Archive 203 - The Hat Man by Rebecca Lee Wesson

Archive 203
The Hat Man 
A Short Story by Rebecca Lee Wesson
Author of No Good Man available on Amazon,
and the fictional podcast, The River Stills Phenomenon.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:10):
The hat Man by Rebecca Lee Wesson. South of Julesburg
is a stretch of vacant and unspoiled American frontier. Unique
to this place is the way it subtly displays the
untapped potential we so often read about in the journals
of the pioneers who crossed it. There are no bright flowers,

(00:33):
chirping insects, or gentle rains flagrantly boasting these promises. There
are no great rivers or snowcapped mountains in the distance
to serve as a finish line. Instead, one gets the
distinct impression that underneath the deceiving layer of melancholic emptiness
draped across its unremarkable terrain is an indescribable richness. This

(00:58):
hand is remiss in attempting to describe it with words,
knowing that a proper explanation could only ever be accomplished
by a skilled paintbrush or eldritch bird song. There is
something innately mysterious and wonderful about it all. And in
this terrain, permanently washed by diluted blues and grays, no

(01:20):
matter the season or position of the sun in the sky,
we know deeply in our hearts that the land has
a voice, and we desperately beg of it to tell
us the thousands of colorful stories at Hydes just under
the surface, Signed Claude Eugene Shaw, nineteen forty. My teacher

(01:43):
made me stand up and read that article for smarting off,
and I humiliated myself in front of the rest of
the sixth grade trying to say words like eldritch and melancholic.
I had no idea what it meant, but I liked
the photograph that it came with. It wasn't anything remarkable,
just a dead tree looking out over the low rolling

(02:04):
hills of open land, as big and wide as the
eye could see. But there was something special about it.
To me. It felt familiar. It felt like I had
belonged there all this time, and only by some divine accident,
ended up in the dumpy little town of Price, Missouri.
On the right side of the picture was the front

(02:26):
of mister Claude Eugene Shaw's old nineteen thirties Chevrolet. I
knew it was a Chevrolet because it looked like the
one resting in the junkyard behind Mama's trailer, except the
one in the picture still had its bullet lights and
fenders and didn't have a family of raccoons living in it.

(02:46):
Later I asked my friend Tina what the article meant.
She was the smartest person I knew. She said that
the place mister Shaw was talking about in northeastern Colorado
was special, had a lot going on under the surface.
She was just as taken with the articles as I
was with the picture, and we decided to see it

(03:08):
one day with our own eyes. That was a big
deal for two girls from the world's worst small town.
We may as well have made a pack to fly
to the moon. Nobody got out of price not alive anyway.
That was the same day the hat man started showing
up in my life. He wasn't the first ghost I

(03:31):
had seen, but he was definitely the only one in
a pin striped suit and bowler hat. There wasn't anything
particularly scary or mean about him except that he was dead,
except that nobody else could see him, except that I
knew he was waiting on me, and that meant I

(03:51):
wouldn't grow old like my best friend. Seven years and
two months later, there we were driving through in the
brass on our way south of Julesburg, Colorado. Tina Duck
taped the photograph from mister Shaw's article to the dashboard
of her car, and we high tailed it out of Price,
like two inmates busting out of jail, going as quickly

(04:15):
as Tina's old red hatchback would take us. In my
lap was a wooden box with my name, Francis Brenda
Hooper stamped over a hand painted cardinal. I tapped the
top of it with my fingers like a drum to
the song on the radio, looking from the picture on
the dash to Tina and smiling my ass off. It

(04:38):
was the first time in our lives we had left Price,
and it felt good. It felt gooder than good. Even
my mama's relentless, blistering voice had stopped berating me. The
hat man was still following me, though I could see
him in the field, standing there watching me from a distance.
A disco song came on the ra and I tried

(05:01):
to change the station, but it crackled and garbled under
my clumsy fingers. I couldn't even get that right. Tina
cursed and slammed her fist on the dashboard, eventually getting
the radio to work again. She glanced at me sideways,
and I tried to keep my blundering hands to myself.
Five hours into our escape, we passed by the first

