~Mr. Jones and Me~

This isn't a love story. This isn't the story about the knight in shining armor rescuing his princess. This story isn't an epic about a man with super powers saving the entire town in some heroic deed. This story is about a different kind of hero.
My name is Matthew Williams, dear friends, and I write to you as about as much of a nobody as the day I was born. But this story isn't about a nobody like me. This is about a somebody. A somebody with big dreams and an even bigger imagination, somebody who brought out the best in everybody no matter who they were, somebody who was probably the only person who ever believed in me.

I grew up in a small town in Canada, with divorced parents who never quit bickering. They had fights that left me feeling as insignificant as the gum on the bottom of my father's shoe. And it never stopped. Even when they lived separated, they'd find ways to always go at each other, and they especially liked to fight about me.
Mama was the strong type of woman, and she was English. Papa was lazy, but he was always nice. He was French. Mama was always at work. And when she wasn't, she was cooking or cleaning or picking up after Papa. Papa never minded me much either. He'd had some issues with the wine, so I was a bit afraid as a small child.
I never got much attention, and after a while I just got used to being lonely. While other children ran around laughing and screaming and having fun with each other, I'd sit alone at the edge of the playground with my toys. But that's okay. I never minded it much. I figure that's probably because I never knew anything different.

It was the year 1940 and the dawn of flight, and I had just turned twenty-one. I was able to leave my parents, so I packed up my bags and told them I was moving to America. I liked the Americans' freedom, I needed some of that. I also entertained the idea that it would give me a chance, that I'd have an opportunity to be someone, that maybe I could achieve my dreams like those beautiful people in the storybooks.
"Absolutely not," Mama would say, "You should come back to England with me."
"No, no, no," Papa would argue, "The boy is staying here with me."
Apologies to the both of you if you're reading this, but that just wasn't for me.
And so I left. I wrote them both a note saying I was leaving, and I crept out the back door that night with nothing more than a small suitcase and whatever I could fit in my pockets. I didn't need much. I had enough clothes for two weeks, and a few of my favorite books. ...And the stuffed polar bear from when I was little. I couldn't bear to part with dear Kumajirou! And truthfully I still needed him to sleep at night.
I'd saved for years to go to college like Mama always wanted, but I used most of it and bought my ticket to New York. I can honestly say that the airport was one of the scariest experiences of my life and that I never want to be around that many people pushing and shoving and hurrying around ever again. It's mostly a blur now, that night, and I do believe I fell asleep on the plane ride. When I first woke up the next morning I thought I was dreaming. It took me a minute before I realized that I'd made it, I was in America.
I stepped off the plane and it took my breath away. The city was unlike anything I'd ever seen before, living in the woods in Canada. It was so inspiring, the beautiful lights, everything was so magnificent!
I walked down the streets of New York City, just taking in all of the people, the amazing buildings and the shining lights... And as I stood there in Times Square, in the midst of that huge bustling crowd, I'd felt more alone than ever before in my life.
And I thought, I just made a huge mistake. Where would I go from here? I didn't know how to do anything, I wouldn't even know where to start, what was I thinking! I couldn't do this, I had to go back...
And there I started to cry. But no! I must be strong! I wiped my tears off and gathered myself together.
"You can do this, Matthew." clutching the old stuffed bear in my jacket, I willed myself to continue down to the little hotel toward the end of the street.
I walked through the double-doors into the big fancy lobby and said a shy "Hello" to the woman at the front desk.
She was quite kind to me, and helped me find a room. I walked up to my new home on the top floor and unlocked the door. And I distinctly remember the "Wow," that escaped me. It was beautiful!
I dropped my bags and laughed and ran in. How exciting! America was so /fancy./ I flopped on the bed, and oh, it was magnificent! Ahh, I was feeling much more hopeful than earlier in the square.
I walked over to the window and peeked out and the city below- oh, and wasn't it fabulous! Feeling a bit daring, I climbed out on the fire escape, and right in that moment was a feeling I will never forget for the rest of my life.
I stared down at the people below, tiny as ants, and waved- not like they saw. It was much windier in the city, and I pulled my jacket tighter around me as the breeze blew my hair into a mess, but I didn't mind one bit. The glow of the lights was spectacular, oh, the whole thing was breathtaking... And I'm sure it sounds cliche, but to the little smalltown boy, the city was a whole new world. This is what America was all about.
I slept like a baby that night, dreaming of what I could do, who I could be. Whatever happened, this was sure to be an adventure.

