A Story of Thomas Howard Jr.
As recorded by Walter Agnew Moore II

My mother looks at the flower shop on Broad Street as we drive past. "Tomtom, do you remember when that was a burger place?"

"Barely, mama," I say. It was the "Thirsty Boy", a leftover from the 50's, barely hanging on in the mid-70's when I would sneak out of church as a teen and go hang out there with my other heathen friends. Unpopular. Deserted. I watch the road and let her tell it.

"I think it was called the "Thirsty Boy," she says. "It was the place to go when we were all in high school. There wasn't any McDonald's or Burger King or any of that, we'd all go and pack into the "Thirsty Boy."

"That was the first place I ever met Andy," she says.

"He was one of those kids from the Air Force base, and he'd wear a t-shirt with his cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve, two-tone hot-rod car, the whole nine yards."

"So mama, you had a hoodlum side..."

She nods vaguely, then continues: "So we'd meet there at the Thirsty Boy, we hit it off, I ended up dating Andy, and Sissie would hang out with Mike Kowalski, and we'd all go driving around in that two-tone car.

"We got engaged.

"Andy got transfered out to a base in New Mexico. That's where he was from anyway. We kept in touch. I was so excited when he invited mama and me out to meet his family.

"So then mama and I drove the whole way across Texas. We stopped in El Paso, and I walked across the bridge over the Rio Grande, just to say I'd been in Mexico. We ate there, and I drank the water too, big mistake.

"In New Mexico, we met his mother and sister, they were very nice. Andy took mama and me driving up through the mountains around Cloudcroft. We went through an Indian reservation on the way up. While we were gone, a forest fire swept through and burned up all the houses of the people we'd talked to a few hours before.

"During that trip, I even went to a dance in Roswell."

I laugh. "A dance at Roswell?"

"Yes, I believe that was the name..."

"Well, mama, that explains a lot," I chuckle.

"Um-hmm. Then, all of a sudden, he told me."

"He told you what?"

"He told me that he didn't love me."

We are driving past Selma High School, a gothic facade on a series of connected brick boxes. Leaves blow down the long drive.

"And that was that?" I ask.

"It was, but I didn't know it then. You can't make somebody love you when they don't. I see people trying, everyday, for all the good it does them. It hurts me because I know what they are going through. But there's no point, you just keep hurting yourself."

"So what did you do next?"

"Well, let's see, what did I do... I worked for a while at Hohenstein Brothers. They must have thought I was a zombie. Then I took a summer-session course at Auburn. Still-life painting. There was a big old football player there who liked me. We went out a time or two, but I figured I looked like Olive Oyl next to Bluto when I was around him. He was probably a very nice person, but I never gave him a chance.

"Then I went back to school in Marion, I met your father, we dated, got married, and that was that.

"Your father said it hurt his feelings, when you were born, that while I was in labor I called out Andy's name. I have no idea what I said, I was so doped up, but he said I called out Andy's name."

I turn the car west, towards home.

"So anyway, that was Andy."