Part 2.
When we last left Guy, in his sheer desperation to help his
slowly starving family during the Great Depression and Dust Bowl years in
Okalahoma in the 1930’s, he had retrieved his 22-caliber pistol he’d stashed a
couple of years ago high on a shelf in his bedroom closet. The pistol had never
crossed him mind in that time until now. Even as he held it there, he still had
no solid plan.
It was in his genes to have anything he used be in top
condition, so he took it back to the bed and after finding some old rags and
some oil, he started the process of cleaning every inch till he could see his
dirty face in it’s surface. Then after repeating the process on the inside with
a cleaning rod, he was ready.
During the chore, he slowly developed a plan. He had no
intention of doing anyone harm, much less shooting anyone, so he didn’t load
the gun. His plan was to take a bath, wash and comb his unkempt hair, then
dress in what clean cloths he could find, to be properly attired for what he
was about to do.
Then he’d walk back to town, go into the local grocery store
and using the gun as intimidation, rob the place of all the bags of food he
could carry back. Then when he’d deposited the food back at their farmhouse, he
would turn himself in to the local sheriffs office.
Even as hungry as he was, he figured sooner or later, they
would be forced to feed him, so he wouldn’t touch any of the food. That way his
family could eat well, at least this once.
So after bathing, shaving and combing his hair, he stuck the
pistol in his pants under his shirt and then stood looking at himself in the
full-length mirror on the wall for a moment. “Wow!” If he hadn’t almost forgot
how, he would’ve chuckled at what he saw standing there. “I haven’t looked this
good in months. At least I’ll look good in the mug shot they take.”
“Well,” He thought. “I guess this is it.”
Then he headed for the bedroom door and after glancing back
at himself one last time in the wall mirror, he stepped into the living room,
then out through the front door. He found himself standing there on the front
porch with conflicting thoughts bouncing around his brain like ricocheting
bullets in an old cowboy movie he’d seen once.
Should he really do this? Maybe he should put the damn
pistol away and try and think of some other way to help the family but he’d
been struggling with this for days now and there was no other way he could
think of that would at least temporally feed his family, so…
He straightened his shoulders and stepped off the steps onto
the dirt once more. As soon as his foot touched the dust laying there like
sifted flower, the little cloud immediately swirled up his pant leg, once again
tinting it the god awful gray he was so sick of. That and the sweat already
running down his back reminded him that by the time he arrived back in town,
his attempt to look nice would be for naught.
“Oh well.” He grimaced. “Nothing to be done about it.”
So off he started down the dirt road in the deep silence the
dust caused with each step.
He didn’t get very far when he heard someone up ahead
yelling out something he couldn’t quite yet make out.
Squinting his eyes against the ever present dust in the air
and rising heat, he could just start to make out someone running full blast
toward him on the dirt road just arrived from the main road.
He couldn’t make out whom yet, but whoever it was, he was
still screaming out something he still couldn’t make out.
At that point he stopped walking to try and make some sense
out of what he was seeing and hearing. That’s when the first words slowly
became clearer. It hit him then who it was. It was his older brother Lester and
what he was shouting hit him like a ton of bricks and froze him in his now
dirty tracks.
After another moment it was clear. He was shouting. “I got a
job! I got a job! I got a job!” He was shouting those same words over and over
and over like a stuck record.
Guy’s well-hidden but real desire to break out crying in joy
came dangerously close to the surface then but by god “Men don’t cry God
damnit!” His mind screamed him back into some semblance of control.
By then Lester ran up and grabbed Guy in a humongous bear
hug, then grabbed his hands and swung them both in great circles of joy, all
the while continuing to scream out “I got a job Guy! I got a Goddamn job!
After extracting himself from Lester’s over exuberant embrace
and listening to all the details of Lester’s job, Guy quietly turned back
toward the house, walked into the bedroom and then into the closet. After he wrapped the now clean shining pistol
in a rag, on his tiptoes, he once again laid it back into its place there.
Next he walked into the bathroom, turned and locked the door
and then sat on the toilet and couldn’t help himself. He silently wept until
there was nothing left there.
Then he washed his face and went back into the house where
Lester was still turning in joyous circles like some crazy dancer from some
other exotic country.
As he sat himself down on one of the kitchen chairs, all he
could do was gently smile at fates amazing grace.
To be continued:
