If Catfish Had Nine Lives(78)
Though Cliff had said we could question people together, ultimately, he and I had gone different directions with plans to meet up later, compare notes, and maybe revisit people. First I found Gram. She wasn’t surrounded by poets with catfish frying questions by that time, and I was able to ask her how she thought the snake had made its way into the cooler. She said she couldn’t be sure, but she was certain that since no harm had come to anyone, including the snake, that there was no need to give the situation any more thought. I decided not to argue.
After I spoke to Gram, I was surprised to see Teddy’s truck make its way down the path next to the campsite. Joe and the horse trailed behind, but I didn’t think they were following Teddy on purpose. I’d wondered where the ghosts had been; their sudden appearance at the same time as Teddy’s was somewhat curious, but I’d need to find out more to know if it meant anything.
After Teddy parked the truck, Joe continued to steer the horse past it, past the campsite, and toward the Pony Express station. It would be interesting to look at the attraction with someone who’d actually spent some time in a few of the real ones, but finding out why Teddy left the comfort of his couch or bed to come back out to the convention took precedence.
The truck stopped close to the stage. Though I shouldn’t have been, I was totally surprised to see not only my brother exit the vehicle, but Opie, too. And she’d been the one to come out of the driver’s side. She’d fixed herself up, Opie-style, but Teddy still looked rough.
They both sent me looks of impatience as I approached.
“I know, I’m not supposed to be out, Betts, but I was going a little stir-crazy and Opie offered to drive us here. Also, my memory might come back to me a little better if I’m around where it all happened.”
“Hi, Betts,” Opie said.
I took the folding lawn chair that Teddy had lifted out of the bed of the truck and smiled at them both.
“How are you doing, Teddy?”
“Well, I’m a little better,” he said.
“Good. How are you, Opie?”
“I’m great, Betts, really glad you and Miz stopped by earlier. I’m so thrilled about what you told me. I’m a real part of our history. I told Teddy all about it, and he’s excited, too,” she said as we all made our way to an area in front of the corner of the stage.
I nodded. Opie was not a part of “our” history, all of ours, but just a small part of Broken Rope’s history. But that was okay.
Evidently, they thought I’d be upset that Teddy was out and about. I wasn’t happy, but I also wasn’t upset. They also probably thought I’d comment on what seemed like their suddenly reignited relationship, but I didn’t have anything to say. Teddy was over twenty-one. I’d realized a long time ago that he was going to do whatever he wanted to do no matter the repercussions. It wasn’t ideal, but it was truly none of my business.
“He’s great, isn’t he?” Teddy nodded toward the stage as I unfolded his chair and Opie unfolded one for herself.
I looked toward the cowboy on the stage. A tree stump, or perhaps it was a plastic fake tree stump, had been placed stage left and gave the poet a “rugged” place to sit. His arms were heavy over the guitar on his lap. He wasn’t singing or reciting a poem as much as doing a little of both. His old brown hat was blackened in the spots that had been often touched by his fingers. He was lit by a small spotlight off to his side, but I noticed that he must always use his left hand to remove the hat. A trail of worn finger marks on the left side of the brim seemed to dance in the light with every little movement.
He said/sang words about a cowboy lost in a sea of tumbleweeds. The cowboy searched and searched for a landmark—a butte that would point him toward home. Considering the tone, I thought that maybe the cowboy in the story never would find the butte, that he’d be destined to die among the tumbleweeds under a “diamond sky.”