jenny's last day in new york

It was in the summertime in Virginia. Katy and I were building a house in the woods on the Thornton River in Culpepper County. We’d work all day in the hot summer weather and in the evenings we’d drive into the town of Culpepper and have dinner at Pizza King or Jerry’s Diner or the Dixie Pig. After supper we’d go to the 7-11 where I’d park my bus and sitting in those warm, humid evenings we’d drink a couple of beers and listen to the Orioles baseball game on the radio while we watched people go in and come out. Young long-haired rednecks wearing baseball caps advertising farm products and young women with beauty parlor hairdos and beefy men in overalls climbing in and out of their old cars and pick-up trucks. And we’d speculate about these people, about who they were and what they did and what kinds of relationships they had and who they were married to. Then, finally, we’d drive back in the cool evening air with the windows open, the baseball game still going. We had each other and there was nothing more we wanted, and I felt blessed.

Katy had lovely green eyes, a wide, pink mouth, and a musical laugh. She was open, guileless, and what I finally found unbearable was how much she loved me. I began working on a construction job, building a house in Cleveland Park, and thinking about another woman who worked at the site. And Katy would drive down to the job in the middle of the day to bring me food, while I was scheming about this other female, wishing Katy hadn’t shown up.

And even now, when I think of it, it makes me want to cry.

-- Joe Frank