls—an older brunette teen and a blonde younger one, unsmiling. Desultory, and sultry—both in skirts, both with huge orange tiger lillies in their hair. The blonde 9 year old brother, head down, smiling about something, following.
• We stopped at the family restaurant in the truck stop. Went into the now familiar smell of cigarette smoke and food. Passing the salad bar, I spotted homemade. Homemade coleslaw. That's what I ordered. Then the french fries I saw on their way to another table. Since Andre had finished his peach cobbler a la mode, we shared the fries. Another gray-haired couple, older than we were, sat down together. When she got up to go to the salad bar, I saw her from the back, long-legged in jeans. I traveled right into the wide open spaces of her brown-toned western shirt: one horse, some mountains, big sky. Perfect. After awhile he got up and headed toward the salad bar. Same shirt. Same strangely engaging fantasy.
• I drove in the heat, wind and passing tractor trailer trucks tearing at me. No other music. The Bounder held steady at 58mph. Even following, I was so free. The sun got redder and redder. Sank. Dusk returned. We made it to Joplin. Past Joplin. No traffic, no towns. Near the Arkansas state line, the air, already smelling more familiar since Missouri, changed. In the dark that smell took me home.
• From the McDonald's parking lot in Arkansas, I took the lead. It was dark. Traffic was heavy. I left messages for my sister, We are coming tonight after all. And I looked again at the directions, and remembered park near the gas pumps. The Bounder followed so slowly, the Friday night traffic speeding by. Familiar towns. Then Jeanie called back from the mall, and they're on the way to meet us. Six exits for Fayetteville. Finally ours, right turn at the end. Straining to see, to find the Wal-mart sign, the last stoplight, the last turn into the lot. Parking beside the Bounder. Andre comes out smiling with Elvis. I get the eager Sam, then Phuphuu. No sign of Jeanie and Bob. Sam happily exploring dark patches on the asphalt, snatching something up and gulping it down, moving on. We stand between the car and the Bounder. A van noses up the steep lane by the gas pumps. I see the outline of my sister, her hand waving. Bob at the wheel. The doors open. She is tall, cool in her shorts and t-shirt, her beautiful gray hair just cut. Smiling. Hugging me tight. Bob and Andre hugging. Bob and me hugging. Jeanie and Andre hugging. Happiness and relief bloom in a parking lot. Later, Jeanie tells me— touching her chest—she told Andre, you will have a special place in my heart. She says he said, I delivered her to you. Something like that.
posted by Susan at 5:23 PM
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