Down 'N' Derby Read Online Free PDF Page A

here.”
                  I snapped back at him, “I’m not running.  I’m finding my dad.  And that’s cool, artsy guys get hot chicks,” I joked.
                  “Yeah that’s it, and that’s why we’re going,” he leaned over to look at the speedometer, “Eighty miles an hour, ‘cause you’re not running, no way.”
                  “Shut up, and nice change of subject by the way” but I heeded his warning and slowed down anyway.
                  We both quieted down and soon Nixon was asleep, head propped awkwardly against his fist propped up on the armrest.  My mind started to drift.
                  “Momma, who named me Maddox Fitzgerald?  Was it you or was it my other momma?” I whispered in the morning before the light had broken in the sky.  Mom and I always got up super early and made breakfast together while the others slept.  Looking back, I wondered if this was her way of making me feel special.  I had asked her this question hundreds of times but she never grew tired of answering it.  “Mad, Sela and I picked out the name Maddox together.  It’s a strong name for a strong boy.  Fitzgerald was the name of your grandfather, Sela’s and my father.  They called him Fitz.”
                  “Owen says it’s because I’m weird like the Mad Hatter.” I would always whine, stomping my foot wearing cartoon character pajamas.
                  “What have I told you about that Mad?” This was always the point where she would prop her fists up on her hips.
                  “When Owen says something mean I should ask Falcon, if it really hurts my feelings.”
                  “Why?” She pressed.
                  “Because Falcon doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”  I wouldn’t understand how true that was until much later—but truth it was.  She would squat down and get to my eye level and hold on to my forearms as she drove her point home. 
                  “If you ever need to know the right thing to do, ask Falcon.  He won’t ever steer you wrong.”
                  “What about Owen?” I would always ask her.
                  “Owen acts before he thinks.  It’s not a bad thing, but sometimes it gets him in trouble.  Falcon is your rock, don’t ever forget that.”
                  I should’ve told him.  I should’ve confided in Falcon.  He wouldn’t have steered me wrong.  I should’ve trusted my brother, but it was too late now.
                  The sign which read ‘Welcome to Kansas’ brought me out of my memories along with my stomach growling.  We had been on the road for about five hours and had decided to take the Southern route through Kansas since Nixon wanted to cover as many states as possible.  We stopped in a town called Taylorville and I woke Nixon up when I parked.
                  “Are you hungry?” I asked him as he stretched.
                  “Are swamp rats ugly?” He quipped.
                  I pointed in front of us instead of retaliating and his mouth dropped open.  He got out of the car and practically ran to the door of the restaurant.  I don’t know how I managed to find a Creole restaurant smack dab in middle America but I had.  Nixon got on his knees in front of the door and thanked Jesus like he was in front of the pulpit.  An older couple came out and he pretended to weep and asked the older woman for a tissue.  She shook her head and kept walking. 
                  I jerked him up by his sleeve and we walked in.  Inside floor to ceiling were crawfish nets, Spanish moss, and Zydeco music playing from the speakers. 
                  “Well slap my ass and call me Shirley,” Nixon said as he gazed in wonder at the Cajun collage before us.
                  The waiter