by Jodi Thomas
For the past two years the only time they noticed him was on Saturday and then their communications were usually notes of to-do lists on the refrigerator and another on the barn door. If he didn’t finish on Saturday, he’d work Sunday.
If Pecos didn’t make it home for a meal, there were never leftovers waiting. Any allowance was forgotten. Sometimes he felt like he was invisible or less important than a chicken. They knew he’d fly the coop as soon as possible and they didn’t seem to care.
Thank goodness his brothers had passed down the old pickup. Pecos often hauled feed for the neighbors. One day’s work hauling would buy his school lunches for a month. Any other jobs would buy clothes or pocket money.
Pecos figured he liked being ignored more than being yelled at. Most of the time he worked alone, and if his dad did show up he usually complained. Only today, his dad left the barn as soon as Pecos showed up, and headed back to the house.
By six the rain had stopped and Pecos finished both Dad’s and Mom’s lists. After moving in and out of the rain all afternoon, it felt grand to take a warm shower. He dressed in clean jeans, his best T-shirt, and a jean jacket that was a hand-me-down from Tucson. He had nowhere to go, no friends he wanted to hang out with, but he wasn’t staying home.
With ten dollars in his pocket, he drove the three miles to town. The air smelled of more rain, but he rolled the windows down and let the cool breeze blow over him. Some of the seniors were having graduation parties tonight, backyard barbeques, or pool parties. Some had relatives coming in for the weekend just to watch them receive their diplomas. His parents hadn’t mentioned going to the ceremony, so he was sure there would be no party.
Dad commented that he’d seen one graduation and they were all the same.
Three of his brothers sent letters saying they couldn’t get leave to come home. They also each sent a hundred-dollar bill with the letter. Pecos had hidden the three bills with the six hundred he’d saved. He’d walk before he’d spend his someday money even on gas.
He was going to be somebody one day and he’d need money to start. He’d build an empire, design his own house by the river, marry at forty, and have half a dozen kids before he turned fifty.
When Pecos reached Honey Creek, he drove down Main, waving at anyone he knew. He’d made a habit of getting to know every old person in town. At first it was so he could offer to do odd jobs for them, but later he just liked talking to them. There was a great deal of good advice under gray hair.
He’d heard someone in the hall at school say once that Pecos might be nineteen in body, but in mind he was already forty. After all, what kid wears a tie to school?
Pecos just thought of himself as mature before his time.
Tomorrow, a few hours after church was over, the school auditorium would open and the graduating seniors would walk in. For some it would be the last time they set foot on campus. They’d cry and vow they’d all stay friends, but Pecos planned to simply leave. After all, he had the rest of his life to start.
Pecos had his cap and gown, but he still hadn’t made up his mind whether he’d go to the ceremony. There would be no relatives cheering him on. He’d feel like a flagpole standing out on the grass afterward with no one hugging on him and the Texas wind blowing his gown.
By the time he got down to the dock where he and Kerrie had parked last night, the dying sun had started to make a show. Just enough sunshine to make the clouds look like they’d been polished with diamond dust.
Cutting through the thick undergrowth and trees, he reached the river’s shoreline about a hundred yards down from the dock. This was his thinking place, and tonight he needed to spend some time here.
This spot probably looked the same now as it had back in 1836 when Texas was fighting for its independence. Somewhere upstream Fannin’s men had been captured and held in a mission called Goliad. History recorded that Santa Anna’s army marched the newly formed Texas troops to the river’s edge on Palm Sunday, then had the men fighting for Texas line up to be shot. One volley fired and then the soldiers had to reload. Fannin’s men who weren’t already shot bolted for the river and jumped in before a bullet found them. A few lived to tell the story.
Pecos climbed out on a huge rock that hung over the water. In his mind he could hear the rifles. Hear the men diving into the Brazos. Those who lived joined Houston’s army and fought later at San Jacinto.
A small band of ragtag Texans won over Santa Anna’s army in that battle. They attacked the camp yelling a cry that still echoes today. “Remember the Alamo. Remember Goliad.”
Pecos was born a Texan. The blood of both sides of that battle ran in his veins. He liked to think that the courage of those early fighters was in him. No matter what the odds, he’d fight and win. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted in life, but he wouldn’t become his parents. He’d be someone who was looked up to. He’d be important. He’d be loved. And if he ever found a girl to marry him, he’d have kids and he’d love every one of them.
He could see himself being one of those men who ran and jumped into the raging water, and lived. Here, on his private rock next to the river, he could dream and plan. There were just enough trees behind him that anyone on the dock wouldn’t see him, and the river below blocked out any noise from the road. Perfect for meditation. He’d found this spot the day he drove to town to get his driver’s license.
Sheriff Hayes had met Pecos at the double doors of the county offices. He knew, like everyone in town did, that farm boys drive before they come in to take their test. As long as they don’t speed, no one troubled them. But today the old sheriff must have been feeling bothersome. He stopped Pecos at the door and whispered, “You fail the test, kid, and you’ll be walking home.”
