Prologue
I am standing in front of the window in the kitchen, watching Larry talk to another couple I didn't recognize, but by the hue of their skin I guess them to be Choctaw. It seems like the entire tribe is here, which is surprising considering most of them don't live on the reservation. But they came to pay their respects, and as I observe them through the glass pane I search for significant faces, friends of Julian and I.
A smile touches my lips when I spot Mrs. Violet, the old woman whose lawn Julian had mowed every Sunday except in the winter. It was just weeks ago that we were sitting on her porch, drinking sweet tea and basking in the Oklahoma sunset. She kept giving us advice, lessons she had learned throughout the years, from marriage to Christmas gifts. We took it all in, legs intertwined while we sat facing each other on the stairs. Time was passing so quickly then; Julian and I grasping at it like a baby clawing for a blanket or its mother's hair. But now, as I stand in front of this kitchen window, it all seems like lifetimes ago. And suddenly I'm reminded of all that has happened, and all that will come. I suddenly hear footsteps behind me, and I turn to find Sandra hobbling through the doorframe.
"Come," she says. "It is time."
