joke. Then he waited for Rudy to say something back, but Rudy didn't.
“Rudy? Yo, are you there?”
“Yeah, hey, Brocter, do you think I should walk behind them or drive in my car?”
“What?” Brocter was stunned that a deputy had bothered to ask his opinion.
“They're walking so slowly, it seems stupid to follow them in this big car.”
“Well, jeez, maybe you should ask them what would bother them the least. It seems like the Sheriff doesn't want them bothered, so you'd better ask them.”
“Yeah,” said Rudy, shaking his head up and down as if Brocter could actually see him. “Hey, I never thought of that. Thanks, Brocter, that's a great idea.”
“Yo,” said Brocter, shaking his head the exact same way but in total disbelief at the conversation he was about to end.
“Hey, Brocter,” said Rudy.
“What now?”
“Did I ever say thanks for all the shit you do all the time to help me out when I don't know what in the hell to do?”
“No man, you never say jack shit, just like everyone else.”
“Well then, thanks, Brocter.”
Rudy signed off then and flexed both hands in and out, as if the palms needed to be exercised. Then he pushed the magic button on his car that instantly rolled down every window in the squad car. After that, he just sat with his head out of the window, trying with all his might to hear the footsteps of the women walkers.
When he thought he had heard something, just a soft tap like someone might have stumbled and caught a heel that made them drop onto their toes, he inched the car forward slowly. As Rudy moved toward the women, he thought about being happy, really happy. So happy that you couldn't wait to get up in the morning. Then he thought about smelling the wet sagebrush in Arizona, and how his mother would look if she saw him standing at the door. He saw her reaching out her stubby fingers and bringing her hands to his face.
“Still got that mustache?” he imagined she would say while his father bellowed, “Who the hell is it?” in the background.
From out of nowhere, these thoughts about different places and people and himself started moving through his head, and for once Rudy knew why. He was elated that he had an answer for at least one of the questions that was floating around inside of him. “The footsteps,” he said out loud. “It's those damn footsteps of those women walkers.”
As the wind kicked up from the fields, the thoughts kept coming, flooding his mind. He thought about working with small children, and coming home at night to just one person. He thought about sleeping outside in a place just like this, where it wasn't crowded and where the dew would settle right onto his face so that he would feel damp and salty when the sun hit him at daybreak. He thought about telling everyone who had ever been nice to him that he was grateful. Asking could he do anything for them. He thought about driving his mother to the rim of the Grand Canyon and buying her one of those pink visors at a gift shop.
Getting out of the car when he was close to the women walkers was not easy. As light as he had felt talking to the reporters, he felt unmovable now, shy and scared. Without taking that one thought any further, he pushed his legs onto the asphalt and came up behind the last walker.
From the back she could have been anybody. Just a short lady wearing jeans that had been washed maybe five hundred times and had shrunk to way above her ankles. Her tennis shoes were a Kmart off brand but they were so clean, Rudy thought she probably hand-washed the laces like his mother did when he was a boy, rubbing them with a bar of Fels Naphtha soap and then gently placing them on top of the cabinet to dry. This woman had short brown hair, and when she moved all the curls in the middle of her head banged together as if they were confused about which way to go.
Rudy didn't want to startle her so he tried to walk heavy and pound his big black boots on the asphalt. This didn't
“Rudy? Yo, are you there?”
“Yeah, hey, Brocter, do you think I should walk behind them or drive in my car?”
“What?” Brocter was stunned that a deputy had bothered to ask his opinion.
“They're walking so slowly, it seems stupid to follow them in this big car.”
“Well, jeez, maybe you should ask them what would bother them the least. It seems like the Sheriff doesn't want them bothered, so you'd better ask them.”
“Yeah,” said Rudy, shaking his head up and down as if Brocter could actually see him. “Hey, I never thought of that. Thanks, Brocter, that's a great idea.”
“Yo,” said Brocter, shaking his head the exact same way but in total disbelief at the conversation he was about to end.
“Hey, Brocter,” said Rudy.
“What now?”
“Did I ever say thanks for all the shit you do all the time to help me out when I don't know what in the hell to do?”
“No man, you never say jack shit, just like everyone else.”
“Well then, thanks, Brocter.”
Rudy signed off then and flexed both hands in and out, as if the palms needed to be exercised. Then he pushed the magic button on his car that instantly rolled down every window in the squad car. After that, he just sat with his head out of the window, trying with all his might to hear the footsteps of the women walkers.
When he thought he had heard something, just a soft tap like someone might have stumbled and caught a heel that made them drop onto their toes, he inched the car forward slowly. As Rudy moved toward the women, he thought about being happy, really happy. So happy that you couldn't wait to get up in the morning. Then he thought about smelling the wet sagebrush in Arizona, and how his mother would look if she saw him standing at the door. He saw her reaching out her stubby fingers and bringing her hands to his face.
“Still got that mustache?” he imagined she would say while his father bellowed, “Who the hell is it?” in the background.
From out of nowhere, these thoughts about different places and people and himself started moving through his head, and for once Rudy knew why. He was elated that he had an answer for at least one of the questions that was floating around inside of him. “The footsteps,” he said out loud. “It's those damn footsteps of those women walkers.”
As the wind kicked up from the fields, the thoughts kept coming, flooding his mind. He thought about working with small children, and coming home at night to just one person. He thought about sleeping outside in a place just like this, where it wasn't crowded and where the dew would settle right onto his face so that he would feel damp and salty when the sun hit him at daybreak. He thought about telling everyone who had ever been nice to him that he was grateful. Asking could he do anything for them. He thought about driving his mother to the rim of the Grand Canyon and buying her one of those pink visors at a gift shop.
Getting out of the car when he was close to the women walkers was not easy. As light as he had felt talking to the reporters, he felt unmovable now, shy and scared. Without taking that one thought any further, he pushed his legs onto the asphalt and came up behind the last walker.
From the back she could have been anybody. Just a short lady wearing jeans that had been washed maybe five hundred times and had shrunk to way above her ankles. Her tennis shoes were a Kmart off brand but they were so clean, Rudy thought she probably hand-washed the laces like his mother did when he was a boy, rubbing them with a bar of Fels Naphtha soap and then gently placing them on top of the cabinet to dry. This woman had short brown hair, and when she moved all the curls in the middle of her head banged together as if they were confused about which way to go.
Rudy didn't want to startle her so he tried to walk heavy and pound his big black boots on the asphalt. This didn't
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