Pecos was shaking, but he answered, “I won’t fail, sir.”
An hour later when he’d passed, Pecos shook the old guy’s hand, then drove out to the river to think about becoming a man. It just seemed like getting his license was the first step.
That was a good memory, he thought. Pecos made a list of those. It was like he hid them in a box in his mind. Whenever he felt low he’d just pull one out.
Last night with Kerrie would be one of those memories.
For a while he remembered every detail of being with her after the dance. Kerrie’s strange call still echoed in his mind.
Pecos walked through all that had happened. He’d pulled up at the back door of the gym. He thought she looked so small coming out. She’d held his hand laced in hers. Then she’d thanked him for taking her home with a kiss on his cheek.
Later he’d think about what he should have said or done, but right now he wanted to remember every moment pure. Not what could have been or what he wished for, but the time just like it happened. If he kept the memory exact in his mind, maybe it would last longer.
Movement in the bush behind him drew him out of his thoughts. The sun was at the top of its setting glory, but what stood behind him held his gaze.
Kerrie Lane in yellow shorts and a white top with one shoulder bare. She just stood there staring at him. He couldn’t breathe, or form words. He wasn’t sure he could even blink.
“I saw your pickup and realized you were out here on my spot.”
He managed to whisper, “It’s my spot.”
She laughed and stepped onto the rock.
Pecos couldn’t take his eyes off her. Last night she’d seemed so fragile, so small, and now she was brighter than the sun. She stood legs apart, fists on hips, as if she were a female Peter Pan about to fly.
“Have a seat,” he said. “We can share.”
She sat down a few inches from him. “I found this place when I was about ten. Now and then when I need to talk to myself I come out here.”
“What do you want to talk to yourself about tonight?” It was probably none of his business, but he had to ask.
She shrugged. “When I got in my car I just wanted to leave the dumb party my parents are throwing me. They invited all their frien
ds. The few of my friends I invited are having parties with their families. So I’m watching my parents and a bunch of their crowd sit around, get drunk, and talk about their high school days.”
“That must have been terrible.” He tried to sound serious, but even a party of middle-aged drunks sounded better than being home watching his parents sleep while the TV blared.
She rested her hand on his knee. “It was dreadful. I know you think I’m exaggerating, but I’ll take you home and show you.”
He’d patted her hand resting on his jeans and hoped she didn’t think he was doing anything wrong. After all, she touched him first. But then, she’d kissed him first. It was on the cheek, but maybe he could kiss her back. On the cheek, of course, maybe a little closer to her mouth.
Which he noticed was moving and his ears weren’t listening.
“I told my mother it was my party and she just laughed. They’ll be so drunk when I get back they’ll all be jumping in the pool with their clothes on. No wonder my granddad wouldn’t leave his bees. He’d rather talk to them than my parents. They both think they’re so funny when they drink.”
“I’d like to see that.” Pecos tried to join the conversation.
To his shock, she grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet. “Well, let’s go.”
Before he thought of an excuse, he was in the new midnight-blue Mustang her parents had bought her for graduation and heading back to town.
Kerrie talked. In fact, as near as he could tell she didn’t even stop to breathe until she pulled into the driveway.
Same girl, same house as last night. But all had changed. Every light was on; the lawn and out back looked bright as day. He heard music from the nineties blasting from speakers in the back. Voices blended in the heavy night air, some yelling, bits of conversation floating, and someone who couldn’t remember the words to “You Are Not Alone” was trying to sing.
Pecos tried to slow his steps, but Kerrie dragged him along. She didn’t seem to notice he didn’t belong here. He wouldn’t know how to act, what to say. His own parents didn’t talk to him, why should someone else’s?
They stepped inside and the talking became a roar.
Pecos realized he was an alien stepping onto an uncharted planet.
Then, he grasped one simple fact. He was also invisible.
All the people were busy, acting like they were dancing with their drinks in one hand or having heated debates or, worst of all, flirting with little more skill than sophomores.
As she pulled him through the laughing and cussing people, and of course the group singing Madonna’s “Take a Bow,” Pecos couldn’t decide if he should run or laugh.
“You want something to eat?”
“Sure.” All he’d eaten today was the apple he picked up in his mom’s kitchen at noon. “I could eat.” He knew if she’d suggested they jump off the roof, he’d go along with it.
Kerrie smiled up at him. “Let’s try one of everything.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She picked up two plates and they moved around a long dining table decorated in a Maiden of the Sea theme for some reason. Half the food he’d never heard of, but he gave each a try. Fish that didn’t look cooked and tiny pies with different flavors of pudding inside were his favorites.
When they moved to the backyard, Kerrie collected a plate of ribs and two beers. They sat in a dark corner swing and watched adults acting like they were teenagers again. Only they were doing a terrible job.
He watched for a few minutes, then decided his eyes would get stuck on bug-out setting if he didn’t turn away, so he moved with Kerrie to a bench that faced the field behind her house. “See that light way off in the distance?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s my granddad’s place. I’m an only child of an only child. My granddad keeps that light on to let me know he’s there in case I need him. He’s a grumpy old man, but I kind of think of him as my guardian angel.”
