Hey there Clyde-B,
Ain't ya gonna write something hot fer us? Don't be a wallflower, let's see yer stuff!
Now you know I don't talk often, and when I do I don't usually say much (My motto: if you ain't got nothin to say - then don't say it!)
But for you and littlewing, who's been after me to do this, I'll sure make an attempt.
BannerHill's story about Ennis and Jack winding up together got me to wondering how it mght happen. This isn't a sexy story, but it's kinda timely.
Robert Twist hadn’t been to Childress in twenty-five years; he’d never forgotten or forgiven things said when his dad died, but he was determined to visit his father’s grave on his way to Dallas to see his mother and her third husband. Sunday would be Father’s Day.
He was glad the road to the cemetery was deserted, the only traffic an old blue and white pickup kicking dust in the opposite direction.
The headstone was where he remembered it, toward the back, in the shade of an old oak where the hot breeze carried with it the scent of memorial wreaths and dying blossoms. A single grave in a double plot overgrown with weeds, unkempt, untrimmed; the granite weathered but intact; graffiti on the front had been hard washed, faded, no longer legible. Not as good as he’d hoped; not as bad as he’d feared. He knelt wanting to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, all those questions, all those things left unsaid, how could we have just abandoned you here? That was when he noticed... lovingly placed at its base... a small bunch of wilting mountain wildflowers.