were just in the car, just like we are now except we were there because we felt like it." She kept her voice down. Had we been farther away, had I driven like she wanted me to, she never would have said it. "I wondered if you would have gone anyplace with me if there wasn't a reason to go, if there wasn't someone to look for. Part of the time last night I wasn't even thinking about Carl."
I could feel it rising up in me again, something like a thrill. I was wondering what it was in her that could make me feel like I did. I was wondering if I stayed with her for the afternoon if I could figure it out. "You've got too much on your mind," I said. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Come on and go to Shiloh with me."
"You interested in the Civil War?" I said.
"I'm interested in driving there," she said. "The rest of it we'll just have to see about."
I hadn't been there myself, but I knew where it was. When I was a kid in school my class had gone but something happened, I'd been sick or something, I don't remember. That was a long time ago. "We won't have a long time." All I had to say was that and it was over. The second I started entertaining the idea I was as good as lost. "By the time we get there it's almost going to be dark."
"But we'll be able to say we've been." You could hear it in her voice. She'd latched onto the little opening I'd given her. It was done, sunk, over.
"Sure," I said. "Why not. I don't see where going to Shiloh's going to hurt anything."
"Really?" she said, so pleased. "That would be great. Just going. Bang. Nobody knows where you are. That would be heaven."
I turned the car around and headed out to 40 East.
I don't know that Tennessee is prettier than other places. Sometimes I think that the pretty you like is just the pretty you know. There are a lot of places I hear are beautiful, out in the west where there are nothing but open spaces, and I think I'd like to go there to see. All the traveling in my life has been to play or to see somebody play. I've gone as far north as Chicago and south to New Orleans, but I never seem to make it more than a few hours away from the Mississippi on either side. Driving through west Tennessee to Shiloh, I thought I hadn't missed so much. Even in the late winter, which isn't our best time, the hills and trees and flat fields of broken corn stalks look fine, in as much as they look like home. The quickest way there is a two-lane blacktop with no shoulders that snakes its way through nowhere. It is such an empty road that Fay said the only reason it was built was to take us to Shiloh. In an hour we only passed three cars. She counted them.
"Four," she said when a blue Ford pickup went by.
She made comments on every animal we passed, too. Sometimes it was nothing more than her looking out the window and saying "Cows" when we were passing cows. She liked the horses best. I slowed down to give her a better look.
"I used to go riding some when I was a kid," she said. "For a while my parents talked about getting me a horse, but they couldn't do something like that. It's expensive, you know, once you board them and all."
I was sure I didn't know the first thing about it.
Neither one of us said anything about what we were doing, probably because we didn't know. It was better that way. While we were driving we were having a good time, not saying much. When we got to Shiloh it was nearly dark and the big sign at the front of the park said it all closed down at nightfall, but we'd come too far to just turn around. Right away I thought about Franklin, how I'd bring him here as soon as he came back. He'd like the cannonballs that were stacked into pyramids all over the fields. It's easy to see how pretty it would be once it was really spring. Just being a little farther south the trees had budded out already. There was a ranger locking up the tourist center when we pulled in and he went back inside to get us a couple of brochures.
"Just don't stay too long,"
I could feel it rising up in me again, something like a thrill. I was wondering what it was in her that could make me feel like I did. I was wondering if I stayed with her for the afternoon if I could figure it out. "You've got too much on your mind," I said. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Come on and go to Shiloh with me."
"You interested in the Civil War?" I said.
"I'm interested in driving there," she said. "The rest of it we'll just have to see about."
I hadn't been there myself, but I knew where it was. When I was a kid in school my class had gone but something happened, I'd been sick or something, I don't remember. That was a long time ago. "We won't have a long time." All I had to say was that and it was over. The second I started entertaining the idea I was as good as lost. "By the time we get there it's almost going to be dark."
"But we'll be able to say we've been." You could hear it in her voice. She'd latched onto the little opening I'd given her. It was done, sunk, over.
"Sure," I said. "Why not. I don't see where going to Shiloh's going to hurt anything."
"Really?" she said, so pleased. "That would be great. Just going. Bang. Nobody knows where you are. That would be heaven."
I turned the car around and headed out to 40 East.
I don't know that Tennessee is prettier than other places. Sometimes I think that the pretty you like is just the pretty you know. There are a lot of places I hear are beautiful, out in the west where there are nothing but open spaces, and I think I'd like to go there to see. All the traveling in my life has been to play or to see somebody play. I've gone as far north as Chicago and south to New Orleans, but I never seem to make it more than a few hours away from the Mississippi on either side. Driving through west Tennessee to Shiloh, I thought I hadn't missed so much. Even in the late winter, which isn't our best time, the hills and trees and flat fields of broken corn stalks look fine, in as much as they look like home. The quickest way there is a two-lane blacktop with no shoulders that snakes its way through nowhere. It is such an empty road that Fay said the only reason it was built was to take us to Shiloh. In an hour we only passed three cars. She counted them.
"Four," she said when a blue Ford pickup went by.
She made comments on every animal we passed, too. Sometimes it was nothing more than her looking out the window and saying "Cows" when we were passing cows. She liked the horses best. I slowed down to give her a better look.
"I used to go riding some when I was a kid," she said. "For a while my parents talked about getting me a horse, but they couldn't do something like that. It's expensive, you know, once you board them and all."
I was sure I didn't know the first thing about it.
Neither one of us said anything about what we were doing, probably because we didn't know. It was better that way. While we were driving we were having a good time, not saying much. When we got to Shiloh it was nearly dark and the big sign at the front of the park said it all closed down at nightfall, but we'd come too far to just turn around. Right away I thought about Franklin, how I'd bring him here as soon as he came back. He'd like the cannonballs that were stacked into pyramids all over the fields. It's easy to see how pretty it would be once it was really spring. Just being a little farther south the trees had budded out already. There was a ranger locking up the tourist center when we pulled in and he went back inside to get us a couple of brochures.
"Just don't stay too long,"
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