General Fiction posted April 1, 2024

Chapters:

...5 6 -7- 8 ...

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Well, ain't that somthin'!

A chapter in the book Right in the Eye

Right in the Eye, ch 7

by Wayne Fowler

In the last part Slim and Mary became friends and began to share their histories.
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Mary was fascinated with my tales. I made light of some pretty hair-raisin’ episodes. We found that we enjoyed playing at words with each other. Little word games, the way English words can mean so many different things. She described a game she and her friends played whenever they went to Santa Fe. Bowling. We had fun, me kinda not understandin’ the bowl part on purpose. Like after my first bite of her taters: “These’re awful!” She laughed ‘til she had to hold her belly. She explained that I might want to say awesome, knowing I meant good by the expression of my eye. Then we deliberately said awful for things good just to get a laugh. There was a lot of that sort of palaver. After a few drives that we took, both of us preferrin’ that she did the driving, she asked why every bad move by someone labelled them girls: ‘C’mon, girls, don’t take all day. “Why do they have to be girls?”

I just laughed, not havin’ a good answer. Then she started doin’ the same, just to get a response from me. There was a lot of that, too.

I wasn’t tryin’ to make jokes, but a lotta time I have the habit, or style, of repeatin’ her last word. Somehow she thought that was the most hilarious thing: “Don’t you think that’s funny?” – “Funny.” “Let’s have lunch.” – “Lunch.” “Let’s get you a library card. The bookmobile comes every week.” – “Bookmobile.” (Sometimes I tried to trick her up that way. She thought that was funny.) Truth was, she knew lots more words'n I did. And she was a lot quicker thinkin', too.

And she was funny. And not just with wordplay. Like the first time she did a peculiar contortion and then pulled her bra out from her sleeve. I ‘bout died. After finally settlin’ down, she calmly explained that the girls weren’t much into bondage. She just smiled as I fell plumb outta my chair.

We found each other handily the next several days, always somehow crossing paths. I don’t think it was just my stories of bein’ alert while in a coma, either. Or the things about the last century. I think she liked me as much as I did her. We found the same things humorous. She set another lawn chair beside mine and we’d sit and talk for long stretches. We took walks and hikes every day for the next few. She was helping with my PT, as they called it in the hospital. Around town, up and down small hills outside town, and even across the track where she said Thomas Edison and Teddy Roosevelt had lighted. There was music playing a lot, here and there. I’d catch on to a word in our talkin’ that reminded me of a song, prob’ly some I’d heard in the hospital. She could always come back with the second line and often the whole verse or chorus. Then we’d just resume our talkin’, with silly grins in our voices. When I was followin’ on narrow trails I sometimes misquoted: ‘I’m yer butt watcher’, singin’ it … sort of. Without missin’ a beat she’d : ‘Watchin’ girls go by, Oh, my, my.’ She didn’t offend easily. Not that I wanted to, I was just a little more out there than she was.

Mary got me to read a Louis Lamour book. I told her it was accurate enough, but kinda condensed. That sort of action didn’t happen that often. But mostly, the sex stuff wasn’t like that, in my experience anyway. People weren’t that out there about it. The Zane Grey story was a little too tidy for me, too neatly wrapped up. We also watched some westerns on the television. I told her they were nice stories, but I thought that in reality the bad guy wins more often than not. There was one guy who never lost his hat in a fight. Another who got himself beat near to death before he even started fightin’, then won the fight. And of course, I counted the shots. Why, them guns never run outta bullets. But the horses, oh my Lord. There’d be dead horses all over the plains the way they treat ‘em. But they were funny, I’ll give ‘em that for entertainment. Just as long as you don’t go believin’ it.

+++

“There’s more, Slim,” she said after a couple weeks. “I gave you enough time. We know one another well enough now. What is it? Did you get jilted, and you’re still in love? We hold hands and you’re the perfect gentleman. But I can feel it. Did you do something horrible that you’re embarrassed about? Were you a bandit, posing as a prospector? What? Everyone deserves second chances in life. You have the perfect opportunity.

“I’m going to trust you with what I’ve left out, too.” Mary added. "I'll start. Maybe make it easier for you."

There was a long pause. I was grateful for the time... for lettin’ me decide what to admit to, or figure out how to say it. Whadn’t nothin’ like that. It was her. She was cryin’.

