Down from Coeur d'Alene

Down from Coeur d'Alene DOWN FROM COEUR d'ALENE / Dan Thrapp AT NIGHTFALL, when they stopped across the river from Lewiston, m\ Mary Ann was not crying and said she would only be a minute. She got out of the jeep. Kyle put the gun in his belt, zipped up his jacket, and got out after her. The station was a teepee made of concrete with zig-zag Indian designs painted around its base. Inside, an attendant turned in his wooden swivel chair as the door opened. He was an Indian, a teenaged boy--black-haired, brown-eyed. He was thin. His head was square. He asked if Kyle wanted the key to the men's room. "It's kept locked," he said. Kyle stepped in, leaving the door open. "I'm okay." He looked at the room, at the counter, the cash register on the counter, the stacks of oil cans and brake fluid and gas treatment on shelves along the wall that separated the office from the restrooms. He looked at the fan belts looped on hooks above the shelves, at the green and brown linoleum on the floor, at the wooden desk, at the boy again. "It's her that needs to pee," he said. "She's my http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Down from Coeur d'Alene

The Missouri Review, Volume 6 (3) – Oct 5, 1983

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

DOWN FROM COEUR d'ALENE / Dan Thrapp AT NIGHTFALL, when they stopped across the river from Lewiston, m\ Mary Ann was not crying and said she would only be a minute. She got out of the jeep. Kyle put the gun in his belt, zipped up his jacket, and got out after her. The station was a teepee made of concrete with zig-zag Indian designs painted around its base. Inside, an attendant turned in his wooden swivel chair as the door opened. He was an Indian, a teenaged boy--black-haired, brown-eyed. He was thin. His head was square. He asked if Kyle wanted the key to the men's room. "It's kept locked," he said. Kyle stepped in, leaving the door open. "I'm okay." He looked at the room, at the counter, the cash register on the counter, the stacks of oil cans and brake fluid and gas treatment on shelves along the wall that separated the office from the restrooms. He looked at the fan belts looped on hooks above the shelves, at the green and brown linoleum on the floor, at the wooden desk, at the boy again. "It's her that needs to pee," he said. "She's my

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 1983

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