Catch & Release (28 page)

Boulder River

Dear Gramma Dot,

Wish you were here. I bet you wish you were here too, because here is a good place to be. It's a blue-sky day. I'm on the Boulder down by the Natural Bridge. That girl Polly and me came up here to do some fishing. Seems like they ought to be biting, but they aren't buying what I'm selling. Maybe it's a little too hot or they're all full to the gills with grasshoppers because I got nothing.

I drove G-pa Odd's car up here—I figure you don't mind—you said it was going to be mine when I needed it. That car is like driving a big old chunk of heaven, like you already know.

Stopped to see the prairie dog show on the way over. Polly didn't seem too impressed. She thinks she's going to get the plague off them. Normal person would see cute. That Polly, she sees a tick bus full of disease. Anyhow, Hokahey! like Crazy Horse said. It's a good day.

So you remember when you brought me here the first time? I do. I remember you told me that there used to be a real natural bridge made of rock that went from one side of the river to the other. You told me about how there was a fieldtrip and a bus full of kids went over to the other side to have a picnic. After the picnic, when they were all in the bus, the bridge fell down and just crashed down into the river. If it happened ten minutes earlier all them kids would have died, but they didn't.

We found some real good fossils in the riverbed that day. I still got mine. Then we climbed up to that cave and saw those paintings, the red ones. And you said they couldn't be too ancient because one of them showed a gun, but they were still cool. The cave was cool too, the air in it I mean. And you told me that was what bat shit smells like and not to stir up the dust. I still remember all about that day. It was a good day too. A real good day.

And today is a real good day. I saw some prairie dogs, and I hiked down here to this hole below the falls, and since the fish aren't cooperating I'm sitting on this rock by the river and writing to you.

 

Love, your boy Odd

Firehole River

Dear Gramma Dot,

Started out the day with some biscuits and gravy, but they weren't nearly good as you make. Not even after I put on a lot more pepper. They don't know your secret ingredients.

The reason I'm writing today is that you might hear from some people how I'm not acting responsible. That's one way to look at it, I guess, but I got another, and the way I look at it is Buck doesn't need my help and I sure don't need his. I was going down to the dealership just like I was supposed to, but all Buck ever had me do was vacuum the sales office and make coffee—and they got a janitor service and Diane in the office makes better coffee than me—or so I got told. So mostly I was just standing around doing nothing. That gave me plenty of time to hear Buck saying about how I used to have a future but that's over now. He'd say it right in front of me like I was rig with a busted axle and trading up was a better idea because what's the point of fixing it. I just got a little tired of that. I don't care if it was helping him make sales or not. He used to get people to buy equipment before I was available to look pathetic so he can just go back to doing whatever works.

So anyhow I need to figure out what works for me. What works today is some more fishing.

Me and that girl Polly came down the Paradise through the park to the Firehole. Stopped at Mammoth Hot Springs on the way in and the minerals were all sparkly in the sunshine. It occurred to me that maybe this was the mountains of salt that Lewis and Clark thought they'd find, so I mentioned that to some tourists, but the whole story was news to them. I also told them about how Lewis and Clark thought they would be finding wooly mammoths. The world was a pretty big place back then and nobody knew what was in it.

I kept an eye out for mammoths, but all I saw was a badger and a buttload of slow-moving buffalo. Spent time out on the river, but I still didn't catch anything. I got distracted by some pretty girls from Japan who were taking pictures. Polly didn't catch anything either, but I don't know what distracted her. She doesn't talk much. She isn't shy—more pissed off and stuck up.

Basically, it was a good day—a whole lot better than it would have been making coffee at the dealership.

 

Love, your boy Odd

Out by Elkhorn

Dear Gramma Dot,

It's getting light, but it still ain't warm so I'm not going to get up for a while. It's OK here in the sleeping bag, and I don't mind burning daylight. Got a headache or I'd go back to sleep. Took some aspirin and a drink of water and that should kick in a while, but right now, I remembered you saying that doing something keeps the mind off the pain. So what I'm doing is writing to you.

One reason I might have a headache is because that girl Polly flew off the handle and whacked me in the head. She goes from mopey to dangerous faster than a snake. I never saw that coming, tell you what. She's sad and she's mad—I get that. But the worst thing is she doesn't appreciate anything. On top of that she's got a stick up her butt like you wouldn't believe.

Like yesterday we went to Elkhorn, which you know is a cool place because you showed it to me. Some things have changed. I looked all around in the cemetery, and I didn't see a jar full of lemons and vinegar on any of the graves. Not even any broken glass. I remember what you said about how we can't know if there is a heaven or a hell, but if there is a hell there are way more people who deserve to be in it. I remember what you said about that grave and how the vinegar and lemons was left on it by people he'd hurt. They left that there as a way to remember but also get rid of the memories. I thought about that and then I peed on the grave I think was the right one. I figure it's the thought that counts.

Polly didn't like that.

Did a little target practice. Polly didn't like that either.

Then while she was supposed to be getting a fire together so we could make some dinner, she kicked me in the head with my own foot and gave me a bloody nose.

She's a handful of crazy. But I remember you told me crazy isn't the same as bad and most crazy comes from being afraid. So I gave her the gun and told her nobody could make her do what she didn't want to do. We'll see how that turns out.

 

Love, your boy Odd

Blackfoot River

Dear Gramma Dot,

I remember you told me that dreams are just my brain flushing the toilet and that I should just wake up and forget them, but sometimes that's not so easy to do. Last night I dreamed I was little again and Buck was going shove my head in the toilet like he tried to do that one time when he bashed my face on the rim so hard I nearly bit my own lip off.

But then—because it was a dream, and dreams don't make sense, like you always said—the toilet turned into a cat box and Buck made me eat a cat turd. Then after that I had to do whatever Buck told me until he fell asleep. But I couldn't run away because I couldn't find my robot leg. I don't know what I needed it for because in the dream I had my own two legs, but I woke up needing to find it. I still had it on. That just proves you are right about dreams. But that dream did remind me about something I need to tell you, but I been avoiding it.

It's about your kitty, Cat Ballou.

Buck told me I was supposed to take Cat to the vet and get her put down. He said it needed done because you can't take her with you to the new place, and nobody wants to deal with her because she's so old and smells bad. I said I'd take care of her, but he said “no way” and I'm not responsible and besides she just dribbles pee. He said Dad left money for the vet and if I didn't take her, he'd keep the money and throw her in a dumpster. Wouldn't even cost a bullet, he said. But it was supposed to be my job to deal with it.

So I took her. But I took her to a place called a no-kill shelter. When I explained, they seemed real nice and said they knew how to care for old kitties like her. They asked me though, if I could take a dog so there would be room. That particular dog is a little too much high energy to be living with cats. So I said, sure, why not? It wasn't until I got that dog home that I remembered what Buck did to the last one. So I just traded one problem for another. It's OK though, because then I traded that dog for Polly. Like I said, I just traded one problem for another one.

They say you can visit Cat Ballou there at the shelter. Like I said. They seemed real nice.

I have a bear of a headache, and as soon as Polly gets back I'm gonna get me a cup of coffee somewhere down the road.

Mostly yesterday was a real good day. Hokahey! I'm gonna see what today is good for as soon as I get that coffee.

 

Love, your boy Odd