No More Blood - Epilogue on the Life of Truman Capote & In Cold Blood

SOMEWHERE IN KANSAS, A GIRL WALKS...

SATURDAY AUGUST 25, 1984 – 8:05AM

The road, not so much dusty as worn...

Pavement, yes, but no shoulder to speak of, and somehow the grass—which waved back and forth in the endless and unforgiving Kansas landscape, a kind of hissing sound it made, almost haunting its own territory—was ever so slowly creeping inward, as if to say to the asphalt, I was here first and I shall remain.

No sidewalk in sight, of course...

The mere fact that the asphalt buttressed the grass was good enough to anyone daft enough to walk this barren landscape when a perfectly good car could be on loan from a rental company.

Somehow though, today begged for a walk, the sun, dazzlingly bright, the sky, a piercing blue, void of the fluffy stuff, the heat, no, not today, just a warm breeze kissing at my clothes, my cheeks. Most likely I would have a wind-burn come sundown.

I’d been walking for what seemed like forever, no real landmarks to guide me, only my nose, my innate sense of direction. Maybe knowing where I was going really wasn’t completely necessary, for I knew where I had already been. Maybe just moving forward was good enough today.

So much time, so very much time had passed. It seemed as if I had missed the good parts in between. But don’t we all say that about everything and everyone that comes before or after us?

I was okay with that, as I had always felt the original story was never quite told in full. I always had the feeling there was more or could have been more, if just one more blank page was on offer to Truman, one more minute of detailed admission was available to the reader. Einstein said that time is not linear. Maybe, in more ways than one, he was right.

One car, with miles of distance in between, would follow another as they sped by me. The drivers, out of deference to my solo promenade, would swerve well and slowly to the left for my safety, and maybe to lessen the load of dust which would surely follow in their wake. The further I walked, the dustier I got, and the less I sensed any productiveness to my trek. I strode with what felt like cast iron weights affixed to my ankles, each step felt harder on the soles of my feet, heavier in the effort, the landscape unchanging, the destination, unapproachable. Time was ruling distance here, and I allowed for that. The hissing of the tall grasses kept my mind from going quietly insane with the barrage of infinite geographical space. I had time to wander back into my own thoughts, maybe to a place and its events to which I had always wanted to be more apart, or at least have seen, heard, felt longer than Fate allowed.

There was all the time in the world to “get there”. I knew the way, of course, how could I not. My speed of advancement had to match his; yet, he had no idea there would even be a meeting, our separate paths were so far apart in every respect. But then again, it’s always the last scenario you envision that will end up being the correct one. I would walk, and wait in my walking, and eventually he would appear. The inevitable is always so inevitable. The journey has finally begun.