THE ENCOUNTER cont. - page 13

The Encounter cont.

"Hello Lady, y'all waitin' fer a ride?" asked the man driving the Buick.

"No, I'm waiting for the bus." I replied.

"Oh, people most times wait fer the bus at home or in their motel rooms. " "Well, I'll just stay with y'all, 'till y'all's bus comes." He pondered a moment, and then he asked. "Would y'all like to go to supper?"

Where? I thought, "No thank you."

"Well," He reiterated, "I'll just stay with y'all, 'till y'all's bus gets here."

"Oh you don't have to bother." But the man totally ignored my response.

"Y'all'r a-shiverin' like a line wash in a wind storm. Get in the car an' I'll turn on the heater."

"No, I'm fine - thank you." I stated through chenched teeth.

He offered me something warm to wear, reached into the back seat of his car and pulled forth his overcoat.

"No, really, I am fine. Thank you." I did not want some stranger's coat all over me.

"I feel responsible fer y'all, 'cause I own the bus depot." He announced with pride.

What bus depot? I snorted in my mind. It was obvious that this man was going to wait with me and see me safely onto that bus. There was an earnest sweetness about him and I found myself thankful to have his company.

"I'll tell y'all about me an' then y'all can tell me about y'all. My name is G.B., that's short fer Good Boy . . . ."

Hours later when the bus pulled into view I thought my adventure on Route 66 was coming to a close.

"Won't y'all stay or stop in on y'all's way back from Santa Fe? Let me show y'all the places to paint 'round here."

G.B. did not list the Grand Canyon, Jerome or Sedona, instead he continued, "Out on the big ol' ranches 'round here are rusty ol' windmills, with chains a-rattlin' in the breeze. Y'all could paint them."

Windmills! I was halfway to being in love with G.B. Madison.

Four months after I returned home to Canada, I received a copy of Arizona Highways and a letter that had been wandering about, returned for insufficient postage, mailed again, misdirected here and there and addresseed only to: Charlotte, Ganges, Canada. It was an outspoken letter, ordering me to call him collect. I called immediately, filled with joy, and heard a sob in his voice as he said, "Oh Charle, it's been so long. I'd given up hope that y'all would ever call."

G.B. and the Strange Canadian Painter Lady by Charlotte Madison and Nana Cook copyright 1994