What Mr. Hernandez Saw on Highway 2

A Belle Perdue account, as related by Miss Lettie outside Fran and Fanny Fern's Florist, to whoever happened to be standing there

Miss Lettie parked her scooter against the brick wall outside Fran and Fanny Fern's Florist, fanning herself with last weeks church bulletin.

She started slow, the way she always did when the story had some chew to it.

"Mr. Hernandez was out on Hwy 2 last night," she said, "drivin' that old green tractor slow as supper, pullin' over every time somebody come up beside him like he was givin' 'em the right of way at a weddin'. It was full dark by then, and he was headed to park it down by Poulette Pond so he could get an early start clearin' brush come mornin'. Well, up ahead he spots what he swears is Broom, you know, Lowjack's dog that sleeps at the automotive shop every night. Thought, now that's peculiar. Broom don't wander after dark."

She paused, letting the group picture it.

"Got closer... and it wasn't Broom at all. It was a coyote. Skinny thing, coat the color of dry clay, standin' right in the middle of the blacktop like he'd just stepped off the levee and wasn't sure asphalt was worth the trouble. Mr. Hernandez eased that tractor to a full stop, engine rattlin' low, and just stared. Coyote stared right back. Didn't run. Didn't growl. Just... looked."

Miss Lettie tilted her head the way she said the coyote had, slow and curious.

"Time stretched out some. Then the coyote cocked his head . Like he was sizin' up whether people food might be worth the trade. And right then, flash of light. Brights from a couple cars backed up behind Mr. Hernandez. Coyote vanished into the ditch like smoke. Mr. Hernandez said it felt like somethin' out of Star Trek... one of them transporter melts where the body just folds away. Not aliens, mind you. Just headlights."

She chuckled.

"Next mornin' he rolls back down to the pond to start work... and the whole bank is covered in dandelions. Sea of 'em. Yellow heads bobbin' everywhere he hadn't seen a single one the night before. Most folks call 'em weeds. Mr. Hernandez knows better. Every part useful. Leaves for salad, roots for coffee, flowers for tea. He couldn't bring himself to bush-hog through that."

Fanny crossed her arms. "So what'd he do?"

"Knocked on the produce stand door to see if June had come in yet. Asked her for a basket, crate, box, anything. June poked her head out, sleepy-eyed, hair still in a scarf. 'What for, Mr. H?' He told her. Her face lit up like Christmas. 'I been wantin' to try that flower tea,' she said. 'I'm helpin' you harvest.'"

Miss Lettie spread her hands.

"So the two of 'em spent a whole hour out there, pickin' blossoms careful-like, fillin' up a couple peach crates till they were heaped yellow. Earthly manna, he called it. Laughed the whole time."

She shook her head, smiling soft.

"Now he's at the general store payin' for his corn flakes, and he's standin' there lookin' at the register like it just asked him a riddle. Says he don't know what come over him last night... but he reckons he'll have to start infusin' all his honey with dandelion. Says it'll be good for what ails you. June already promised him the first batch of tea."

The teenage girls giggled. Mr. Thibodeaux tapped his stick once on the sidewalk.

Miss Lettie looked around the little circle. "Y'all believe a word of that?"

Nobody answered right away. Just the sound of crickets starting up and the low hum of Hwy 2 in the distance.

Then Fanny said, quiet, "I believe I'd like some of that tea."

Miss Lettie nodded once, satisfied.

"Thought you might."

She rested her palms on the scooter handlebars like a judge closing court, blinked up at the dimming sky, and said,

“What? Y’all expectin’ an epilogue?”

She motored off, leaving the rest of them standing there half-smiling, half-wondering if the dandelions were still blooming down by Poulette Pond tonight.

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