“My ex-husband blamed me for our daughter’s death. MaryLou was what they termed a free spirit. I didn’t want to break that spirit. You know what I mean?”

Naturally, I thought of my LouAnne. How her free spirit was prob’ly what got her into her situation.

“She went to a party one night. The next we saw her was in the morgue. Well, I got the beating of my life. Cracked two ribs and broke one. Bruised my face up pretty good, too.”

I remembered her swollen lip. I thought that she’d had a rough time, alright. Somethin’ to keep back. I guess I sighed, or somethin’.

“That’s not it, though. I told you he was a trucker. Well, he still is. Gets a break every two or three weeks. About half of those he’s close enough to come here. He doesn’t accept that we’re divorced.”

I knew what she was sayin’. I squeezed her hand, raisin’ her up to stand. She was nearly the same height as me. We hugged. Right there in the front of the motel. My lips touched her neck, but I didn’t kiss, as much as I wanted to.

We were both quiet a good little bit. She felt when I was about to speak, interrupting my start. “After supper tonight?” she asked. I agreed.

Supper was the smallest steak I’d ever seen on a plate, but it was all I could handle, what with the pile of her mashed taters.

“There was, is … was and is, I guess. There was a woman here in Cerrillos.” I saw a slight nod. “Her name was LouAnne.”

“Oh, my Lord!” she nearly shouted. “In the 1870’s?” She got up and fetched a picture album. After turning a few pages, she stopped at a town scene of a hundred people, or so. She let me look.

I pointed to a blurry gal on a balcony. Although the focus was on the people at street level, I was sure. “That’s the Yellow Cactus. I can’t make out the face, but I recognize the dress.” It was a Mexican flared thing, one shoulder bare. Her hair was a lot lighter than the other ladies’.

Now, I was cryin’. Quiet like, just tears and a little chokin’ an’ clearin’ my throat.

“I know she was a prostitute,” Mary said.

“Not with me, she wasn’t!” I was a little too adamant. “I loved her. I’d never been with a woman.” Mary knew what I meant. “I wouldn’t do that with her. And I never would after with someone I didn’t love as much as I loved her.” Mary’s eyes told me she understood that I was a 120-year-old virgin. “Seein’ other men use her was more’n I could take. It was either kill them, take her away against her will … I think she’d’ve gone with me, but we’d soon be caught. It wouldn’t go well for her. Anyway, I had to leave. Everything else I told you is true, like I said it.”

“I don’t know the story, but she had a baby, a little girl, my grandmother born in 1880. This picture was at the museum here in town that closed twenty or thirty years ago. My mother got a copy.

“My Lord of Mercy! LouAnne Mitchell! The story goes that she died with no teeth at all. Not a one!” Mary stared at the photo along with Slim. “She never did marry. Had her baby, a girl, and then died shortly after. The baby, my grandmother, was taken in by the folks that owned one of the hotels. She married a farmer whose wife passed in delivery. She was only fourteen, my grandmother.”

I stared at LouAnne. After a moment I said, “I came here to try to, I don’t know, to feel her. Then I don’t know, sit down and die, I guess.”

Mary squeezed my hand, raising me to my feet. This time we did kiss.

“Now we have a problem,” Mary said. “Did you kiss LouAnne, or me?”

“LouAnne,” I choked, knowing that she could sense a lie.

She nodded. “I don’t mind, Slim. I don’t hold it against you. But I want you to know. I won’t allow you to ever kiss another woman again.”

We laughed like crazy people. I looked at Mary, not like she was LouAnne, but like she was Mary.

Not wanting to water down the moment, we went to the kitchen for dessert.

“Slim,” she said. “You can’t afford to live at the motel. I have a spare room. I’m not offering to play married, understand, I just want to get to know you better. If you can’t stay at the motel, I might lose you.”

“How ‘bout I fetch my gear right now?” I asked. We both laughed like crazy people.

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Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben Persons rescued in 1886
Ben Persons: young man with a calling from God
LouAnne: Saloon girl that Slim loved/idolized.
Marian (Mary): Cerrillos motel owner
MaryLou: Mary's daughter

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Well, ain't that somthin'!

A chapter in the book Right in the Eye

Right in the Eye, ch 7

by Wayne Fowler

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