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Show City Motel 127 From somewhere in the motel, Harold heard a man and a woman singing "Zip-a-dee doo-dah" and the sounds of a shower. He sat on the suitcase, crossed his legs at the knees, and began swinging his foot back and forth. Steve, the truck driver, came walking down the steps trying to whistle. He had just eaten another cracker so was having a d i f f i c u l t time puckering into a clear-sounding whistle. He looked at Mr. Jackson, knitted his eyebrows together, and said, "You look like you're down on your luck, man. Just because I'm feeling so good today, have some of my crackers." He handed him three packets of two each sal tines which Mr. Jackson put in his suit pocket. Mrs. Jackson, trying to find a subtle way to get to their car and escape, followed Steve to his trudc. She asked him why trucks had mud flaps and why truckers favored big belt buckles. She hoped that Harold would understand her diversionary tactics and follow along. They could drive off in a hurry i f they timed things right. But the motel manager tagged behind Eva, asking the truck driver her own questions about his CB and his handle. And, Harold stayed rooted to the welcome mat. He heard a door latch and looked to his l e f t to see who was coming out of Room 1. A couple appeared arm in arm at their pink doorway. They walked past Harold, both winking at him as the man's hand slipped down to pat the woman's bottom. They clung to each other all the way to their car, climbed in and roared north on Highway 31 toward Byhalia. Harold sighed, remembering the days when he used to want to reach out and pat every round bottom. He could feel the soft curve across his palm as he thought about i t. |