Mamaw Pat looked up briefly. ”Well gosh-a-mighty, git your head outta the winder. He’s hateful.”

I moved away from the window on my slowest speed. I heard Virgil cackle extra loud.

I sat my bottom down on the couch and looked at Mamaw, who had found her tape. ”I’ll bet he doesn’t have any bullets. How come he limps?”

“He don’t have a leg, and he’s got plenty a bullets, ’cause he shoots at stuff up in the woods all the time.”

“Did he shoot his leg off?” I asked, which in my mind perfectly explained why he was so grouchy. I was already picturing the whole gory scene in my head, and wondered what sort of contraption he hobbled around on underneath his pants leg. Probably a peeling black stump that matched his house.

“Lost it in the mines.” In Virginia, everybody lost chunks of their bodies in the mines, including eyeballs. She slid the tape in the player, and Percy sang, “When a Man Loves a Woman.”

The next morning I got on my bike and headed straight away to park on the road directly in front of Virgil’s house and stared at him. A creek trickled between the road and his cabin, so he had a real bridge, wide enough for one car. I wanted to ride my bike on his bridge, but Mamaw said “NO TRESPASSIN’.” She didn’t want Virgil to shoot at me, since my mother would get mad and probably not let me visit again.

Virgil was puttering around outside, doing whatever it was that he did all day. He pretended to ignore me. I knew he was pretending because of the muttering. Virgil’s muttering was more in the category of loud talking.

He loud-talked a few things about bratty kids who don’t have nothin’ to do but “pester, pester, pester.” Every now and then he spit, for punctuation.

When I was sure a decent amount of pestering had come to pass, I waved and smiled a huge smile, and rode back to Mamaw’s. Virgil made a “go away” gesture with his hand and spit again.

I repeated my bad behavior every day, sometimes more than once. Except I took to greeting him with “HI, VIRGIL!” in a loud voice. Plus I inched my front tire on his bridge.

On about the fifth day I got up early and looked out the window. Virgil was already outside, and seemed to be in good mood. He was laughing to himself and even gave a little wave when he saw me.

He was expecting me, apparently, like the next hiccup or bellyache after too many green apples. Maybe I could get TWO tires on his bridge today.

I raced out to Mamaw’s shed to get my bike. I swung around the corner and peered inside.

Empty. No bike. Nothing.