She set the ribs between them and handed him a beer. “Do you drink beer?”
“Yeah,” he said. “When my brothers come home for Christmas they always buy a case and leave it in the barn. After my folks go to bed, we sneak out there, freezing cold, and drink. Tucson and my second brother, Worth, claim it’s the only way they make it through the week at home.”
“You have four brothers, right?”
“Tucson’s kind of my guardian angel. He’s a marine. Worth, number two brother, and Claude, number four and closest to my age, are in the army.”
She held up three fingers. “You skipped one.”
“My mom says Houston is lost somewhere in California like the state was a jungle he accidentally wandered into and one day he’ll walk out of and come back home.”
She slid over, closing the distance between them. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. He was two years younger than Worth. Three months after Worth finished high school, he signed up to be in the army. About a month after he left, I remember hearing Houston and Dad yelling. The next morning, Houston was gone. Two years later, we got a letter that said he was in California and doing fine, but I remember thinking how sad it must have been to turn eighteen so far from home.”
She took his hand. Pecos thought that was probably the most downer story he could have told her. Kerrie didn’t want to hear about all his brothers.
She smiled at him as if she’d read his mind. “Where’d you get your name? The Pecos is a river.”
“Dad always said he didn’t remember why they named me that, but Tucson said we’re named after where they conceived us. Tucson, Worth for Fort Worth, Houston, and Claude. They must have slept out by the river about twenty years ago.”
“But Claude isn’t a name of a place?”
“It’s a little town not far from Amarillo. My dad worked a farm there for a year before he moved to Honey Creek.”
She laughed softly, then apologized for asking questions.
Pecos didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or happy about making her laugh. He couldn’t believe a guy like him was even sitting beside her.
She finally took pity on him and changed the subject. “Are you going to leave home soon? Army, marines, or California?”
“I don’t know.” He’d been thinking about it, but where would he go?
She leaned closer as if giving away a secret. “My folks want me to go over to the junior college at Clifton Bend for a year before I go away. They said it would save them a ton of money and it’s only a thirty-minute drive.” She pouted. “But it’s such a cowboy town and I won’t know anyone on campus.”
“I was thinking about going there, too. You’ll know me.” Pecos was lying. No college would let someone from the bottom fourth of the class in. Besides, lots of millionaires get rich without going to college.
“Maybe we could share a ride. Most of the classes are at night.” She reached across the plate of ribs that neither one had tasted, and touched his hand again.
This was definitely looking like a date, he thought. Kerrie Lane hadn’t touched him in the ten years they’d been in school together and all at once she was patting on him like he was a new pet.
Pecos forgot about the party around them and the graduation tomorrow and even what would happen Monday when his dad figured out his youngest son was no longer in school.
All his brain could register was her fingers touching his.
“Pecos, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, anything.” This was about time for her to tell him to leave. He’d have a long walk back to his pickup, but he didn’t mind. She probably had a lot more important things to do than talk to him.
He looked up and realized she was talking again and he hadn’t been listening.
Her big blue eyes were staring at him as if she’d just asked another question.
When she waited, he thought, Yep, she’s asked something and I haven’t caught one word to hang an answer on.
&
nbsp; “Would you mind saying that again?” He felt like a suicide hotline volunteer who’d just got an obscene phone call and the message wasn’t registering. Worse, he was asking to hear it again.
Looking down, he decided not to look at her when the bad news came. This was close to the best night of his life. All through school he’d been that kid who everyone knew but no one wanted to hang out with.
“I said, would you want to be my boyfriend?”
He looked up. Yeah, she was still there. This beautiful girl who was a cheerleader, who sang solos in the choir, who was popular, and who was valedictorian of their class. Hell, if Kerrie Lane hadn’t lived in Honey Creek, the class yearbook would be the width of a menu.
“You won’t hurt my feelings if you say no. I’d understand if—”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes?”
He straightened a bit and closed his fingers around her hand. This might just last a day. She might be joking or doing this to upset someone like her real boyfriend or her parents. He didn’t care why. The answer was yes.
She stood and stepped in front of him. “Thanks, Pecos.”
A hundred questions came to mind. Should he give her his senior ring? He’d have to buy one first. Should he kiss her? Could he tell anyone, or was he a secret boyfriend?
All he could think to say was, “You’re welcome.”
Her knees bumped his as she moved nearer. He stood and was so close to her they were touching.
“Would you hug me?” she whispered.
He gently put his arms around her shoulders, and to his surprise she moved even closer. She rested her head on his chest as he tried to take in all the feelings that were exploding inside him. Fear, panic, love, need.
Then he felt something wet against his neck and realized Kerrie was silently crying.
He had no idea why or what he was supposed to do, so he patted her lightly on her back and whispered softly, “It’s all right, Kerrie. It’s all right. I’m here.”
Somewhere, over the noise of the crowd, he heard someone yelling her name.
Kerrie straightened but didn’t turn his hand loose. She tugged him toward the pool area.