(05:23):
sign for the town of Oglala and I laughed out loud.
Oh my lord, it's real, I said, wide eyed and
looking at Tina. When we mapped our way to Colorado,
we saw Oglala on the map, and I told her
there was no way that place really existed, And each
time I tried to pronounce it, I gagged and swallowed

(05:45):
my tongue, embarrassing myself and desecrating the name of what
was probably an honorable historic town. Tina nearly peter pants
laughing at me. She smiled in the driver's seat and
shook her head. I guess she was having the same
memory as me. She was still mad at me, though,
and I knew why. I wanted to bring it up,

(06:07):
but I couldn't. She wasn't talking to me anyway, not
after what I did. Twenty minutes later, we were in
line at the most wonderful place in the world, the
Oglalla Walmart. Tina may have been giving me the silent treatment,
but I knew she liked me because she was buying
me my favorite jerky and a brand new roll of

(06:29):
duct tape. It was all I ever bought there. I
felt there were a few other things you needed in life.
The guy ahead of us was wearing scrubs, and the
lady behind us smelled like a craft store. Behind her
was the hat man. He looked at me and nodded,
and I turned around quickly, pretending I didn't see him.

(06:50):
Tina and I stood there in silence and waited our turn.
The checkout lady wasn't particularly friendly, but I liked her.
She had long gray brown hair, silver rings on every finger,
and one of those nothing surprises me anymore looks on
her face. When we got closer, I saw she had

(07:10):
a tattoo of a cardinal on her arm. That was
my favorite bird. I elbowed Tina and pointing to it,
but her reaction wasn't what I wanted. She looked away
from it and sniffled, and when it was our turn,
the checkout lady eyed me suspiciously. I shrugged and stood
off to the side, and when our stuff was bagged,

(07:33):
she eyed me again and looked at Tina sympathetically and
wished her a nice day. I didn't take it personally, though,
in my whole life, Tina was the only person who
had ever liked me? In the car again, Tina looked
at me in the box in my lap, wanting to
say something, but having too many words and none at

(07:56):
all at the same time. She opened her glove compartant
for the tissue, but instead found the envelope a note
I had put there for her before we left on
this trip. She paused for a second when she saw it,
and then took it out and opened it. Inside were
three hundred bucks I had saved up for her. She

(08:16):
tried to read the note I wrote on the envelope,
but couldn't make it out. I leaned over and tried
to read my handwriting, but it was pointless, something about
apologizing for hurting her and thanking her for her friendship,
if I remembered it correctly. My appalling lack of vocabulary
made my feelings difficult to describe. Though maybe it was

(08:39):
better an illegible scribble than her witnessing my failed attempt
at being poetic. I sighed at my atrocious penmanship. It
looked like a squirrel had gotten a hold of a crayon.
I know it isn't much, I said, but it'll help
you get settled. Tina stared at her steering wheel, leaned

(09:00):
her head against it and cried. I hung my head
and looked at my hands. Mama was right. No matter
what I did, I messed everything up. And yet after
all that I put Tina through, there she was still
taking me to Colorado. I didn't deserve her. I wish
she'd get mad and yell at me and get it

(09:22):
all off her chest, but she didn't. She wiped her
eyes and put her sunglasses back on, over the mess
and got us back on the highway. Two weeks earlier,
Tina and I were walking down Main Street and Price
gathering everything she needed for school. She had gotten accepted

(09:42):
into college all the way over in Colorado, which was
unheard of for a kid from our town. She was
actually going to leave. Nobody did that. If you weren't
pregnant by sixteen, you were either dead or in jail
by twenty. But not Tina. Though she was going places.

