In a land just kissed by man, the untamed country - Oklahoma, where earth’s heavy breath still sighs in slumber, young Hickory is awake and running -

Bare feet, thicker than a farmer's sole beat a path along the winding Red River, around secret swimming holes and fishing spots - he leans out over each, testing the gossamer lines still wet with dew, feeling the weight of a fish hooked - and grins.

"Anotha!" Hickory tugs the fish onto the bank, "Ma ain't gonna believe it, three in a mornin! I'm gonna be fatter than a possum!"

Dropping to his knees, a swipe of his knife takes the head, the filets smoothly parted and bagged, and we ain't wasting the rest, neither -

Not with a rope, just toss it over the branch, the knots; and we'll do 'em right and careful now, cause if those damn coyotes get one more chicken...

Hickory shakes his head, poking his tongue out in concentration, and he could just feel it, that scratch, that bit of thistle right there just above his lip, and that was new, now, wasn't it? That, there, was proof -

A man. Already. Marked and made, and that meant something, meant that ya can't just have fun, not all the time, that he has got to protect what's his! Has to provide, to be. It was all them right things that made a man, a good man, like Da. And that was the only kind of man Hickory would be.

Even if it was hard -

Them chickens - that they were pulling their feathers out already, being cooped up all day, how they hated it - not laying no eggs, all cause them coyotes, coming around when he wasn't - all cause he had to go to school -

Now it could be a fox...

Of course, that would be worse...it was one thing baitin' fish, and a coyote wasn't too much brighter, but a fox, now...

Hickory took a long breath, letting the air out his nose as he eyed the Red Hills, the sun startin to peak up over and morning was just a comin' rather he was ready or not - so hurry on up!

But haste and knots don't mix, he knows better - with his third try making what should be a damn simple rope trap, he'd done it before! Oh, it had him just a cussin' -

Now maybe if they taught something useful at that school? Like trappin' or fishing, heck - just the knots! That would make it worth it, that would be enough to not feel so trapped, so cooped up, himself, and then maybe he wouldn't be in trouble all the time...

"Oh, I shouldn't be lying. Not even to myself." Hickory whispered with a chuckle, pulling his hands back from the rope, following it from the bowed branch to the stake that held it tight with the fish head, the guts dropped right in the center of the snare so that the next time a hungry mongrel came poking -

Whap!

"Oh that's your last supper, alright, see if it ain't, see if you'll get anotha of my chickens there, Dooley."

The empty hook got a wiggler and a toss back in the water and Hickory wasn't far behind, droppin his tattered coverin' and wading right in - feeling his balls suck tight against the cold -

Oh, the Red River was smooth - the dawn light turning her cold hug into a blush just as bright as May's, a whole month wasn’t enough, not for her -

Hickory scrubbed hard - his hair first - not just that lip, it was a hard smile, too, thinking about such a lady as sweet May, and he found himself thinking about her too often, maybe - that it got him clean, too.

Then he was running back home with the air drying him fine, bag and clothes bundled - thinking that maybe school wasn't so bad, being as she was there, somewhere, that they were close -

And the sun was yawning now, finally rising its head up and the cows were greetin’ - good moooorning! Moseying down to the river for big swillers, he dodged between them, watching out for their plops and tellin' them howdy.

Taking the right tine of the path under an elm, the blue paint of home, the brick older then Adam. He hustled to his shed and hung the gear, oiled Da's knife, restin' it on the shelf with a cloth draped over it and a deep breath, a look up above at the skins that already hung - proof it wasn't for naught/

The front porch stairs creaked as he trundled up them, throwing open the front door, bag of fish held out like a prize of gold and wouldn't they be? Fried up. Flakey. Warm and crispy with that corn bread batter -

“Ma, three this mornin!” Hickory called out on the landing, just the TV was answering, muffled behind Mama’s door.

‘Yes, Janice - it’s not just the setting that makes this piece unique, this isn’t a manufactured gem, this is Natural. Cut. Stone!”

‘It’s absolutely gorgeous, there really isn't another like it -‘

“Three, Mama!” Hickory shouted again, holding his breath, staring into the dark sitin' room, listenin' -

“Cory?” Mama grunted from her bedroom as the television clicked off, the creak of the bed, “That’s good, baby!”

Hickory hurried to the kitchen, dropping the filets into a big bowl, sniffing the milk before pouring it on top, moving them to the fridge. Then from the freezer he pulled out three of the boxed dinners - tossing one in the microwave before starting it -

“You think Da would be proud of that? You think he would, don’t ya?”

“…Oh, of course, but I think he’d be getting nervous, you know he don’t like to be beat, how competitive he is.”

“I know!” Hickory crowed louder than his rooster, heading to his room he opened his drawers, near empty! Becca not doing nothin’ - but he'd make do, sniffing socks from his basket, “I bet Da’d be sweatin!”