And the city was where I met him. Mr. Jones, as he liked to be called, because it made him feel important. He wanted to be famous, of course. He wanted to act, he wanted to sing, he wanted to fly, he wanted to find some new undiscovered land to name after himself. He strived to be /remembered,/ and I can assure you he did an excellent job.
In a crowd he was easily picked out. He was the loudest by far, and he told the wildest stories. I loved the way he'd laugh until he cried, and the way that not only did he have dreams but that he wanted me to have dreams too. I remember those long nights we'd just sit together, tossing ideas and stories around... but I won't get ahead of myself there.

It would appear that we met by accident, but he always used to tell me it was fate. I was sitting in Central Park one day, throwing the birds the rest of my breakfast from a small bench along the bike path. I'd taken to walking through the park in the mornings, for I quite liked the little animals, they reminded the ones back home.
I first ran across the curious Mr. Jones on my favorite park bench, on a day he'd gone on a whimsy and decided that he was going to ride a tandem bicycle with a kite and his dog. What would inspire him to do this? Well I'd learned not to ask after a while. I'd think it well-known that dogs aren't the greatest at riding bicycles, so it's no surprise he'd had trouble staying on the path.
I threw the birds the last bit of my bagel and watched them peck at the bits fascinatedly. I heard a "WOO HOO!" and the birds were scattered away as some odd contraption flew through and I was pushed back on the bench. There was a shout, and I immediately spun to see what it possibly could have been that just flew by- and was met with the sight of an odd sort of man, tangled up in kite strings and a bent-up bike that had crashed into a tree. His golden retriever dog sat just a few feet away, panting and wagging his tail excitedly, and it almost reminded me of a small child at the amusement park shouting 'Again, again!'
I smiled at the poor fellow and hiked over to him. "Need any help?" I asked, in my usual quiet shy tone.
"Well hi-de-ho, there, Mister!" He jumped up and gave my hand a hearty shake, dragging with him the bicycle that was now tied to him by the kite, and nearly toppling over on me from it.
"Oh, here, let me help you," I reached out to support him.
"Oh, well aren't you just the bee's knees!" he remarked as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I held him up whilst attempting to untangle the kite string, as he hopped on one foot to stay standing.
I unwrapped the string from around his legs and he was able to wiggle out of the rest of the mess.
"Thank ya', sir! Lordy knows where I'da been without'cha." He grinned at me, grasping both of my hands in his own and shaking. He had a Southern sort of accent, that sounded odd from living here in New Amsterdam too long.
He was a fascinating man. He had blonde hair that looked like he'd tried to comb it, but the curious little cowlick right at the front wasn't having any of that. He had the most brilliant blue eyes that sparkled when he laughed, and a smile that was positively beaming. "They call's me Mr. Jones 'round here. Whaddabout you now?"
I smiled sheepishly, and softly stammerred out, "O-Oh I'm Matthew... Matthew Williams... I-I'mnewhere." I laughed awkwardly.
"Well it sure was dandy meetin' ya', Matt! Hope I seeya 'round sometime." He saluted me, then turned and hiked off with his head held high, and whistled for his dog (who goes by the name of Indiana... I was always quite fond of the little fellow.) to follow.
I was left wondering what exactly had just hit me. I took the scenic route home, and couldn't stop smiling about the odd man.
And that was it, from then on he was everywhere. It was hard to believe I hadn't noticed him before.

