Friday, August 19, 2005

Two Weeks Ago

Two weeks ago to the day, we came by this place. It was hot. We were hungry. And we stopped to eat at that restaurant on the other side of the street.

The waitress asked if she could bring us drinks, and she gave us our menus. She had a plain face, bad teeth, a long skirt, and a hairdo from a bygone time. But her smile was sincere, and she looked at each one of us directly as she spoke. She told us that she was working two jobs: one there and one at the store next door.

I've got to run over there and get something, she told us after she had turned in our order, and sure enough, she walked out the front door only to return after a short while.

What did you get? I asked.

Pens, she said, holding one up as she wrote out our bill. Now she had my attention.

I don't like using my purple one for this, she confessed, pointing to the purple gel pen in her apron pocket. Purple is my favorite color. And she told us about her fiancee and how she painted his living room purple, even though it wasn't her apartment. And she smiled as she spoke.

But that was two weeks ago, and today we're not hungry. And the restaurant and the city limits are already behind us.

Ahead of us is the Red River and then Texas. And hours beyond that is home -- home that we left two weeks ago to the day.

---
sometime in July 2005
McAlester, OK


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On Our Way Home

Beside the forested hill, between the fingers of the long lake, a railroad track runs southbound thru hot Oklahoma. Next to it, the highway takes us to Texas.

In the median between the pavement and the rails, a red pickup truck is pulled off the concrete. No one is in it. Its doors are shut, but the windows are rolled down.

Where is the driver? Walking in the woods on the hill? Fishing by the shore on the other side?

In the blink of an eye, our car passes by, and the red truck is behind us. And the hill. And the lake. And soon ... Oklahoma.

We're on our way home.


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