The ropes on an empty flagpole at the school across the street clanged in the wind. He did not want anyone there other than David and Tammy and me, of course. He said I had to be there to take notes, that it was my job and we had made a bargain. He said this would be my test run for what I will do in the future. He said that I needed to describe the black silk nightshirt he was wearing and tell how sophisticated it looked, that I should always remember him looking so sophisticated and elegant in both life and death. His favorite color was green, the shade of moss, and his favorite food was cherry cobbler. He asked to hear Debbie Reynolds singing “Tammy” and he sang along, lips barely moving, I hear the cottonwoods whispering above, and otherwise wanted only classical—no words to get tangled up in. He said it was odd how he had loved that character Tammy, and why? “A rundown houseboat in the middle of some godforsaken bumfuck southern locale.” He laughed. “What was that about?”
