He was an odd man to look at. I could tell in his prime he could wear a suit and he wore it well while he was in New York trying to make something of himself. He had been a part of a group of Southern men who felt the need, had an obsession with going north and making something of themselves. My momma had told me all about it when she explained Mr. George to me. She said that while a few men stuck it out, worked hard, and made it that he hadn’t been so lucky. He was determined to have a fairy tale life, and failing wasn’t an option. What started out as a five year plan turned into twenty before he knew it. He had failed at job after job and the girl waiting for him back home stopped waiting, and he kept trying. Mom said that he didn’t stop until he got word that his momma had died and came home for the funeral. Momma said that she saw him looking out at the Mississippi sunset and though it wasn’t much she said she saw his shoulders slump and his body sigh. She said that’s when he gave up.
I saw him now sitting in front of old Ms. Dorothy’s general store, but I never said anything to him. Momma thinks a failed man is dangerous, says no telling what he’ll do when he has nothing left to live for. He always made me wonder if I had or would have a fairy tale ending to live for, and made me fear what would happen if I failed like Mr. George.