(10:03):
She had this innate ability to get through hell with
grace and acceptance. While the rest of us wallowed in
our pitiful fates, Tina found a way to roll up
her sleeves and thrive when we felt stuck in the
bubble of our pitiful town. She found a way to
get out. She was just built different, unlike Tina, whose

(10:25):
wits and sensibility never could rub off on me. I
knew i'd never leave Price alive. It didn't bother me though.
It was just one of those things. Some people were
meant to go places, but not me. I had accepted
that fact since I was a kid. There was something
wrong with me anyway. I saw people no one else could,

(10:48):
and the less time I had to spend living with
that unfortunate talent, the better. I waited outside mister Wallace's
computer store while Tina looked for a cord he probably
didn't have it stopped. I watched several cars go by
and waved at people who didn't like me, and squinted
in the hot sun. But as I waited, the noise

(11:11):
slowly faded and the hairs on my arms went rigid,
and I looked down the block and saw the hat
man in his old bowler in suit waiting for me.
I ducked into the narrow alley next to the store
and peeked out, relieved to see that he was gone.
But just as my heart beat went back to normal,

(11:31):
I felt someone in the alley behind me. It wasn't
the hat man, though, it was Mama. Her strain, breathing
in the wreek of stale cigarettes assaulted my senses, turning
my stomach and making my hands quiver. She walked her
fingers up my arm and clutched her lifeless, bony hand

(11:52):
around my shoulder. Give the hat man what he wants, you, twit,
she whispered hatefully into my ear. The smell of her
rotting skin filled my nose, and tears welled in my eyes.
As if her presence in my life when she was
living wasn't hellish enough, she had dedicated her death to

(12:12):
torturing me too. The bell on the door of mister
Wallace's shop rang, and Tina stepped out, looking for me.
I ran out of the alley as fast as I could,
startling her. What's going on, she asked me, worriedly. I
watched Mama's pale, twisted face creep back into the shadow
of the alley, and then looked at Tina, and I

(12:34):
shook my head. I think there's a dead rat in there.
Scared me as all, I said, rubbing my neck and
praying for a subject change. Squeak squeak, squeak. By miracle,
the most annoying sound in the world filled the air.
We heard Rodney, the deep enemy of women, everywhere before

(12:55):
we saw him. He drove a rustling old el Camino
with a squeaking suspension and serpentine belt that sounded like
it was ready to snap off. The passenger window was missing,
and there were still old cigarettes in the ash tray
from the previous owner that Rodney refused to throw away
because they quote added to the vibe. He pulled that

(13:19):
beater up next to us on the sidewalk and squeaked
slowly down the parking lane with one hand on the
steering wheel and his head bent low over the passenger
seat to get a word in with Tina, and to
her horror, he had a crush on her since the
eighth grade. Tina, Hey, Tina, He shouted over the wine

(13:40):
of his rustbucket, wearing flaming orange wayfarers and a baseball
hat with the rim bent upward. When he swerved dramatically
back onto the main stretch to avoid mister Wallace's park truck,
Tina took cover in Miss Patty's boutique. Rodney steered back
towards the sidewalk and crept up the park lane, and

(14:00):
when he looked for Tina again, he got Francis Brenda
Hooper and all her husky goodness instead. I slammed my
hands on the roof of his car and squatted down
next to the passenger door. Hey, I shouted, quickly wedging
my thick torso into the frame of the window before
he could drive off. Rodney screamed like a gopher. What

(14:23):
the hell's wrong with you? Hoop? He said, as my
wide behind stuck out the window and got a free
ride down Main Street. I slapped the hat off his
head and finished his warm coke and the cup holder
for him. I crinkled the can and tried to throw
it out the driver's side window, but I realized too
late that it was rolled up, and the can hit

(14:44):
the glass, hit his knee and fell to the floor
at his feet, and he groaned and rolled his eyes.
Damn it, hoop, he said, putting his hat back on
his head. My bad, tell me ride, I said, with
one hand on the dash and the other on the
headrest to the passenger seat. You gonna drive yourself to prison?
Or is your mullet gonna take you. Shut up, Friz whizz.

