1959--Osage County, Oklahoma

by W.E. Turner

Alphonse Bonet sits on the railroad trestle, waiting on the 4:14. He knows it ought to be along any minute.

The hot Oklahoma August sun glistens off the water that drips off Al's skinny, sun-browned body. The water--half sweat, half creek water--is squeezed out of the pores of Al's quarter-breed Osage skin and out of his wet, cut-off Levi's. The mixture runs down the boy's legs and drips into the tepid brown water of Sand Creek below Al's feet.

Al glances up at the sun, then quickly looks away, feeling the pain the old boy causes.

"Hey. Warbonnet," Vince Goodby asks, bastardizing Al's last name the way all the boys do. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," Al says. "Ask Willie. He's got the watch."

"It's ten minutes past four," Willie says. He puts the waterproof, bandless Timex back into the bib pocket of the cut-off overalls, hand-me-downs he got from Al this summer.

Al wishes his watch still worked. The watch and the Barlow knife in the pocket of his cut-off Levi's were the only gifts he received from the old man on their visitation to Norfolk last Christmas--the same things Willie received. Only now, Willie's knife is nowhere to be found and Al's watch doesn't work anymore. So each of the two boys only retain half their legacy.

But two halves make a whole, don't it? Al chuckles.

The thought of his father makes Al remember the old man and their visit. When they boarded the train, headed east, both he and Willie had identification tags running through the buttonholes of their coats--just like those pictures of the expectant, wide-eyed children he saw once on "The 20th Century" on Grandma's TV. Those kids were going somewhere, to do something, but he doesn't remember what it was. But Al does remember the day his father took the two boys to Washington, D.C.

Lincoln's head was massive--bigger than the Buick the old man drove. Of course, the Cherry trees were not in bloom--not in December. The White House tour was only 45 minutes long, but Dad didn't show up until two hours later, and when he did, he smelled just the way Mom did after a night out on the town--reeking of whiskey and cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.

All five of the boys in the group sit or stand on the railroad trestle. They can see the train coming now, shimmering in the heat waves off toward the bluffs.

Can't jump early, Al thinks. You'll be a chicken, if you do. All the other boys'd make clucking sounds every time they see you. They'll laugh at you.

The train's at the end of the trestle, now. The vibration of the locomotive's wheels makes the whole bridge shake.

Come on, Mister, blow that horn, Al's mind screams. Three long blasts, like always. Come on. Come on. Please, Mister, blow the horn. I don't wanna die. Come on. Come on. Please. Please. Please.

The sound of the horn splits the air. All the boys are off the bridge even before the second blast sounds.