A few days later I was in the market and was interrupted by a large crashing noise. Myself and several other shoppers stopped and went to see what had happened. I immediately recognized the tuft of messy blonde hair that stuck up from a knocked over pile of cans.
"Oh dear, Mr. Jones, does this happen often?" I rushed over to help him up.
"Well howdy, Mattie! Aren't you just the eager beaver!" He grabbed my helping hand and yanked himself up.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, yeah, don' worry 'bout me. I'm use' ter it by now. Heh. Bet I look like a real fat-head." He brushed off, smilin' around. He was wearing suspenders over a buttoned-up shirt with a bowtie, and his cowlick was more obvious than ever.
"Well it was nice seeing you again." I smiled and waved him goodbye.
"Oh right! See'yer 'round town!" He waved once quick and skipped off.

Not more than a week later I found him jumping from the library's large steps, trying to see how far he could jump from. He made it to seven before he couldn't make the landing and fell to his knees on the pavement.
I rushed over to help him up and laughed, "Mr. Jones! We must stop meeting like this!"
He laughed heartily and jumped up. "Oh, Matt," he ruffled my hair with this, "Golly, bud, we should get together sometime."
"Oh, that would be lovely!" I smiled brightly at him. I didn't have any friends here yet, other than the squirrels and birds in Central Park.
"C'mon, lemme show ya where I usually hang 'round," he hooked his arm around my elbow like an escort and marched me right down the street. I stumbled after him, trying to keep up without tripping.
Right at the end of the block was a small pub; I'd heard of it a few times from little snatches of gossip from the people on the streets. Mr. Jones pulled open the door and shoved me inside.
It was a small, dimly lit room. Everything was old and worn, but in a comfortable sort of way- I'd almost say, ...cozy. There were a few dusty tables on one side and the bar counter on the other, and it smelled heavily of the liquor. Being in the afternoon, there weren't more than three others there at the time, but I've know the place on nights when all the men in the neighborhood were gathered round sharing a beer and listening to the ball game, and it was more alive than the Square itself. Little did I know yet anything about that, and how dear Mr. Jones and I'd spend half our nights here together, drinking and having a good time and musing on about our lives and our futures and our crazy dreams...
He spun onto one of the bar stools at the counter and yanked me down on the one next to him. "Can'ah get two beers over here, Jimmy-boy?" Mr. Jones called to the bartender, a friendly man whose youth was long-lost somewhere down in Brooklyn. He slid two down the counter; Mr. Jones caught his expertly, whereas I nearly toppled mine over on Jim's shiny clean counter.
Mr. Jones threw his head back laughing and clapped me on the back. "Oh, ain't you a card?" he took a long swig of his beer.
"Oh... Ahah, yeah..." I just laughed awkwardly along with him.
"You ain't never gone drankin' 'fore, have ya?" He asked, wide-eyed and surprised.
"No sir, can't say I have." I smiled nervously down at the drink. What harm could it bring? I was of age, after all.
"Whooa, no no, noo, man mebbe tha's why yer so darn uptight," he punched my shoulder, "Go on, try it!"
"I-If you insist," I sighed. I shut my eyes tight and just bit the bullet and took a sip of the beer.
"Ain't it sumthin'?" He drank with me. "Gives ya a funny sorta feelin', dunn't it?"
"Oh wow..." I put down the glass and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, coughing a little. "Definitely funny..."
He did that cackle sort of laugh again. "Oh, I like you, Matthew!" He tried to stop laughing. "I'mma keep you 'round."
I don't know why that made me feel so special. "Well, thank you." I smiled up at him.
"Ahh..." he sighed, finally able to stop his laughter. "To a long frien'ship, man-" he held up his drink, "and to hopin' we'll make it somewhere." he clanked his glass against mine and chugged it down.
Smiling to myself, I drank mine down with him. This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

