Two days out
Through Birmingham headed for Memphis
To swing east again to see my mother
Who had sent me away to break my will.
Then back to Knoxville with none the wiser

Alone at 15
I’d left the place where I’d been sent
To put me on the straight and narrow. I’m going home I told them.
On a Greyhound.
But I hitchhiked south from Knoxville, swung west at Atlanta

Twilight fading
At a deserted Mississippi crossroads.
A single car. A dusty 49 straight-8 Pontiac.
Hop in he said I’ll take you as far as Tupelo.
He’s a tough 30 with a cracker look and dress.

You live
In Tupelo? Nope, north of there.
So far out in the piney woods you have to wipe the hoot owl shit off the clock to tell what time it is.
Redneck wisdom I thought. Another peckerwood.

You read books?
Just like that people fool you. Yeah. Read Faulkner?
Just finished The Bear. Hell of a story, he said
I struggle with the rest of him.

Want an apple?
Sure. Hands me one.
Out comes the pint of whiskey. Want a nip? Nope.
Bite of apple, slug of Jack, then repeat for 20 miles.
Silence, crunch, slurp. Driving steady as a rock though.

Tupelo 5 miles
The sign announces. I’ve got something I’ve got to do he says
Slowing down and turning up an almost dirt track
Hemmed by pines on either side.
Dark tunnel away from Tupelo

Jesus Christ
I thought. What’s he doing. Only take a minute he says.
We pass a trailer house with a garish yellow porch light.
Stop 100 yards past to make a Y turn and cut the headlights.
Start back and stop when we see the trailer. Chained dog goes berserk.

Don’t think
They’re home. I’ll leave the engine running. You see a car, hit the horn.
He runs toward the dog who leaps against the chain. Barks of recognition.
He unhooks the dog and they bound toward the car.
Between us, the dog cannot contain his joy.

Your dog?
Yeah, my wife left me for that asshole. Took the dog. Makes her one too.
Dog don’t like him. Never trust a man a dog like this don’t like.
No need to chain a dog that loves you.
Think he’ll come after you? Hope he does, I’ll kill him.

Waffle House
Always open. I’ll let you out here. Drink coffee till the traffic starts.
Thanks I say and open the door. Here, he says.
Read this and hands me a worn paperback
Eudora Welty. A Delta Wedding. I read it later, on my mother’s porch.

Brady Foust is a geographer, bon vivant, and raconteur who taught at UW-Eau Claire for 38 years.

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