"Or maybe you want a drink of this special Co’-Cola instead?" he asked.
She leered, looked left and then right. "Sure," she said. He handed her the cup and she ducked her head and took a drink.
"When they let you off here?" he said.
"Not soon enough," she said. "The horse’s ass that runs the place keeps us here half the night."
"Well, we’re big boys," he said. "We get to stay up late."
I opened my door and got out. He looked around. "Hey, where you going?"
I shut the door. My eyes met the girl’s over the roof of the car, then I ducked my head in the window. "I’ve got to go," I said. "I’ll see you," and I started away from the car.
"Hey!" he yelled.
But I didn’t turn around. He yelled a couple more times but I kept going. When I was far enough away I looked back. The girl was still standing at the Lincoln.
I was hoping he’d be waiting outside the house when I got home. He wasn’t.
A week later a notice came from Martin’s Drugs saying I had a Trailways package. It was a cardboard box wrapped in brown butcher’s paper and tied with string, light to carry but about the size of Shakespeare’s coffin. When I got it home and opened it I found a new calfskin guitar case packed in newspaper and inside that was the Hummingbird. The guitar was in good shape, but the words Mr Good were scratched in tall letters on the back of the body. In the bottom of the case was a note:
Son
I wont you to have this a fine instrumint i bought it new in 1965. Maybe somday we can play together i can teech you some Bob wills. The only thing about it is i got no idee how the writing got on the back i woke up in a motel in oddessa tex 8 yeer ago and it was almost nite and their it was this is stil a good guitar.
Dad