The Last True Fan Ch. 02

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It was a sticky night, a couple of days before June. Dan checked himself for ticks in his bedroom, then returned to watch TV in just his overalls. The hockey playoffs were on, and as a child of Northern Wisconsin it called him to watch his favorite team, the Chicago Blackhawks. The day faded gradually, the night was full of tree frogs calling rain. It was a tough night for the Blackhawks, and his curses at the television did nothing to improve their play. After the second period, he shut it off and sat back sipping a beer, thinking of Brenda.

Going back to his little closet, he found an old picture album. Bringing it back into the living room, he opened it and looked through the pictures. There were shots of a wedding in the '70s: a shorter, younger version of himself in a dress uniform stood with his buddies, including a much thinner Alan Drake, clowning for the camera. There were pictures of the bride: a thin woman with a big nose, dirty blond hair and glasses smiled back from the happiest day of her life. Shots of the ceremony, shots of the receptions and leaving passed before him quickly and dispassionately.

Then a younger version of him held a newborn with the broadest smile ever to crease his face. Many pictures of the baby with either parent: on the floor, in bed, bathing in the sink, playing with the dog. The boy grew older and passed through a Norman Rockwell childhood, through the stages of his life until the last picture showed him, tall and proud in a Marine uniform, next to his Dad in an Air Force uniform, and holding baby boy in his arms. A tear crept down Dan's cheek. The album ended with copies of citations for the Purple Heart and the Navy Cross.

Dan put the album down and walked outside into the humid Missouri murk, where he spent several minutes looking up at the sky at stars playing hid and seek with the coulds, the sheen of the moon lightening the background. The lights of both his neighbor's trailers were still on, although Brenda's went out as he stood there. Before he left, he thought he could see her silhouetted in her dark bedroom window watching him. He went back to his trailer, turned out the nights, and lay in bed for three hours before sleep finally came to him.

The next morning, Dan found a postcard on his table. It was a painting: a dark haired nude woman reclined on the grass beside a verdant pond, with lush green trees near and far; a red dress, basket and shoes resting on the grass beside her. In the background was a typical farm scene, with hay stacks on a broad field stretching to the horizon. Beside her was a grey haired man in a blue shirt and vest peeking around the trunk at her, fascinated. She lay oblivious to his attention, notknowing a horse and wagon were waiting just above the peeping Tom, perhaps to take her away. He turned it over to read the back. At the bottom of the card it read:

Thomas Hart Benton (1889-1975)
Persephone 1938
Egg tempera/oil on canvas
72 1/8 x 56 1/16 inches

Above the writing was a hand printed text:

"You make me feel like a goddess, Dan.

See me,
Touch me,
Feel me,
Heal me."

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AZSAMAZSAMover 14 years ago
Down home and sweet

Nice when there is a story with a plot line that carrys you gently along with no need for ten pages of sex when no words are needed. Just wait and follow the development of the characters and the story.

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