to die, he says, â Pinocchio ? â
His First Great Love
I t was my fatherâs great joy and misfortune to fall in love with the most beauÂtiful woman in the town of Auburn, and possibly in the entire state of Alabama, Miss Sandra Kay Templeton.
Why misfortune? Because he was not the only man in Auburn, and possibly not the only man in the rest of the entire state of Alabama, to be in love with her. He took a number and headed to the end of the line.
Her beauty had already been celebrated in song by one talented admirer:
Sandy, Sandy, Sandy
Youâre a pretty girl
Hop into my car
And Iâll take you for a whirl . . .
And so on.
There had also been duels, car races, drinking bouts, bare-fisted fights dedicated to her affection, and there was at least one dog named after her, and there might have been more.
Sandra didnât intend to be as beautiful as she was. It wasnât her desire to be loved by so many menâone would do fine. But she couldnât help being pretty, or the kind of pretty that was so widely admired, and as soon as she discouraged one suitor another popped up to take his place, with flowers, songs, ready to fight. So she just minded her own business, and let everybody else mind theirs, and a line formed behind her, a veritable club, a kind of fraternity of wishful thinking and broken hearts.
Edward didnât write any songs. For a long time he didnât do anything. He looked at her, of course. He didnât mind looking at her when she passed; looking brought its own special excitement with it. It was as if she brought her own light with her, because wherever she went, she glowed. Who could explain that?
Edward liked to catch that glow once and a while.
His Legendary Legs
H e was so fast it was said he could arÂrive in a place before setting out to get there. It was not running so much as it was flight, his legs seeming never to touch the ground but move across a current of air. He never asked to race but many asked to race him, and though he tried to dissuade them, a young manâs taunts and jibes are not easily sustained. He would end up, invariably, removing his shoesâfor he never ran in his shoesâand waiting for his eager counterpart to get ready. Then they were offâor rather, it was over, for there was never any race to speak of. Before the young man who wished so to test his skills against those of my father had even left the starting line, he viewed at the finish the dim figure of the man he had hoped to beat.
In Which He Makes His Move
T o make a long story not quite so long, well, pretty soon it wasnât enough for him just to see her anymore. He had to get close to her, he had to talk, he had to touch.
He followed her around for a while. He followed her between classes, down the halls, this sort of thing. Brushed against her accidentally. Touched her arm in the cafeteria.
âExcuse me,â he always said.
She got into his brain and drove him crazy. One day he watched her sharpening a pencil. Her soft hands holding the long yellow shaft. He picked up the shavings that fell on the floor and rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger. Then one day he saw her talking to someone he thought he knew. She was smiling in a way heâd never seen her smile before. He watched them talk and laugh for a few minutes, and then his heart fell as he watched her look around, then slowly lean in for a kiss. He almost decided not to pursue her when he saw this, but then he placed the face. It was the guy from the barn, the one who had stolen the old ladyâs eye. His name was Don Price.
My fatherâs feeling was that if he had defeated him once, he could do it again.
His chance came on the following day. His whole body was about to explode from desire. The blood was tight against his skin. Somehow he needed to release the pressure. He saw Sandra in the hallway.
âSandra,â he said, picking an inopportune
His First Great Love
I t was my fatherâs great joy and misfortune to fall in love with the most beauÂtiful woman in the town of Auburn, and possibly in the entire state of Alabama, Miss Sandra Kay Templeton.
Why misfortune? Because he was not the only man in Auburn, and possibly not the only man in the rest of the entire state of Alabama, to be in love with her. He took a number and headed to the end of the line.
Her beauty had already been celebrated in song by one talented admirer:
Sandy, Sandy, Sandy
Youâre a pretty girl
Hop into my car
And Iâll take you for a whirl . . .
And so on.
There had also been duels, car races, drinking bouts, bare-fisted fights dedicated to her affection, and there was at least one dog named after her, and there might have been more.
Sandra didnât intend to be as beautiful as she was. It wasnât her desire to be loved by so many menâone would do fine. But she couldnât help being pretty, or the kind of pretty that was so widely admired, and as soon as she discouraged one suitor another popped up to take his place, with flowers, songs, ready to fight. So she just minded her own business, and let everybody else mind theirs, and a line formed behind her, a veritable club, a kind of fraternity of wishful thinking and broken hearts.
Edward didnât write any songs. For a long time he didnât do anything. He looked at her, of course. He didnât mind looking at her when she passed; looking brought its own special excitement with it. It was as if she brought her own light with her, because wherever she went, she glowed. Who could explain that?
Edward liked to catch that glow once and a while.
His Legendary Legs
H e was so fast it was said he could arÂrive in a place before setting out to get there. It was not running so much as it was flight, his legs seeming never to touch the ground but move across a current of air. He never asked to race but many asked to race him, and though he tried to dissuade them, a young manâs taunts and jibes are not easily sustained. He would end up, invariably, removing his shoesâfor he never ran in his shoesâand waiting for his eager counterpart to get ready. Then they were offâor rather, it was over, for there was never any race to speak of. Before the young man who wished so to test his skills against those of my father had even left the starting line, he viewed at the finish the dim figure of the man he had hoped to beat.
In Which He Makes His Move
T o make a long story not quite so long, well, pretty soon it wasnât enough for him just to see her anymore. He had to get close to her, he had to talk, he had to touch.
He followed her around for a while. He followed her between classes, down the halls, this sort of thing. Brushed against her accidentally. Touched her arm in the cafeteria.
âExcuse me,â he always said.
She got into his brain and drove him crazy. One day he watched her sharpening a pencil. Her soft hands holding the long yellow shaft. He picked up the shavings that fell on the floor and rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger. Then one day he saw her talking to someone he thought he knew. She was smiling in a way heâd never seen her smile before. He watched them talk and laugh for a few minutes, and then his heart fell as he watched her look around, then slowly lean in for a kiss. He almost decided not to pursue her when he saw this, but then he placed the face. It was the guy from the barn, the one who had stolen the old ladyâs eye. His name was Don Price.
My fatherâs feeling was that if he had defeated him once, he could do it again.
His chance came on the following day. His whole body was about to explode from desire. The blood was tight against his skin. Somehow he needed to release the pressure. He saw Sandra in the hallway.
âSandra,â he said, picking an inopportune
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