Tillman and I
1992; University of Missouri; Volume: 15; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/mis.1992.0028
ISSN1548-9930
Autores Tópico(s)Mormonism, Religion, and History
ResumoTILLMAN AND 1 1 Ann Packer //XTAME THE QUAD CITIES," said Tillman. L\| It was the middle of the morning and we'd just crossed the Mississippi and entered Iowa. I tried to remember the highway signs we'd passed. "Moline," I said. "East Moline." I was stuck. "North Moline and South MoUne?" "Tm sorry," said TUlman. "You do not win the walnut dinette set. The correct answer is: Moline, Rock Island, Bettendorf, and Davenport." "Rock Island sounds pretty." "It's the armpit of the Mississippi. How about a sandwich?" I laughed. "Don't you want to save them for lunch?" "No," he said. "We'U stop for lunch in Iowa City." I reached for the cooler, which was sharing the back seat with our suitcases, a gift-wrapped bottle of Scotch, and TiUman's gun. The Scotch was for Tillman's brother, Casey, whom we were going to visit. The gun was so TUlman—and I—could shoot some pheasants. "Or maybe some ducks," he'd said. "We'll see." The trip had come about almost by accident. TUlman and I had been keeping company for only a few months, but one of the routines we had established was on Sunday mornings when we woke up together we'd buy coffee to go from the local greasy spoon and walk out to look at the lake: I grew up forty minutes from the Atlantic, but TUlman was from the dead center of the country and Lake Michigan stiU thriUed him. One chilly October morning as we walked along the city streets Tillman sucked in his breath and put a hand to his chest as he let it out again. "It's a perfect faU day," he said. "Makes me feel like kUUn' animals." I laughed, but I had seen the gun and knew he liked to hunt. His hunting belonged in a category with former lovers and the most crushing adolescent humUiations: I didn't think we were ready for it yet. "You laugh now," he said. "Wait till you try it. You're a lady who could shoot, Td put money down." I experienced the usual guUty pleasure his calUng me a lady made me feel—it wasn't something Td ever been called by anyone before I hadn't irritated in some way. ("Lady, move your car" I had heard before I met TiUman, but not "You're a lady I could see having dinner with," which he said about five minutes after we met.) I said I probably 288 · The Missouri Review wasn't a lady who could shoot but that we'd never know, would we—and here we were. I handed Tillman an egg-salad sandwich and took an apple for myself. "Isn't this fun?" he said. "And the great thing is, we've still got six hundred miles to go." I moaned. "Maybe we should play a Ucense plate game or something. Did you used to do that when you were Uttle?" "I was never Uttle," Tillman said. "You know those Uttle white booties babies wear? I had basketball shoes." "Come on—when your family went on trips? We'd have races to see who could spell out the European capitals first." "That assumes someone knows them," he said. "Anyway, we didn't go on trips." A light rain had begun to fall and Tillman switched on the windshield wipers. I looked at him. There was something in the way he held himself, in the relationship of head, neck, and shoulders, that made me very happy. And he had such a winning way of driving a car: one hand on the wheel, the other in his lap, an alert look on his face but not too alert—he wasn't looking for trouble but he could handle it. "So you're ready for me to meet your brother," I said. He pressed his lips together in a sly smile. "Amy. It's hunting we're going to do. Pretend it's a coincidence my brother'll be there." "Okay," I said, nodding. "That's what I'll do." And in that way we continued to keep on hold any discussions of our...
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