So we went to the parade all right. We did the entire opening-day program. Only we didn’t go alone. We drove in to town with the Goodnoughs in Lyman’s Pontiac. The day before he had waxed it fresh for the occasion, and I figured the big back seat of that boat of his would be good for my wife. When we got to town that morning he parked the car on a side street away from traffic, then the four of us walked over to Main Street and found a place out of the sun in front of the Coast to Coast store on the east side of the street. There were already hundreds of people lining both sides. Some of the old-timers had arrived early enough to unfold lawn chairs along the curb, and there were kids everywhere, teenagers in shorts and little kids with balloons and cones of ice, and all the townspeople and area farmers. A little after ten o’clock the parade started.
The color guard came first. They came marching north up Main Street from the high school toward us, and everybody stood still while they passed, four middle-aged veterans stuffed into wool uniforms and sweating plenty. They were followed by some guys on horseback; then the school band was there playing some march or other while the band director hotfooted it along beside them; some more horses then; then the Holt County Fair queen and her two attendants rode up, each of them in new felt hats and bright cowgirl outfits and looking straight ahead without a smile when one of the girls’ horses raised its tail to drop road apples along the pavement in front of everybody; then some kids on decorated bikes; then a half-dozen boosters in convertibles and some more horses; then a float or two, the Future Farmers of America float with some high school boys dressed like Arabs smoking cigarettes in long holders; and the local implement company’s float consisting of an old manure spreader with a painted sign taped to it that said: WE STAND BEHIND WHAT WE SELL; then the candidates for county clerk waving and smiling from convertibles, acknowledging the folks of voting age and throwing candy to the kids, the kids all scrambling for it and their mothers checking to see that it was wrapped in wax paper; then some old tractors and antique cars and still more horses. The city street cleaner with its spray of water and rotating brushes ended the parade. It was finished by eleven o’clock.
“Well,” I said. “That appears to wrap up any parade for the year. Now what?”
“I say we eat,” Lyman said. “Sis here got me up before breakfast.”
We all looked at Edith. “Oh, I don’t listen to him anymore,” she said. “Next thing you know he’ll want a tray in bed.”
“That’s the idea,” he said.
“No,” I said. “You want to be careful. One summer she brought me a tray of food out to the side yard every day and I just about died of bloat and discomfort.”
“Do you remember that?” Edith said.
“Sure. Every mouthful.”
“That was a long time ago. You were a nice little boy then.”
“I still am.”
“Of course you are,” she said. She patted my cheek. “Sometimes he is,” Mavis said. “But I agree with Lyman. I’m starving.”