August 4, 10:24AM
Dealey Plaza, Dallas, Texas
"I almost came here that day." That's what the old man said to me. He was a little stooped and a lot gray and he was sitting outside the Texas Book Depository building. I figure that he must deliver that same line a dozen times a day to anyone patient enough to listen to him. His voice was soft and I might have forgotten the encounter altogether if he hadn't used the word "almost." That's what really stuck with me. At first, it just seemed strange for anyone to claim a piece of "almost" history. I mean he didn't say that he had been here that day only that he had "almost" come here.
I wondered how many people would have been that honest. Most of them probably would have lied and said that they were actually here that awful November day. And if you ever come to this place, you'll know that's a lie because Dealey Plaza is far too small to hold all the liars who are still out there.
I looked up and down the small street and then over toward the famous overpass. Finally, I stared up at the Book Depository building. To the 6th Floor. I couldn't recall which window it was. Second from the right, I think. But honestly, I couldn't remember. Even though we forget things all the time in our lives, it seemed impossible to have forgotten any detail of the assassination. Not the rifle or the manufacturer or the excuse or the umbrella, the hallway or the hat. And definitely not the first shot, the second, the third, and maybe even a fourth.
I don't think anything will ever surprise me in the same way as hearing the news that day. I was only a kid, but never before had both my parents cried at the same time. Since then, I've wanted to come here and see if it felt any different than other places. Strangely, it does. The first thing I noticed was how quiet it is. Despite all the city noises, it's quiet like the buildings are somehow swallowing the sounds to give the visitors a chance to reflect on the horribleness of life.
Also, the grassy knoll is nothing. No one could have been shooting from there. It just doesn't make sense when you see it.
After a few minutes of trying (and then failing to understand why some things happen), I walked into the Depository. No books are stored here anymore. It's just a museum now. At the entrance, I saw a young woman selling tickets. She looked at my face and must have realized that I was old enough to remember that day. She smiled at me and said, "I wasn't born yet." Then she pointed outside and asked if I met Mr. Wilson – the man who "almost came here that day." She wasn't saying it sarcastically. Or at least I don't think so. I think she was just trying to be helpful.
Anyway, I shook my head and left. It didn't seem right to make a museum about this place. Before leaving, I walked down the street to the overpass and then turned around. It was sunny just like that day in November. The cars came out of the sunshine like ghosts. Time never seems to move here. I sat on the curb and cried.
This place is too small.
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August 4, 6:16PM
The Houston Astrodome
Houston, Texas
Texas is such an odd state. It's huge so there should be plenty of variety, but most of what you see are sad people, scruffy cotton fields, and clumps of brush. At one time, I bet you could drive all the way from Dallas to Houston and see nothing but an occasional sign for gas or another one for recapping tires. Now, in the midst of all the clumps and wide spaces between the clumps, Texas is filling in. I hope it never gets crowded. That would really be sad.
I got to Houston a couple of hours before the first pitch. The stadium has a parking lot that completely surrounds it. When I arrived, there were millions of open spaces and I chose one that was as far away as possible from all the other cars. Eventually, though, a stubby black car pulled in beside me and a woman opened the driver's side door and hung her legs out the side. She didn't get out of the car at first. She just waited there with her head lowered. It was like she was trying to get a second wind after a day that had dragged on too long. Or maybe she was listening to the music playing on her car radio. I don't know what was playing – just some forgettable song with lyrics that were even more forgettable because I can't recall any of them. Mostly what I heard was the sound of cellos playing in the background of the song. I don't really know anything about music, but I can tell you that cellos make the kind of sound that lingers in the air long after the actual notes have been played.
The woman wore a blue dress with a white collar. Since she had a name tag pinned to her dress, I figure she must have worked in a diner. And unless that plastic tag was a lie, her name was Penny.
I've always thought Penny was a pretty name – way better than if her parents had named her nickel or dime. (I'm just kidding. I hope that made you laugh, Buddy.) But the strangest thing about her name tag was that all the letters were written lower case. There was no capital letter anywhere to be seen. It was odd and I wondered why it was written that way. If I had been in a talking mood, I might have asked her about it. But these days, all the words that fill my mouth seem like the wrong ones, so I usually leave them stuck inside there. That way no one will have to listen to me.
Just before getting out of her car, the woman uncrossed her legs. It was then that I noticed her socks. They were short socks with froofy ruffles near the ankle. Hidden beneath the ruffles was a thin, orange elastic band. The woman looked at me briefly. It was one of those empty, forever-stares and it reminded me of the mournful sound of a cello must make when it's put back in its case.
Buddy, I can't explain right now, but I had to look away before I started crying all over again.
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I'll do my best to forget this game. It was tedious from the first inning to the ninth. The only notable moment was when one of the players fouled off 16 consecutive pitches before grounding out.
Like yesterday, there was another random dot race, but in Houston they use flying saucers instead of dots. The saucers started off their journey sitting on the rings of Saturn, then they went around the moon and flew on to Earth. They zipped through some Texas oil fields and finally they came inside the stadium and circled the infield. The race stopped when one of the saucers reached the pitcher's mound. Even though the saucers were red, green, and blue, I rooted for the yellow one again. There was no way I could win.
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The next entry in Ril's diary read:
Feb 8
(22 days before Christmas)
I was alone all day. Starling was working and you weren't home. When he left for work, I started talking about you. I made him promise to come to your birthday party. Last night, I wore the shirt you left here a week ago. It still smells like you.