A Boy Named Pony - A Sequel to East West Sunset

After the storm - Betty

May. 42 calendars later, it's May again.

I prop up my feet on a plastic footstool that my granddaughter Lily brought out for me. My ankles are swelling from the heat, and my knees are protesting from the gardening I've done today. But despite my discomfort, I'm pleased. My vegetable garden has been rendered weedless, stretching an impressive half-acre beneath the setting sun, newly covered in straw to protect the seedlings from the burning rays and pests. My grandbabies are turning out to be quite the country folk, despite being from the big city of Dallas. I sip an iced tea and regard our handiwork. 

Right now, everyone else is inside, probably loading up a Disney tape into my ancient VHS or fetching the cards for a game of rummy. My daughter's sudden visit wasn't wholly unexpected, but there's not a lot to do around Canton for entertainment, and I forgot to bring the old toys down from the attic for the kids to play with. Oh, well. I smile and take another sip of tea. That's why we spent the day gardening. 

I feel beautifully tranquil. A cool breeze disrupts the summer heat, providing a delicious respite as it skates through my hair. I almost chuckle. Who would have known, with all my grey hairs and aching joints, that 42 years ago today I was graduating high school? That this sixty year old woman was once a shy, romantic teenager?

In some ways, I don't think it ever truly happened. In others, I still feel like that same girl. I've never been able to stop drawing. I buy blank cards from the Walgreens in town and fill them with sketches for my grandchildren's birthday cards. I make paintings for the annual church auction every year on Labor Day. I embellish the corners of my recipe cards with doodles of vines and flowers. I can't help myself. 

I've found peace with my life now, a peace originated from having no regrets.

Still -- I slide an ice cube into my mouth and chew it plaintively -- there is still one loose end that I never had the chance to tie up. Although I've kept up with Jodie and Delia and all the others, I've never once spoken to Ponyboy Curtis. I've never needed to. And yet, I wonder where he is now. Did he ever move out of the old neighborhood? Did he ever fall in love again? Is he happy now?

I hope he has been able to be as happy as me. He deserves it, after all. Everyone does.

I'll never forget him, that much is certain; can you ever forget your first love? I'll never forget the things I learned from him, heartbreak and all. I do miss him -- not in the romantic way, but in the nostalgic way. I miss being young with him. I remember how he talked of being immortal, about taking a moment and capturing it forever as it was.

I smile at the sun as it begins to set. The fields of our farm seem to glow in the fading golden light.

I hope he's achieved that immortality. I hope somewhere, living on in a book, seizing life through the pages, that the boy I used to love still flashes through someone's life like a mirage, seeming real and then fading away. I hope that he lives on. Because I know he lives on in me -- that boy named Pony.