arkansas 1:1
We stopped because a blinding rain began,
mixed with ice, making it dangerous on the road. Past a Stuckey's on the frontage road, we parked in the lee
of a honkytonk bar called the Jangled Spur. We were behind the building, a concrete shoebox. Under the
drumming of the downpour, music came through the kitchen along with the smell of frying meat. When
the rain stopped, shutting off like a garden hose, Jack and Jill climbed out to stomp in the puddles and dance
to the beat. I stayed in the car, looking over the maps, Louisiana, Texas, Tennessee, trying to figure the shortest
route to a place I didn't know the name of where the mother of these children might or might not be. I found
us on the Arkansas map. You Are Here. You Are Lost. I looked up to see a woman, a cook, paused inside the
open kitchen doorway, watching me and the kids. I looked back at her. The kids, soaking wet, went on grooving.
The woman had a big piece of beef on a long, sharp fork. I was hungry. I wondered if she wanted to dance.
move on...
Other Roads...
Back Up...
other roads:
