Chief Red Feather and Cowboy Bill

He lay dead on the hill. The sun beat down upon him. He was stiff as a board. His name was Chief Red Feather. He was Tommy.

I stood over him. I held my cowboy hat in my hands because it was too hot to wear it. With my mouth I made the sound of gun shots and pointed my index finger at him.

“Bang! Bang! You’re dead, Red Feather!”

His Mother could be seen in the distance out of the corner of my eye. She was calling for him. The sound of her voice caught up to us and Tommy bolted up.

“What, Mom?! I’m playing!”

“Supper is almost ready. Your friend can stay for supper but you gotta wash up. Alright?”

He sat still there and closed his eyes for one second, trying to pretend he wasn’t hot wearing the cheap headdress made from found feathers.

“What are we having?”

“Chicken and potatoes and peas”

Tommy groaned. He looked up at me and squinted.

“You want to stay for supper?”

My first instinct was to say yes but I knew I had better get home to my own Mother.

“I can’t. My Ma is expecting me”

“O.k. Suit yourself, bucko”

He said bucko in a strange way. Like he heard it on television or from his Dad. He looked proud for sounding so grown-up and condescending.

He stood up and marched toward the farmhouse. I walked over to the fence and got my bike.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“It’s a school day, ain’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess so. Bye, Tommy”

He just turned around and went inside. He never said goodbye. If it were anybody but Tommy it would annoy you but with him it made sense. It fit him.

I rode my bike home in the fading light of the summer sun.