We sat at that bar counter every night for the whole rest of the week, just talking and laughing and having ourselves a good old time not worrying about anything. I'd gotten more used to the bitterness of the alchohol, and he'd taken advantage of my shyness and shared nearly every story I could imagine he'd possibly have. By the end of the week I knew his favorite color was navy, save for Wednesdays, when it would be red ("Wha's life w'thout whimsy?"); that 'what he wants to be when he grows up' changes every day but his greatest ambition in life never wavered from wanting to become an airplane pilot; that his cowlick's been like that all his life since the day he was born; that he was a firm believer in the existance of Sasquatch and he'd fight you on it if you disagreed ("An' he's in cahoots with ther aliens too, mark mah words, man!"); how he'd broken every bone in his left arm at least once; and that he'd moved here from Texas (because "Momma made me."); and I felt that, for the first time in my life, I had a real, honest-to-god, non-imaginary friend.

I remember that Saturday, at precisely five o' clock, there was a knock on my door. I figured it was housekeeping, seeing as I didn't know much anyone else. I opened the door to find Mr. Jones standing in the hall.
"Hello," I greeted him with a handshake, and a smile of beneign surprise.
"How-dee-do, Matthew?" He chuckled a bit, swaying back and forth on his heels, hands in his suspenders.
"Good, good, come in," I politely invited him inside, but it wasn't like there was much to see.
"Aw, naw, you're comin' out! I gotta surprise for ya!" He grinned wide, almost like a kid in a candy store. "C'mon!"
"Oh boy," I stepped out of my little room and shut the door behind me.
"Le's go!" He already started down the hallway, swinging his arms and springing his steps. I followed after with a bit of trepidation, for who knows what kind of 'surprise' he might have in store?
He dragged me down a block and stopped me at the corner, showing me a beautiful blue new car. "Ain't she a beaut? 'Borrowed 'er frum an ol' friend Rob. But tha's not the surprise, come on!" He jumped over the hood and flung open the drivers' side and hopped in. I slid in the passenger side more carefully.
"Oh, this is a real nice one..." I slid my hand over the dash in awe. I'd never been in a car this new and beautiful.
"Ol' Robby's big on the lettuce," He winked. "Now. I ain't s'posed to be drivin' these things, so be hush about it, won't ya?"
I looked at him like he was crazy; not like I didn't know already that he was. "Y-You can't drive?"
"Used ter drive, but well they didn't quite 'ppreciate my 'bilities, and yanno..." He laughed awkwardly...
"Ohh myy..." I buckled up the seatbelt and wished there was another, just in case...
One thing about Mr. Jones was that it was never awkward being with him. He always had something to say. We sat and talked for a good half-hour or so, before he pulled up along the shore at around six or so, when it was getting dark.
"Lookie there," he pointed over the small line of traffic to a large group of lights. I leaned out the window to get a better look.
"What's over there?" I squinted to see better, but it was so bright.
"We're goin' to the 'musement park! Momma always used ter tell us stories 'bout these places. This 'un here's called the Coney Island. Ah always wanted ter see it and now I have a fraind tuh come wit' me!" He was smiling as big as he could, cruising along the oceanside road, and I was practically hanging out the window trying to get a better look.
When we finally found a place for parking on the busy street the two of us hiked into a place even more curious than the city. I'm told it was called the boardwalk, and this is where these amusement park things usually were. There were these towering metal contraptions, 'rides,' like those I'd only ever read of before; some were tall and some were small, some did flips and some went around in circles and they all were designed to give you a real thrill. It was deafeningly loud with music and laughter and screams, and smelled of delicious fried foods that would've given Mama a heart attack. And the best part is it was right on the shore, and at the end of the boards you could sit and watch the last bits of the sun disappear behind the Atlantic.
"C'mon, Mattie-" Mr. Jones grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to one of the rides. "This one right here's everyone's favorite."
It was called a 'carousel,' he said; the ride had a bunch of little horses that moved up and down and spun in a circle, with loud chipper organ music and lots of flashing lights. He slid up on one of the beautiful painted horses like a true professional, and sat up tall and proud like one of those heroic cowboys I'd only ever seen pictures of. I, however, took several attempts to climb up, and ended up needing assistance from one of the ride attendants.
The carousel began to spin and Mr. Jones slung his legs around the opposite side and sat backward, facing me.
"Inn'it sumthin'?" He threw his head back and laughed his scratchy, cackly laugh.
"I-Indeed," I clung to the pole that held the horse in place for dear life, keeping my head down and eyes shut tight.
"Loosen up there, Matthew!" He laughed again. "There ain't nothin'ta be scared of!"
Trepidly I peeked up, and it was something magical. And I laughed along with him, and even braved up enough to only have to hold on with one hand.
After the carousel ride I felt a tad dizzy, but Mr. Jones wasn't quite satisfied yet and decided we should go on a rollercoaster.
