Jimmy Brand put the sound, a simple crisp snap, in a book, saying that it was the one time he was sure to have witnessed the exact turning point in someone’s life. This was in a novel, and the character was not exactly Frank Gunderson, and he was turned from other things than those that changed for Frank that afternoon. Frank missed the hunting trip, letting Craig and Matt take his truck way out to Yearbow, where they took two pronghorns the first day, some of which would be part of their many dinners at the Brands. Frank was prevented from joining the Marines because of his leg and the pin in it; in fact, all military service was beyond him now. Because of the attention he got in school that fall, a hero, the crutches, help with books, homework, he had to change, come out. Just deflecting all the attention caused him to develop a wry and quick sense of humor, so that he became a kind of entertainer. He started saying “Nothing, it’s okay,” standing there on his crutches, and the phrase tilted with understatement and became funny, as did his other phrases: “Thanks for the help. Just put my books there, Champ. See you after class.” This was the first time he’d kidded with his classmates, talked to girls at all. It all gave him a kind of confidence, an understanding of how to deal with people that would become such an integral part of his career. When everyone went off to college or the war, he remained in Oakpine, hanging out, schmoozing with the locals, and in two years, when the economy faltered, he’d borrowed and bought three buildings, including the Antlers, and he was in business.
But the moment that everyone remembers was in the hospital, the day after Frank Gunderson broke his leg. Jimmy Brand and Mason Kirby had already talked to Frank about forming a band, but Frank had deferred because of football. Jimmy had been fooling around with his guitar for years. He’d received a red Fender for Christmas when he was sixteen. Mason played the rhythm guitar well, his father’s Gibson, and they’d jammed together on the Brands’ back porch, just idling, two guys who were not going to play football. They played together once at the Junior Talent Show, two songs, Mason singing the second, an up-tempo but not altogether wacky version of “Tom Dooley.” Craig had said, “You need a drummer, guys. You made that song sound like he was going to be released, or at least escape.” Jimmy and Mason walked into Frank’s hospital room and made a campy presentation of the secondhand bass guitar, holding it out like the most honorable award, while they bowed their heads and hummed an ominous bass line from “Tom Dooley.” Frank was drowsy but still run with adrenaline, and he took the guitar with a smile. Little Bobby Krause, in the next bed, a day after his appendectomy, watched the whole deal and said, “Cool.”
Frank fingered the strings a moment and looked up. “I’m going to need something to do. I’m out for the season.”
“And it fits,” Mason pointed.
“Craig said he’d drum if you’ll play bass,” Jimmy said. He nodded at Mason. “We can play at the Fall Festival if we want. They’re going to have some bands.”
Frank snugged the instrument tighter under his arm and tested it again, thumping the strings in a slow rhythm.
“What do you say?”
There were three flower arrangements on the tables in the room. There would be a dozen by evening. Oakpine had won the game after his injury, using the unfortunate incident as a spur to make up a twenty-point deficit. The entire team had come by the night before on their way to the victory bonfire, but he’d been in surgery, and now flowers had been arriving all day.
“Does it hurt?” Mason said.
Frank shook his head without looking up from the guitar. “Naw. It will later.”
“It sure made a noise,” Jimmy said.
“I guess,” Frank said.
“When is the Fall Festival?” Bobby Krause said from his bed by the window.
Frank Gunderson looked up at Jimmy and Mason. “When is it?”