(Flash fiction inspired by 70’s rock documentary)
It seemed so long ago when life was young and every dream possible, when Hendricks clave the air in wild notes that punctuated the “Stars and Stripes” with Vietnam bombs, when fields of tents orchestrated a new era of peace and love.
She’d been young too, had dared believe the dream. All had faded to ashes. Big business took over, exploited the music and milked the ideals to the last dollar. Yet the letter lay in her hand, white, pristine, unsoiled. Would he be the same she wondered? There was only one way to find out.
Boarding the greyhound bus, she looked back one last time. Was she fooling herself? It was forty years since she last saw him, a shadow in khaki lined up for slaughter. They had led separate lives, made their own concessions as dreams withered.
He’d sent no picture. She’d know him by his white cowboy hat he’d said.
“You’re crazy!” she told herself again as she disembarked clutching the bus tickets he’d sent in clammy fingers. Then she saw it – the wheelchair! Her stomach churned, heart melted at the hat hanging from the back, the white Stetson. Its owner looked up and smiled, waving her over.
“Are you the missy looking for a guy in a cowboy hat?” She nodded.
“He’s helping get my bags…. said I should look out for you.”
She raised her eyes to meet the sparkling ones approaching. Time may fly blowing much away, but some things never changed…