"Whaddya say?" He grinned.
Not having the slightest idea what a rollercoaster was, I unkknowingly agreed and he grabbed my hand and raced off to a ride all the way at the opposite side of the pier.
"Ta-Da!" he stood proudly in front of the rollercoaster with his arms spread. "Killer-diller, huh?"
Just watching the ride I felt sick. "Oh I'm sure..."
"Great! Let's go!" He pulled me toward the entrance but I stood firmly in place.
"I'd rather sit this one out, thank you." I smiled sheepishly.
"D'aww, pleeaase? Perty-please wit' a cherry on topp?" he made a pouty face and begged.
"No thank you, I-I'd really not..." I slid toward a small bench rather than the ride...
"Well tha's just too bad, inn't it?" He ran over and lifted me up around the middle and slung me over his shoulder.
"Wh-What are you doing!?" I waved and kicked a bit, trying to balance myself and hang onto him.
"We're goin' fer a ride." He didn't put me down until we were far up in line and I couldn't escape, where he told me to "Toughen up, it'll be fun!"
He pushed me onto the ride first and scooted in next to me. I was holding on for dear life and it hadn't even started yet.
"You'll be fiiinnee!" He slung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him to ruffle up my head like an older brother.
"H-Hey!" I laughed at him, but then shouted as the ride started suddenly, which made him laugh at me.
The ride started slowly, inching up a hill. "Why, this isn't so bad," I thought aloud as I waved to the people below.
Mr. Jones gave a low, evil sort of laugh. I prayed the wicked intentions weren't targeted at me.
Two seconds later I learned they were, as the ride stopped for a split second at the top of the hill before plummeting toward the earth at lightning speeds. I screamed at the top of my lungs and clung onto Mr. Jones, who was screaming more out of ecstasy than fear.
"WOO-HOO! YEAAHH!" He yelled excitedly, arms up in the air, head back laughing, as the ride carted up another hill and down again even faster.
"MAMA!" I was close to tears clinging to my dear friend for comfort, but he just laughed.
I didn't stop yelling until it was over, and even then I was afraid to let go of the mad cackling Mr. Jones.
I don't remember whether I threw up after getting off the rollercoaster, but I do remember him trying to make up for it by buying ice cream.
We sat on a little bench next to the ice cream stand, and the differences between the two of us couldn't have been more imminent. Him slouched back in his usual button-down and suspenders, whistling at the women who passed by, halfway through his triple-scoop ice cream cone he'd drowned in fudge; me sitting up proper like Mama taught me, hiding in my favorite jacket (which I'd forgotten had my dear bear Kumajirou in the pocket), quiet and shrinking back from the crowd, with a simple classic vanilla ice cream cone. I kept comparing between the two of us and I remember thinking that we couldn't have been more opposite. So how had we become such close friends so quickly? I guessed it was the way I was around him.
"Hey Mattie! I got'n idea!" He turned to me with a huge grin, and the sparkle of a brilliant idea in his eye. "Le's go dancin'!" He pointed over to a small bandstand surrounded by all the dancing young couples.
"O-Oh I don't know if I'm quite cut out for all that..." I laughed awkwardly; I was still a bit sheepish.
"Nonsense! You 'kin do it!" He jumped up and we walked arm-in-arm to the dancefloor.
"Now watch this," he winked to me, and looked around at all the pretty young ladies that didn't have dates. He caught one girl's eye and looked away quickly, then he glanced back over at her, winked, and then turned away whistling. The girl giggled and squealed with her small group of friends. She did a little finger wave the next time he looked over, and he did the little "who, me?" thing, before strutting over to her. They talked for a quick moment, then he took her hand and kissed it before leading her to the dancefloor. She made excited motions back to her friends before allowing him to spin her around, and they began to dance.
And I thought, well gee, that doesn't look too difficult. I waved over to one of the girl's friends. She just smiled back at me politely, and another girl whispered something that made her laugh. I hoped it wasn't about me. I looked back at Mr. Jones. He was pretty smooth with the ladies, and golly it looked like they were really having fun. Yeah, I could do that, right? I marched right up to the girl and asked her.
"H-How'd you like to dance with me, sweet thing?" ...at least I tried.
But to my surprise she accepted, telling me I was cute. I felt my face get all red as I led her onto the dancefloor. O-Oh gee, was I really cute?
I tried to dance like Mr. Jones, but he was a downright 'ducky shincracker,' as he'd say. It was so embarassing, I kept stepping on her feet... but she was a good sport and just laughed it off. At the end of the song she thanked me for the dance and ran back with her friends, and I walked back to Mr. Jones feeling a bit more proud.
"Well shoot, Matthew, I knew you had it in ya!" He patted me on the back. "You ain't no dead hoofer, no sir, you're like a regular active duty now-"
I felt my face get red again. "I- I wouldn't say all that now..."
He just laughed and we walked back off the floor. After a few more rides we decided to head home, but not before I'd tried to hit on a few girls... just to impress him, of course, because I could be cool too! He just said I'd gone "Doll dizzy," and "It must be the spring."

