Free Days of Little Texas by R. A. Nelson Page A

around an ear.
    “That’s all I have to say. Except this: you are not only a professional, Little Texas, you are also a
celebrity. More
than a celebrity. You are a
living representative of the One True God
. With that status comes a responsibility. You have to treat these people as your
fans
, as much as I despise that word. No matter how they behave. No matter what you feel like.
Do you understand me?
”
    “Yes’m, I do. It won’t happen again.”
    “It
can’t
happen again. It
can’t
. Our ministry
will not survive it
.”
    She drops her hands, exhausted, and makes her way to the motor home, slamming the door behind her.
    I wait a little while, then get up and walk away from the light, toward the railroad embankment.
    I think for a long time, looking at the hillside, hands in my pockets. The hill is steep, but I could do it. Claw my way through the kudzu to the tracks at the top. Follow them wherever they go. There is a world out there.
    After a little while I take my hands out of my pockets and start walking back across the parking lot. And I see a blue dress.

Lucy’s standing in a puddle of yellow light, blond hair shining. Same blue dress. Same little white basketball sneakers. Same skinny arms hanging against her sides. She’s looking right at me.
    My chest starts to ache; finally I realize I’ve forgotten to breathe. I take a long inhale; I can smell honeysuckle on the air.
    What’s she doing here?
    I guess I know the answer.
She’s following me. Following me wherever I go
.
    But why?
    No car, nobody else in sight. She couldn’t have just walked here, could she? Is she all right? Where are her parents?
Please, Lord
—she hasn’t run away from home on account of me, has she?
    A thought stabs me like an icicle.
    What if—
what if there’s something wrong with her?
    Standing so straight and still, she could almost be a wax figure in a museum. I take a couple of slow steps toward her, afraid I might spook her if I move too quick. Everything’s so quiet; the only sound is my shoes on the gravel.
    I’m closer now, so close she has to see me coming. If it’s bothering her, she doesn’t show it.
    Fifty feet. Twenty.
Ten
.
    “Hey—”
    There’s something different about her hair
.
    I stop walking.
    I remember Lucy’s hair being so thick, but now it’s hanging flat against the sides of her face. And that one difference makes me start to see others. And then—
    I’m afraid; all I can do is stand still and just watch her, waiting to see what she does.
    I’m sure of it. I’m sure.
    This is the girl I saw last night pressing her face against the motel window.

“You,” I say. “It was you last night, wasn’t it? At the motel?”
    She doesn’t change her look, doesn’t even open her mouth to speak.
    “Are you all right? Is there anything wrong? Do you—do you remember me from the healing? You’re Lucy, right? Is something wrong, Lucy? Do you need help?”
    I take a couple of steps, till I come all the way into her circle of light. I’m barely more than an arm’s length away from her….
    Jesus Christ our Savior
.
    Her eyes…
    The color of her eyes has changed.
    The blue is still there, but only enough to remember that’s what they used to be. Now they are cloudy as pond ice and all shot through with tiny, curling lines. She hasn’t blinked. Not once.
    She’s still pure beautiful but seems even skinnier, and her dress is wrinkly and hanging lower on one shoulder than the other. The hem at the bottom is tattered and stained.
    Before tonight I had dreamed of looking into her robin’s-egg blue eyes and taking her for a walk. A walk where nobody could look at us, bother us, wonder what we’re doing. As far away from the Faith Tabernacle as we could get.
    But I know in a heartbeat I won’t ever be able to talk to this being. Can’t touch her hand. Can’t go for a walk with whatever this is standing in front of me.
    Still, Lucy’s small mouth trembles like she is going to speak. My skin