(15:07):
Rodney sneered, it ain't a mullet. Get out of my car.
No way, this is kind of comfortable, I said, looking
around the dusty, cigarette stained cloth interior and nodding my
approval like the real estate people did on TV. I
tried to adjust my stomach to the window sill, but
I couldn't. Anyway, I'm stuck. Where's Tina. All I wanted

(15:31):
to do was tell her goodbye? While you always got
a butt in when I'm talking to her, he asked,
looking like my presence afflicted him in every way. He
veered back onto Main Street again to avoid the blue sedan.
As my feet dragged slowly along the pavement and pleasantly
in tow, one of my flip flops fell off and

(15:52):
my butt knocked into Miss Betty, who was loading groceries
in the back seat of her car. She dropped a
bag of food and cursed at me, and then through
my flip flop at Rodney's bumper. Sorry, miss b I
shouted over my butt and turned back to Rodney. You're
not allowed to talk to Tina because friends don't let
friends talk to guy's name Rodney driving El Caminos, I said,

(16:16):
grimacing at the old cigarettes I'm pretty sure had started
to decay. Plus, man, you look like this car smells.
I can't let you tarnish the reputation of Prices star
child with your vibe. Shut up, Hope, you look like
an eighties Walmart greeter. I patted my short and frizzy

(16:36):
blonde hair that refused to grow longer than a couple
of inches and tried to figure out what he meant
by that. I guess it was supposed to be an insult,
but it didn't work on me, because, first of all,
the eighties had the best music. Is this kid really
gonna insult me by saying I look like I'm from
the era of def Leopard Hell? Yes, and thank you?

(17:00):
And second of all, I love Walmart. Where else can
you buy emergency beef jerky and duct tape at ten
pm on a Tuesday. Anyway, since Rodney gave me a compliment,
I returned the favor. Oh yeah, Rodney, I said, well,
you look like you're great President mister George Washington. Rodney

(17:21):
scrunched his nose up and scowled at me. Why do
you always got to be so weird? Who, he said.
I shrugged and looked at my stubby nails. I don't know,
just lucky, I guess, I said, picking off the last
chunk of blue polished Tina put on the week before.
Rodney sighed, still leaving on Saturday, He asked, yeah, and

(17:45):
you're sorry as better stay away from her until then. Hey,
run me into that mirror there, I said, pointing to
the side of view mirrors sticking out of an old,
abandoned Ford that had been parked on the side of
Main Street for the last year. Rodney obliged and steered
toward it. As the mirror hit the side of my butt,

(18:06):
it pushed on my hips and unweddged me from the window.
I stood up and dusted the vibe of the El
Camino off my shirt, and before I could harass him anymore,
Rodney hit the gas and flip me the bird. Peace out, loser,
he said, as he drove away. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I

(18:27):
slapped his bumper with my palm and waved my hand
high in the air. Thanks for the ride, Ridney. Say
hi to your mom for me in jail, I shouted
as loud as I could. Tina caught up with me
and handed me my flip flop and a stick of
fruity gum. Thanks for saving me, she said, what the
rat king want this time? I slid my sandal back

(18:50):
on and shoved the gum in my mouth and bobbed
my head side to side with my hands on my hips,
trying to sum up the long winded a philosophical conversation
RO and I had. Oh, you know, his majesty told
me that I'm the coolest person he ever met, and
he wanted to tell you goodbye. Do I smell like
cigarettes now? I asked, holding the front of my t

(19:12):
shirt up to my nose. Tina laughed, It was a joe.
Mama used to smoke inside, and there wasn't a thing
in the entire trailer that didn't smell like newport menthols,
including all the old clothes in her closet. It was
like she went on a shopping spree one time in
nineteen eighty seven, and ever again after that. The day

(19:35):
I turned sixteen, she took a ride on the cowcatcher
of a southbound locomotive, leaving her broken down trailer and
a whole closet full of eighties clothes for me as
a parting gift. Her suicide was kind of a birthday present,
I guess, since she was a frightening person and her
clothes were all that fit me. Anyway, are you coming over?

(19:59):
I want to show you something, Tina said. Ahead of me,
I saw the hat man again. He had a toothpick
in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. I
didn't dare to tell Tina about him. I didn't tell
her about any of them. She was my only friend
and I couldn't lose her on account of my being haunted. Yeah,

(20:21):
let's go, I said, turning my head away from the
hat man. As we passed by him, I brushed his
shoulder with mine and felt a sickening chill cascade down
my back. I put my hands in my pocket so
Tina wouldn't see them shake, and pressed my lips together
hard against the feeling of nausea that bubbled up. We

