“For heaven’s sake,” Ruby said, somewhat appalled. “Where are our manners? What’s your name, honey? Where you from?”
“I’m Susan. I live in northeast Texas, and I teach at a college in a little town of about 8500 people. It’s a sweet town, a little on the downslide, but we’re working on it. It’s not easy in this economy, though. And it is hot there! We have to water our foundations so they won’t shift and crack. We usually have an invasion of crickets in the early fall. I once saw a fellow with a leaf blower blowing the crickets off the wall of the bank.” I paused and took a breath. I hadn’t had a substantive conversation since lunch at Casper’s in Tea Party, TX.
“Sounds like a nice place to live,” Vic said. The others nodded in agreement. “We’re from Forsythe, Missouri, and like Lucian said, we go to the Walt-Con every year. We’re already planning on the next one. Maybe you’d like to join us.” She paused. “Least-ways I guess you’re a Walt fan considering you got that book.”
I clasped my book to my chest. “I’d love to go. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there in my tiny trailer.”
“What book you on?” asked Vic, “cuz we got a rule that we don’t give out no spoilers.”
I looked at my book and then at the group a little sheepishly. “I’m only on the first book. It’s taking me a long time because I’m not reading it. I’m listening to it—George Guidall’s narration is unsurpassed—and I keep going back to the beginning because I want to make this last as long as possible. Right now, Walt’s in the middle of a blizzard and a whole lot of trouble.”
“That’s all right,” said Sancho. “We’ve all done the same thing. How many times you read The Cold Dish, Dorothy?”
“Ten,” she responded. “Now I’ve established myself a pattern. Before I read the next book, I re-read them that come before it. And now, he’s got a new one coming out pretty soon, so I’ll start all over again. What’s that new book Henry?”
“Hell is Empty. He has taken the title from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Yes.”
“That’s right,” said Dorothy. “Walt’s a whiz at intertextuality.” They nodded their agreement.
“And have you noticed the way he perceives women?” asked Ruby. “He likes women. I don’t mean likes women—but he does, don’t get me wrong there, not with all that sexual tension between him and Vic—I mean he gets us, even if he doesn’t know what to do with us.” She thought for a moment and said a little wistfully, “My favorite line is when he says ‘I thought about how it’s a woman’s lot to be dismissed by men.’ How does he know that?”
“I know! said Vic. “My favorite line is when he says—now how does that go? Let me think. He’s talking to Isaac in Death Without Company.”
“Yes,” Henry said slowly. “That title is taken from a Basque proverb. Another intertextual reference, though somewhat obscure.”
Vic continued. “I got it. When he says ‘everything to do with women is foolish and, therefore, absolutely essential.’ Course, I could say the same thing about men, but I’m not sure how ‘absolutely essential’ they are,” she said and chugged a full beer, crushed the empty can in her hand, and put it in a recycling bin.
“I can’t wait to meet him.” The words slipped through my lips like an otter through water. Everyone stopped and stared at me as though I had taken a shit on their shrine. “I mean Craig Johnson. I’m sure he’ll come to Dallas sometime.” But it was too late.
“I know who you are,” Lucian said and pointed at me, accusation written all over his face. “You’re that crazy chick that’s blogging”—he said the word with such vehemence—“about going to see Walt like he’s real. Christ! He’s not real! Do you need to be medicated? Are you on crack or something? Or do you just not respect him?”
Spit flew from his mouth with the word “respect,” and then he deftly spat, missing my Givenchy cowboy boot by a quarter of an inch. I wasn’t sure if by “him,” Lucian meant Walt or Craig. That’s the trouble with pronouns.
“No. That’s not me. I’m going to. Umm. Montana. Umm. To. Umm See a man about a horse.” Even I knew I hadn’t convinced anyone. I was no good at telling lies or fictions.
“You know what Walt says?” hissed Dorothy. “He says that ‘maybe half truths were all you got in this life.’ He’s wrong. We don’t get no truth from people like you. You git out of here! Now! Git! Before we hurt you girl. Git!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, deflated, shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” I walked toward Walt, slowly, not caring if they came after me.
“Did she touch the shrine?” asked Ruby.
“We need to burn the chair she sat in,” added Lucian.
“To think we shared our beer with her!” Sancho said, his voice trembling.
I reached Walt and didn’t have the heart to ride him home. Instead, I walked with him. A lonely tear slid down my cheek; a bit of snot escaped my nose. I liked these people. I wanted to exchange X-mas cards with them and hear about their children’s birthdays. Even worse, I would have to attend Walt-Con in disguise and wouldn’t be able to get credit for a conference paper on my vita.
Doubts nagged me. Am I delusional? Do I need to be medicated? I’m already medicated. I don’t think Donna (see e-mail from D-O) would call this crazy talk, but maybe she would. I don’t know.
After about three miles of chastising and then flogging myself with the branch of a pine tree (it didn’t hurt at all—it was closer to a metaphorical flogging), I stopped and looked at Walt. I was reminded of a book my mother had read to me as a child, The Little Engine that Could by Watty Piper. What kind of name is Watty? Anyway, the Engine’s mantra at the beginning is “I think I can.” He then discovers he can. Piss on “think I can.” That’s a sign of weakness. I will. I will. I will meet Walt. I held my fist to the sky, similar to the way Scarlett does in Gone with the Wind, and swore to the trees, the moon, and the stars, “As God is my witness . . .” you know the rest.* Just replace “never be hungry again” with “never be hungry for Walt again.” See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lMmHUnPJ3Is&feature=related
I took a deep breath, mounted Walt, and revved him to life, thus reaffirming my dreams. I would travel this dark path no longer. I am alive, and Walt is real. A light shone on a new path, directing me to my future. I was reborn and needed some biscuits and spicy sausage gravy.
*See also a Sims version, which, unlike Gone with the Wind, can be embedded.
*See also a Sims version, which, unlike Gone with the Wind, can be embedded.
No comments:
Post a Comment