BooksBarbecue
Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

The sounds of roaring car engines woke me, and headlights flashed at me as I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to get my bearings. The dance was over. I was to meet Boyd for a ride home. I kissed my lover of the evening and left him, brushing leaves and grass from my clothes as I pulled on my jacket and ran my fingers through my hair. I could not be certain whether there were telltale stains on my clothing or face, and would not know until I could find a mirror.

Head down, I bucked the exiting crowd and fought my way against the flow to the vacant ladies’ room. I pushed through the door and looked in the mirror. My face reflected the peacefulness in my soul. I looked relaxed, happy, loved. Warm water washed over my hands as I watched my face in the mirror, appreciating my new look. It was the lean look of spiritual satisfaction. I dried my hands on a paper towel and checked my teeth once more in the mirror.

I turned out the light as I left.

Kyle was already sweeping a pile of cigarette butts, chewing-­gum wrappers, and assorted trash ahead of his wide push-­broom. The snack bar had been closed down, food put away, cleaned up, lights out. The ticket table was stowed inside. Bill and Boyd stood in the doorway, talking with some older men. I walked over.

Boyd saw me approach, smiled. “Ready?” I nod­ded. “Kyle will lock up.” He punched his brother in the side. “C’mon, punk.” He shook hands with the two men, called his thanks to Kyle, and the three of us went back into the cold parking lot still littered with a few empty cars and plenty of empty bottles and cans.

Boyd’s truck was a big, new pickup so high off the ground I thought I’d need a stepladder to get in. He lifted me by the waist to help me up, and I settled comfortably between the two brothers. The engine roared to life; he turned on the lights, the heater, and the radio, all in one practiced movement. He put the truck in gear and we were on our way.

Boyd was quiet as we drove the few miles to their house. Bill drummed on his legs, tapped his feet, and nodded his Stetson in time to the various songs that came on the radio. He even softly sang portions of one love tune. When we stopped outside his house, he jumped out with a quick thanks, closed the door, and we took off again. Boyd spoke not a word.