THE MAYOR

My Grandma got married and divorced and married again and divorced again and the third time she married Grandpa George, who was the Mayor of Dollywood. He had a big bushy beard and red chipmunk cheeks. He wore colorful vests covered in buttons and a top hat covered in pins. Grandpa George was like a cartoon character, always smiling. The Mayor of Dollywood could never be sad, it was impossible. Whenever Dolly Parton visited her park Grandpa George drove her around in a beautiful classic car with red velvet seats. She sat on the back seat in gorgeous sequined gowns and smiled her big red smile and waved like a pageant queen. She was my first real crush, so I asked Grandpa George if we could meet her. We never got to meet her. Dolly was a very busy woman, singing and saving America (etc.), but he did get us an autograph and tickets to Dolly’s Stampede. At the Stampede we watched a chicken footrace, white horses jumping through rings of fire, fireworks inside. It was like magic or a miracle, and Dolly was our God, creator of it all, and it was good. The Stampede served dinner with no utensils, Like the days of old, they said. I was pretty sure they had forks back then but we got a whole chicken and ate with our hands, mopped the grease up with biscuits, drank a gallon of sweet tea. It was a sacrament. Grandpa George told me his hat was tall for the same reason Dolly’s hair was: to be closer to Heaven. I think he kept all his sadness in his hat. Eight months after the wedding my Grandma and Grandpa George divorced and I never saw him again, but I thought about him a lot, so I Googled him to see what he was up to. He stopped being the Mayor of Dollywood and started hosting a radio show, which is pretty cool for someone his age. But that was years and years ago. Hell, he’s probably dead now. He was much older than Dolly. I hope she went to his funeral and sang a beautiful sad song. I hope they buried him in his stupid vest. But not his stupid hat. He never took that thing off.