A Love Song for Bobby Long Page #2

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until you get fed up and leave.

We are never leaving. Never!

- And don't even get it in your mind.

- She should have Lorraine's room.

- I'll stay out here. I'll bunk with you.

- Okay, fine.

Are you f***ing crazy?

Better than her poking around

and finding out the truth.

She won't last.

You're gonna make sure of that.

Besides, you're always complaining

how your bed is so cold.

You're too skinny for me.

- So, y'all are really into books?

- They're mostly Bobby's.

- That's the plumage of an English professor.

- Him?

- A professor?

- Yeah, he was a good one.

And you, you're really a writer?

Bobby likes to think I am.

These boxes are all Lorraine's, so...

So what?

- I knew your mother pretty well.

- How well?

She was hard to understand,

but she kept the door to her heart open.

The way I heard it,

it was more of a revolving door, wasn't it?

Purslane Hominy Will.

How come you know my name?

I know a lot about you.

Your mama and I were close

since we were young.

I helped name you.

Your mama thought you were golden...

so we named you

after yellow flowers and corn.

This is you here:

Pretty, golden purslane.

Purslane's really a weed, you know.

A neighbor told me when I was 9

and I ran over his tomato plants.

He said all gardeners hate purslane.

Yeah, and dandelions.

It doesn't stop kids

from making wishes on them.

Purslane's an axillary bloom.

It closes up when the sun goes down.

Thanks.

Damn.

Last time I saw you, you were teeny.

Is there anyone here who doesn't remember

me with Lorraine, or am I the only one?

She used to sing here. I was about your age.

She was something.

- I'm so sorry.

- Don't be.

I'll have red beans and rice

and a beer, please.

I hear you'll be staying

at Bobby and Lawson's for a while?

No, I'll be staying at Lorraine's indefinitely.

- Will you be starting school in September?

- No.

I don't go to school. I waitress.

You need one?

No, just me and Uncle Earl.

They know you're not going to school?

They're all torn up about it. Ranks up there

with being out of vodka and cigarettes.

Mother, go make my bed

Make it long and narrow

My true love died for me yesterday

I shall die for him tomorrow

She was buried in the church house yard

And he was buried there beside her

And from his grave grew roses red

From hers grew greenbriers

They grew and they grew so very high

Till they could grow no higher

And at the top grew a true lover's knot

Twined with greenbriers

Y'all, this is Lorraine's daughter, Pursey.

She's gonna stay with us for a while.

Come on in.

- You grew up real pretty.

- Thank you.

Make yourself at home, darling.

I'm Ruthie. My gentleman friend, Ray.

Here 26 years.

Go on and relax, baby. Drink your beer.

Find anything?

I filled out a few applications.

You let that fresh young thing

live with you?

She's fresh, all right.

I remember when there was a new one

every night. Y'all was p*ssy magnets.

Which one of y'all snores

like a goddamn train?

Bobby. If he's on his back,

you have to turn him over.

I saw this program on the Medical Channel

that you can cure people of snoring...

by cutting their throats open.

I believe that I do have a story

for you gentlemen.

Quiet. Bobby's gonna tell a story.

When I was growing up, I always hung

around boys a couple years older than me.

And this one summer,

I was, I don't know, 10 or 11.

And we were doing all the normal things

that boys in Alabama do.

We were fishing...

and playing ball,

and swimming, and beating off.

But in addition to these activities

of an innocent childhood...

mine included a lot of talk...

about this wonderfully

elusive something called p*ssy.

I wasn't sure exactly what it was...

but I knew it was magical and very special

because of the way it was spoken about.

Always in a whisper.

I'd go through the fields

saying it to myself: "P*ssy."

One day, we was all...

playing ball out in a broom sage field.

And up rode Leroy Tuberville.

Now, Leroy was

an upstanding delinquent. Twelve.

And his shoulders were already broad,

and his fingers were stained with tobacco.

And Leroy, he parked himself casually

by third base, and he went in his pocket...

and he pulled out something. He started

throwing it high in the air like that.

And I watched him play it cool...

his mysterious jewel going up and down.

I couldn't take it any longer. I had to ask.

"What's that you got there, Leroy?"

And everyone fell silent.

And Leroy looked at me

with that nasty sideways grin...

and he said,

"It's a piece of p*ssy, Long. My very own."

My face got hot, my breath quickened.

There he was, with this perfect piece of girl,

tossing her up in the air.

And I watched, knowing that I had seen God

for the first time.

And I wanted her for my very own.

But old Leroy popped his treasure

between his teeth...

jumped on his bike grinning at me,

and rode off...

leaving us in a cloud of dust and desire.

And it was in that tormented haze,

at the age of 10...

when I dedicated the rest of my life...

to finding my very own tiny piece

of love and wonder...

that I could carry with me for eternity.

All right, that's it. I'm going home.

To Florida?

Now, look, be careful.

"We cannot tear out

a single page of our lives...

"but we can throw

the whole book in the fire."

George Sand.

I thought that would be a hard one.

I don't feel right about lying to her.

What would a teenage hussy want

with this place, anyway?

Said herself it was a shithole.

She's better off.

Besides, when you sell that book,

everything will change...

Change?

We'll go to Paris, drink '61 Latour...

write bad poetry.

Yes, everything will be just perfect.

"We die only once,

and for such a long time."

Molire.

She's here, honey.

I'll take better care of her this time.

See you tomorrow, darling.

Your mama used to come here a lot.

Why do you talk about her so much?

Because I miss her, I guess.

Were you in love with her or something?

We all loved her.

- She knew how to reach people, you know?

- No, not really.

The night before my grandma died...

she warned me that

Lorraine would always be selfish.

She finally told me about my father.

She did, did she?

Some sax player in Memphis.

Pretty much a one-night stand.

I think Gran wanted me to know that when

she was gone, I'd be totally on my own.

She was right.

After she died,

I hardly ever heard from Lorraine.

Never even got a chance to hear her sing.

Your mama loved you, you know?

You meant the world to her.

She used to sit

right where you're sitting now.

Always writing.

Called this granddaddy the Tree of Life.

That's so corny.

- You're in the wrong appliance.

- What?

To succeed in killing oneself,

one must be in the oven.

God damn, girl. You woke up productive.

- Come see what Pursey did.

- Christ. Stop yelling.

I see what she didn't do: Leave.

She ain't gonna leave.

That's a really good look for you, too.

Good morning to y'all, too.

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