The next night we spent telling Jim the bartender all about our wonderful experiences on Coney Island. He didn't doubt it, in fact, as he wiped down the counter for the third time that night, he told us, "Yeah, I took the wife down there a couple times, she loves the place." and Mr. Jones laughed and said he couldn't imagine why.

And for a month we sat at that bar together, and we had the time of our lives in just the two of us.
One time he set out to prove he was "the darndest ducky shincracker 'round town" and ended up dancing so hard he broke a table.
Another time an older gentleman came in the bar, and wouldn't stop whining to Jim how dirty everything is. So Mr. Jones decided to take things into his own hands and stole Jim's broom and chased the old fuddy-duddy out with it.
One time I remember his mama telephoned the bar asking for him. They talked for a while, and he lost that usual smile. When he hung up he told me his old horse died. He didn't look like he wanted to talk about that. So I mentioned something I'd heard his mama say. "So Alfred's your name...? That's a nice name." to which he replied, "No it ain't. There's no big hero named Alfred."
Another day Mr. Jones and some German man who was new around town had a bet over who could drink the most. You can imagine this didn't end well, and the both of them got thrown out by Jim for disturbing his customers with their arguing and making a mess all over his floor. I followed them out and it was an odd sight, as they weren't fighting any more, but they had their arms around each other and were strolling down the street singing old songs.
Some day in there Mr. Jones told me he was going to do it, he was going to join the air force and finally fly, and what better time than with the great war going on now? I didn't believe him, as he'd had a few by that time.
I remember Mr. Jones got to telling us a story about this one Spanish girl he'd had a thing with a few years back, and he got so into it he started dancing around with the broom.
Another time, Mr. Jones was crazy enough to bring Indiana to the bar. He told Jim the dog was well-trained and wouldn't cause any trouble, and for some reason Jim just went with it. Old Indie was real popular with the ladies, they all were cooing over him and scratching his ears and wishing they had dogs that cute. Mr. Jones leaned over and whispered to me that it was all part of his plan.
One of the best times was when he'd had far too many and got to talking about Sasquatch again, and ended up asking Jim to dance.
But perhaps my favorite time was the night of the ballgame. All the men on this half of town gathered in that tiny bar, drinking and singing and all listening to the tiny radio on the counter. Their team would score and they'd all jump up and cheer! The other team would score and they'd all boo and hiss. And it was the darndest thing when their team won, everybody threw their arms up and screamed and they jumped and danced and clanked their beers, hugging and laughing and having the best time.