“You know he would!” Mama called back as the microwave pinged, Hickory ran back to swap meals, then back to his room, he grabbed his church clothes, a bit small now that he'd been growing fast of late, but were they nice? Just a bit, with a collar and that one tiny hole you'd not even see, not even if you got real close, not if you squinted.

It was Monday, and that meant he hadn’t seen May in two days, that looking proper was right…and he knew she liked it when he did - that he’d started thinking bout those important things recently, started shaving, working and making money, too -

“Now May, you won’t be sayin I cain’t dress nice.” Hickory chuckled, licking his toothbrush and dunking it in the baking soda box before scrubbing.

“What was that, Cory?” Mama called with a voice still cat tongue rough, he heard the scratch of a lighter and started opening the windows, spitting out one.

“Just goosin, Ma. ” Hickory shouted back, “Your roses are blooming, they look right nice, you wouldn’t mind if I had one?”

“Are they, now?” Mama called back after a minute, “You go spoilin a girl, Cory, you’re gonna be sinnin, you let her get those claws in you she’ll rip the Christian right out -”

“Mama, May ain’t no demon!” Hickory laughed, “She goes to church, she likes it there, she don’t even sleep!”

Ding -

Hickory finished lacing his boots up, put the third meal in the microwave, then took a bite of an apple for himself.

“I didn’t think I raised no fool!” Mama said, the scraping flint against another cigarette, muttering about holy girls…it was the holes he should be fearin!

Hickory grinned, terrified - combing his hair with his fingers, checking for stickers, or worse - ticks, those nasty buggers. He hadn’t got chiggers this year proving he’d been keeping out of them bushes, he knew what to look for.

And no way May was a demon! She was just as pure as the Red River itself, a voice like an Angel and just maybe she’d be a proper wife one day - and just what had him thinkin' like that?

The clink of glass, maybe - like little bells from Ma’s room, just as the third meal was ready and dingin’ as well. It was smelling good, too, if only them frozen dinners didn’t make him as lovable as a skunk. He stacked them on the tray and added an apple, some boiled eggs, and…a carrot. Those are healthful.

“You ready for breakfast, Ma?” Hickory shouted once the glass had settled and Ma had her third cigarette lit -

“I’m ready to see my handsome boy!” Mama coughed back and he pushed open the door -

“Becca coming today?” Hickory asked, setting the tray down on the bed, Ma groaning, moving a pillow under her back -

“That girls lazier then a slug.” Mama shook her head, “She better come, if not she ain’t getting paid, but take some money, get some smokes just case she don’t.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Hickory nodded.

“And no chew!” Ma threw a pillow at him, not hard, missing - he picked it up, looking down and fluffing it as he blushed.

“Mama.” Hickory said, “Ya know I’d never spend your money, but I get a few dollars for helping around, sometimes, and if you want the money I’ll give it-”

“Now don’t you start guiltin me!” Mama’s lips were soft, she held her cigarette out of the way for a kiss, the small swat that followed - “You know it ain’t bout the money!”

How did Ma even know? Wasn’t like he was dippin’ in front of her, nor any lady, just when he was out fishin or scrappin'. Only could have been Becca if he'd left a can in the wash - bad enough it was her fault he was going to school, now!

“I hope Becca chokes on a catfish bone.” Hickory grumbled, “She needs to mind her own business.”

“Don’t be ugly.” Mama said, nodding, “Now get going before you miss the bus, last person I want to see today is the sheriff.”

Hickory nodded, agreeing, taking a quick look around the room - the smoke making little tornados by the cooler, Mama still leaning back.

He filled up a glass of water from the pitcher, set it next to her prescriptions, sliding a couple back to make room so she could reach it easy.

“I know you’re getting better, Mama.” Hickory said, “I’m just prayin it’s sooner.”

Mama’s mouth went cat-ass tight, and he knew it would but they hadn’t been anywhere, not even church - in a good while, which was almost fine except he could remember a time when Ma woulda crawled there with two broken legs - dragging him behind her just a singin' -

“Off you get, Cory.” Mama said, and he did, wondering if leaving that fish in the fridge was wrong?

Hickory left her door open, telling Ma love, and thanking her; cause nobody could fry them fish like Ma, that Da would surely smell ‘em cookin clear up in heaven, it was mighty pleasin.

Checking the chickens one last time he saw all the other chores that still needed doing to keep the place civil, the fixin' he didn't know the first place to start on.

And the roses.

There wasn’t much to ‘em anymore, they didn’t bloom over the whole house to where you could hardly see any blue paint at all, just bright yellow petals. Hickory reached down and grabbed the prettiest one and the thorn that got his hand felt right, that she was sharp.

“Oh, May, It’ll be good to see ya.”