(20:43):
turned down the block to the neighborhood behind Main Street
and walked the broken sidewalk toward Grandma's little bungalow at
the end. Like me, Tina's parents were out of the picture.
Her mom passed away when she was a kid, and
her dad died in a car accident. It wasn't a
unique story, though not for price. Tina's new Hatchback was

(21:07):
in Grandma's driveway. It was probably fifteen years old, but
it had all four wheels. It was painted cardinal red too,
and that's all that mattered. Is this your getaway car?
I asked excitedly. When Tina got accepted into college, the
whole town seemed to celebrate. Kids around here barely finished

(21:29):
high school, much less even attempted to do something with
their lives. She was the star child in our pitiful
little town, and to celebrate her, Grandma bought her a car. Yep,
Tina said, running her hand on the hood as we
walked past it. That's what I wanted to talk to
you about. She sat on the front porch step and

(21:51):
looked at her hands, and I sat down next to
her and waited for her to speak. Sometimes it took
her a minute to compile all her thoughts. Maybe all
smart people were like that. I wouldn't know. I'm thinking
about selling it and getting Grandma her money back, she said.
The hell is all I managed to say. Why on

(22:14):
earth would you do that? You have a ride out
of here? This is all we've ever talked about. She
looked at me and rolled her eyes and stared at
her hands again, because we were supposed to go together,
she said. I looked at my hands too. I knew
i'd never leave Price, and I felt guilty about it.

(22:36):
My heart sank at the thought of saying goodbye to Tina,
and part of me wanted to cry and beg her
to stay. But I couldn't do that to my best friend.
I smiled and elbowed her playfully. You're not staying in
Price for my sorry ass, I said. You know me,
I always find my way. She picked a weed growing

(22:58):
up through the wooden boards of the poor and started
fussing with it. You could get a job out there,
she offered. I laughed, what and leave all this, I said,
presenting the Rundown neighborhood around us. Besides Price needs me,
who else is brave enough to protect the neighborhood kids
from the rodneys of the world. Tina threw the weed

(23:20):
on the ground and crossed her arms. Price isn't the
end of the road. Who hell, maybe Julesburg is. Don't
you want to find out for yourself, she said. I
chewed on my lip and pretended to think about what
she said. If I were anyone but me, I would
have said yes. But the funny thing about having a

(23:42):
physically and emotionally abusive, alcoholic mother is at some point
you start to believe all the terrible things she said
about you. I was an ugly, overweight, good for nothing,
waste of a child who ruined the motherhood she thought
she deserved, and she know what every chance she got.

(24:03):
And as if her feelings about me weren't enough, everyone
in town seemed to share her sentiments about me too.
When I dropped out of school, I don't think my
teachers noticed. That's how it was in price though. If
you fell out of school, there was no one there
to pick you up and put you back. If a
kid liked me disappeared, nobody noticed, and nobody cared. I

(24:26):
sighed heavily and looked at the tattered brown grass in
Grandma's yard. And when the train on the west side
of town cut its horn through the air, I caught
a glimpse of the hat man again. At the end
of the block. He looked in the direction of the
train back at me, and rocked on his heels. My
stomach turned again, and I put my hands in my

(24:48):
pocket before I started to shake. I felt the folded
envelope in my pocket and thought about giving it to
Tina before it was too late. A few weeks earlier,
I cashed my life asked welfare check and put it
in an envelope with a TOAT scribbled on it. Now,
I kept it in my pocket, waiting for the right
time to give it to her. I wouldn't be needing

(25:10):
the money anyway. I wasn't ready to give it to
her yet. Though I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I
made an excuse to get out of there, and I
told Tina i'd see her tomorrow. I didn't go to
Mama's trailer, though I hadn't been there for weeks. The
power and water had been shut off for mince, and

(25:31):
the food and the refrigerated had long since spoiled. I'm
pretty sure the family of raccoons living in the old
Chevrolet had moved in too, But that's not what kept
me away. Every time I tried to sleep, Mama's ghost
would appear next to me in bed, spitting insults and threats.
Sometimes other folks would come around, too, desperate for someone