I decided that, even though they probably wouldn't care, I should write Mama and Papa a letter so they weren't worried about me. I addressed them as "Dear parents," rather than "Dear Mama and Papa," so as not to favor one over the other. Amd I told them I'd made it to New York City and it was beautiful here, and that I was living in a hotel but I'd find an apartment soon, and that I'd made friends with a curious Mr. Jones, and that it was really lovely here and perhaps they should come visit sometime. I mailed it off the next day.
A week later I recieved a reply. In all honestly this shocked me a bit, I hadn't expected them to respond.
The letter wasn't from Mama or Papa, but some man I didn't know. It came from the correct address though, and was meant for me, so I opened and read it.
According to the man writing, my Mama and Papa no longer lived there. He'd moved in last month. And he said he was sorry, but Papa had passed from the alchohol, and so Mama'd moved back to England. He wished me luck in the city, and apologized again for me having to hear this news in such a way.
I just sat down on the bed to steady myself and reread it. I hadn't been particularily attatched to either of my parents, but still I felt horrible over dear Papa and my leaving at that time.
I didn't go to the bar that night. Mr. Jones would have to do without me. I just laid there and stared at the ceiling, not exactly feeling much of anything.
After about an hour there was a knock on my door. I figured I knee who it would be. "Come in, it's open." I called, not feeling like getting up.
As I'd guessed, Mr. Jones opened the door and stuck his head in. "S'matter, Mattie, you weren't at the bar tonight!"
I sat up and gave him a sad sort of smile. "I didn't feel much like drinking. My Papa died..."
One minute he was at the door and the next he was right there, hugging on me and telling me he was sorry and it was going to be alright.
"Thank you..." I hugged him back, feeling the tears well in my eyes, though I had hardly known the man.
He sat with me for a moment, and for the first time was silent. I sniffled a bit, bust aside was quiet as well.
"You know, Mattie..." he started to say something, and I looked up to listen. "I don't think your Papa would have wanted you to be sad."
"What do you mean?" I wiped a tear from my cheek and gave him a confused sort of look.
"He wouldn't want you all sad and cryin' 'bout him bein' gone. I think he'd want you to be happy 'bout when he was here."
As crazy as it seemed I think I understood what he was saying. "You know what, Mr. Jones, I think you're right."
He smiled and patted my back, and we sat together in my little room that night, the quietest we ever were, but I don't think I was one bit sad after that.

We had a good two months or more together in the bar with old Jimmy (and sometimes Indiana) before he delivered the news again.
"Mattie, I'm gonna do it." he said to me on one night he'd been particularily quiet.
"Do what?" I asked, a bit frightened by this sudden change in him.
"I dun joined the air force. I'mma go fly." he slammed down his drink and looked at me determinedly.
"Oh, good for you!" I tried not to be sad or scared, but be happy for him as I patted him on the back.
"I'mma miss ya." he gave me a sad sort of smile.
I returned the smile, "I'm going to miss you too."
We hugged it out like brothers and spent one last night laughing and talking like we had for almost a year now.
Before he left he told me to stay pretty, eat my vegetables, and not get too caught up in the girls. Then he saluted me and hiked off, skippy as ever.