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 then a farmer's sole beat a winding path along the Red River, 'round secret swimming holes and fishing spots, Hickory leans out over the bank, testing the gossamer fishing lines still wet with dew, feeling the weight of a fish hooked - He grins.

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

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

Not with a rope. Just toss it over the branch with some knots; that's all a basic trap is! And we'll do it right and careful now, cause if that damn coyote gets one more chicken...

Hickory shakes his head, poking his tongue out in concentration, and couldn't he just feel it? Right there just above his lip, that scratch, that bit o' hair? And that there was new, now, wasn't it? That, there, was proof -

A Man.

Already. Marked and made, and that meant something, meant that he couldn't just have fun, not all the time - that Hickory has to protect what's his! Has to provide, has to be. Hickory was to be tendin' to all them right things that made a man, a good man - like Da - and that was the only sort of man Hickory would be.

Even if it was hard -

Them chickens - that they were already pulling them feathers out on account of them being cooped up all day, how they hated it - not laying no eggs...all cause that coyote was too lazy to hunt proper, coming around when Hickory wasn't and stealing his chickens - all cause Hickory had to go to school.

It could be a fox...

And 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 slow from his nose as he eyed the Red Hills, the sun just now peakin' and mornin' was just a comin' rather he was ready or not - so hurry on up!

But haste and knots don't mix, he knows better then that - that it was just a darn simple rope trap didn't mean it wasn't hard to get just right, pulling the birch branch down in one hand, making sure the snare would slide proper -

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

"Oh, I shoun't be lying. Not even to myself." Hickory whispered with a chuckle, pulling his hands back from the rope trap now set, following it from the bowed branch down to a stake that held it tight with the catfish head pinned just right, the rest 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."

Then the empty hook of his trout line got a wiggler and a toss back in the water and Hickory wasn't far behind it, droppin his tattered coverin' and wading right into the water - feeling his balls suck tight against the cool -

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

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

Then he was running back home with the air drying him fine, bag of fish under one arm, clothes bundled neath the other - thinking that maybe school wasn't so bad, being as she was there, that they were close -

And the sun was yawning now, raising its head up those soft hills and the cows were just a greetin’ - good moooorning! Moseying down to the river for big swillers of water, Hickory 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 appearing 'round the bend, the brick older then Adam. He hustled to his shed and hung his stuff, oiled Da's knife, and took a deep breath before heading inside the house.

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The 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 it be? Fried up. Flakey. Warm and crisp with that corn bread batter -

“Ma, three this mornin!” Hickory called out on the landing as he wiped his bare feet on the rug, listening' - but hearing only the TV's muffled voice from behind Mama’s bedroom door:

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

>

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

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

“Cory?” Mama grunted from her bedroom before the television clicked off, the bed creaking as she stirred, “That’s good, baby!”

Hickory hurried to the kitchen, dropping the filets into a big bowl, he pulled the milk from the fridge and sniffed it before pouring it over the top and adding it all back to the fridge. Then from the freezer he pulled out three of those boxed dinners - tossing one in the microwave before starting it -

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

“…Oh, of course he would. 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 before heading to his room, he opened his dresser drawers and seeing them 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. And with a collar and just one tiny hole you'd not even see, not even if you got real close and you squinted?

It was Monday, and that meant two days without seeing' May. 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, even working and making a bit of 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 wait, “You go spoilin' a girl, Cory, you’re gonna be sinnin. You let her get them 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 and took a bite of an apple for himself.

“I didn’t think I raised no fool!” Mama said between the scraping of flint for another cigarette and her muttering about 'holy girls'…it was the holes Hickory 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, her voice like an Angel, and just maybe she’d be a proper wife one day - 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 Hickory as lovable as a skunk... He stacked them all on a 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 started -

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

“Becca coming today?” Hickory asked, setting the tray of food down next the bed, Ma groaning, moving a pillow neath 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 just in case, get some smokes on the way back.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Hickory nodded.

“And no chew!” Ma tossed a pillow at him, missing - he picked it up, looking down and fluffing it for her as he blushed.

“Mama.” Hickory said, “Ya know I’d never spend your money, and 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 wa s out fishin or scrappin'. It only could have been Becca that told her, if he'd left a can in the wash and she saw- bad enough it was already her fault he had to go 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 cigarette smoke making little tornados from the air conditioner, Mama, still leaning back in her bed. He filled up her glass of sweet tea from the pitcher and set it next to her medicines.

“I know you’re getting better, Ma," 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 nowhere, not even to 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.

Heading for the bus, stopping just for a rose, Hickory reached down and grabbed the prettiest one - and the thorn that got him back? It felt right, that this rose was for May and she wasn't just pretty, that May was sharp.