(25:55):
to talk to who could actually see them, and then
dump all their terrible regrets on me. When the hat
man started showing up more frequently, I gave up ever
being able to sleep again. I walked through the woods
to the railroad tracks. I spent more time there than
anywhere else. I'd stand off to the side, wait for

(26:18):
the general vibration of the rails, and then close my
eyes and guess which way the train would be coming from.
When it would whip by, i'd savor the woosh of
air hitting my skin and get high off the adrenaline
rush of being a little too close. The drivers would
hank their blaring horns at me and yell as they

(26:39):
sped by, but I waved anyway, wondering where they were from,
where they were going, and what it felt like to
go places. When the trees cleared, I walked past my
sleeping bag and cooler full of food and stood next
to the rails. And I closed my eyes and waited
for the metal to start rumbling. It didn't take long

(27:00):
until I heard it north to south, I thought to myself,
and crossed my fingers. I waited till the sound got closer,
and then opened my eyes. It was going in the
opposite direction, and I clicked my teeth and frowned at myself.
I never once had gotten it right. When the blaring

(27:20):
horn sounded, I took a couple of steps back and
waved at the driver as he yelled at me for
being too close. You have a good day, sir, I
yelled back, knowing he couldn't hear me. I watched the
box cars speed by and breathed in the wind and
clanging metal rushing past my face. When several flat cars

(27:43):
passed by, I saw the hat man. He was standing
on the other side of the tracks. Several more box
cars passed by, and he disappeared behind them. When another
flat car passed, I saw him again, this time much closer.
I smelled cigarettes, and the future stench of rotting skin

(28:04):
and in chill exploded up my spine. I clenched my
fist and braced myself for the droll of mama's nasty voice.
Well go on, she said, ushering me toward the moving
train with a weak nudge. Get it over with. When
another set of flat cars passed by, the hat man

(28:26):
was only feet away from me on the other side
of the tracks. Toothpick in his mouth and hands in
his pockets. Mama was behind him now, her face twisted
into a horrible grin. She started to cackle, and my
legs began to shake. Even if I could run, I wouldn't.
I knew I couldn't escape the hat Man. I knew

(28:48):
Mama's vicious, hostile voice would be in my head until
the day I died. I clenched my fist even harder
and held back a tear. And when the last of
the box car passed by, the hat Man and Mama
were gone. The next day, I lied to Tina and
I told her I'd come to Colorado. I knew it

(29:11):
was the only way to get her to finish packing.
We spent the next couple of days moving her things
out of Grandma's house and squeezing it all into her hatchbag,
taking occasional breaks to meander around the town for the
last time and hide from Rodney. The hat Man had
gone from occasional visits to walking with me wherever I went,

(29:34):
and Mama's voice was a relentless, horrible ringing in my ears,
reminding me that my time was running short. When the
end of the week rolled around, Tina addressed the elephant
in the room and asked where my stuff was, and
I told her I didn't have anything, and she accused
me of lying to her. She said I had never

(29:56):
planned on coming and slammed the door in my face.
That was the last interaction I had with my best friend,
a fight. I wanted to explain everything to her, but
the words came out all wrong. I had a thousand
things to tell her, but too few words to do it.
I once read about something called Stockholm syndrome. My relationship

(30:21):
with my mama and Price sort of felt like that.
I stood there with my head against the door, knowing
I ruined everything and that Tina wasn't going to leave now.
And then I felt my chaperone behind me. I dug
the envelope of cash out of my pocket and glanced
at Tina's car, And when I turned around to finally

(30:43):
acknowledge the hat man, I saw a cardinal land on
Grandma's bird feeder behind him. I realized something, and I
let out a quiet laugh. The only way to get
Tina out of Price now was to give the hat
man what he wanted. I walked toward the railroad tracks.
A song came into my head. It was one of

(31:05):
the few country songs I couldn't find a way to
make fun of. It was about a guy who came
back home from the war and found out the love
of his life had gotten married. He was heartbroken over it,
and no matter how hard his friends tried to get
him to move on, he gave in to his demons
and he took his own life. Lately, I was feeling

(31:26):
sympathetic to the lyrics. Friends tried to brighten healed the
heart in his chest, but death offered comfort, so he
joined him instead. I walked to the train tracks with
a hat man by my side. I heard my mama
heckling me from the trees, but this time I tuned

