dallas winston, everybody knows you don't mess with dallas winston.
he's spent two years away from his home in new york city where he left his younger sister. up until late-november, 1964, no one was aware dallas had any siblings; until one night...
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DALLAS WINSTON
July 1st, 1965
the summer heat beats down on the streets of new york, gets trapped within the walls of buildings making them seem to swell, ready to burst into nothing but a puff of dry air.
i only ran out for an hour or so, walked to blimpie's for a sub and coca cola. i already finished the coke, sipped the last drop up the straw and tossed it into someone else's trash on my walk home.
home, though it never really was one while growing up, when it really mattered. of course. nothing ever goes right when it matters.
i unlock the front door to the skinny brick townhome that's been vacant since mine and madeline's father died a few months ago. with both his kids in oklahoma, the place has sat still since november; quiet.
it's been a mess, what to do with it because no one can track down my mother, so the place has been put in my name. i never told madeline about it, all the calls i've received about the property, or my plans about what to do with it.
i've spent the last six or so months here in new york at first sweating it out, hoping the guys from windrixville didn't catch word of where i'd run off to, also hoping to not get a call from darry or buck that something happened to madeline—anything, a stomach bug, a fever, a breakup, a bad dream for fuck's sake, anything, and i would've had to catch a train back to tulsa.
but the line's been quiet. that's what i wanted, what i held my breath for since i disappeared back to this city, because i did it all for my sister—leaving.
it kills me to not be around her, making sure everything is going just fine, molding things if i have to so they do. but that was the problem after all, trying so desperately with everything in me to keep her safe. it ended up hurting her more than helping.
and so leaving, leaving was supposed to make things right, even though i feel like i haven't taken a full breath since the day i left tulsa without saying goodbye to her. just like i left new york all those years ago without saying goodbye.
the end of the school year, sometime in june, so a couple weeks ago, buck was supposed to finally tell madeline where i'd gone off to and i'd hoped she'd call me right away with the number i left buck to give to her, but like i said, the line's been quiet.
the house is quiet too as i place the paper bag that holds my lunch on the kitchen table. i don't bother to turn any of the lights on in attempt to keep it cool. sun is coming in through the windows, lighting the place up enough.
i'm in the middle of cleaning this place out, selling everything that belonged to my parents, and then i'll sell the house and all the memories i have tied to it.
i'm one bite into my pepperoni and cheese sub when there's a knock at the door. i cross the foyer and yank the heavy door open.
taller and a bit broader than i last saw him years ago, damon coltrane has been my only help with clearing out this house. i ran into him one day back at the start of spring. it took a lot in me that day and awhile after not to hit him, beat him 'til he and i both couldn't see straight, knowing what he and madeline got up to after i'd moved to tulsa three years ago.
