Page 45 - The Geography of Women

The Geography of Women 31

It was a lovely evenin, Kool-Aid an all, an we stayed
ever so late on the porch, singin all the old songs, an some
a the new, till aroun midnight I had to say hello an good-
bye to Mister Henry an Mizz Lulabelle comin racin home
in their Plymouth Belvedere from dancin with the Odd
Fellows. They paid no particular heed when Jessarose said
she’d walk me halfway home, to where the end a the long
Harms’ PRIVATE ROAD NO TRESPASSING met the
two-lane black top, which was almost back to town, an so
she did, her an me both walkin slower than usual, wantin
to kiss some more, but knowin we couldn’t, not out here,
not out so near the gravel shoulder a the dangerous two-
lane NO PASSING curve a the road where cars with big
fins cut sharp by us sweepin their headlights over us like
speedin beacons through the Dutch Elm trees.
“This is halfway,” I said.
Jessarose laughed. “Halfway?”
We dropped back from the shoulder a the highway,
right where it kinda hairpin curves, where once Mizz
Lulabelle drove off the road an wrecked her red convert-
ible an nearly killed herself an Wilmer Fox, an we kissed
in the shadow a the giant elms with the headlights flashin
through the trees way above our heads like the world tryin
to flush us out but it couldn’t.
My thighs didn’t ache so much as my heart.
“I love you,” I said.
“I know you do,” she said.
“I can’t bear to say good-bye.”
“Not good-bye,” Jessarose said. “Till we meet again.”
That was as good as good-bye.
Then she said: “Laydia Spain, I adore you!” An she
made me laugh, she was always makin me laugh, makin
fun a me, so I’d keep on smilin, standin alone there in the

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