(31:47):
her out. I stood in the center of the rails,
closed my eyes and waited for the subtle vibration of
the metal north to south, I thought to myself. Locomotive's
blaring horn sounded in my ears. I smiled, and for
the first time, I was about to get something right,

(32:07):
and for the life of me, Tina and I were
finally going to leave Price. When Tina and I crossed
the border into Colorado, I pushed my luck and fussed
with the radio, but the knob gurgled and crackled under
my fingers. Tina hit the dash with her fists and
cussed at it and found a station again. I smiled

(32:31):
an awkward apology and looked at the scenery out the
open window that had changed from wide open Nebraska planes
to wide open Colorado planes. I felt excitement creep up
from my stomach, and as if it shared the feeling,
the damn radio crackled again, and in the field outside
my window, I saw the hat man. When we passed

(32:55):
the sign for Jewlesburg, Tina pulled off the road on
an unmarked exit and made her way down an old
westbound gravel path until it ended. She put the car
in park and we stared out at the scenery ahead
of us. There it was the same dead tree looking
out over the same low rolling hills. I looked at

(33:17):
the picture on the dash and smiled. We had actually
made it. It really is the end of the road,
I said, with a smirk. Tina didn't respond. She grabbed
the jerky and duct tape in one hand and the
cardinal box in the other and got out. I followed
her to the front of the car and stood behind

(33:38):
her with my hand on her shoulder. She took her
sunglasses off and stared ahead at the wide open terrain,
thinking something to herself and coming to a conclusion or
two that she didn't share with me. And then she
opened the box. The funeral home had crewmated my remains
for free because I had no family, and Tina paid

(34:01):
with her own money for the cardinal to be handpaided
on the urn. She let the wind spread my ashes
for her and cried as the millions of pieces of
Francis Brenda Hooper spread across the plains. I wanted to
comfort her and tell her it wasn't me and those ashes,
that I wasn't bound to that urn. But she needed

(34:24):
to say goodbye to me. She needed to say goodbye
to price. If that's how she needed to do it,
then that was all right with me. When the box
was empty, Tina put the jerky and duct tape inside
and closed it again. She ran her thumb over the cardinal,
and with all of her strength, she threw that thing

(34:46):
as hard as she could into the grass ahead of her. Then,
to my unfathomable relief, she finally spoke to me. He
was writing about you, you know, Tina said, her voice
breaking clawed Eugene Shaw. He didn't know you, but he
was writing about you. I squeezed her shoulder and felt

(35:08):
kind of proud. My best friend thought mister Shaw's big
old words could describe simple old me. To our right,
the hat man appeared toothpicking his mouth, hands in his pockets,
leaning against his old Chevrolet with the big fenders and
bullet lights. He stared into the open plane and then

(35:28):
looked at me and tipped his hat. Tina stared at
that spot ahead of her for another minute and sniffled,
and then she wiped her eyes and put her sunglasses on.
Over the mess that a girl. I thought, if any
kid from Price had a chance of making it in
the world, it was her. And when she walked back
to the car, I let her go alone. And then

(35:51):
I grinned. Julesburg wasn't the end of the road, it
was the beginning. I let my eyes get lost in
the scenery ahead of me, A dull sage and slate
colored grass had suddenly erupted in color, and the ground
under my feet was warm and familiar, as if it
had been waiting on me all that time. And I

(36:13):
looked at the hat man. You hear that, mister shaw,
I asked him with a big goofy grin on my face.
He took the toothpick out of his mouth and shook
his head curiously. The only sound was of the light
breeze blowing over the rolling hills. Mama's voice was finally gone.
I closed my eyes and savored the silence. Exactly, I said.

(36:38):
Back in her car, Tina turned the engine on and
looked one last time at the dead tree and rolling hills.
Then she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward over the
dash to see better. Sitting on a branch in the
middle of the tree was a cardinal. It hopped from
branch to branch, higher and higher in the tree till

(37:00):
it reached the top. She heard its hauntingly beautiful trill
and watched it fly toward her. It leaped over the
hood of her car and then took off into the sky.