About this time, I feel a tuggin at my sleeve. It is little Forrest, who is lookin at the blood on my arm from where the goon hit me with the board full of nails.
“You arright, Dad?” he ast.
“Huh?”
“I said you arright, Dad; you are bleedin.”
“What you call me?”
“I love you, Dad” was what he said. An that was enough for me. Yessir.
Yessir.
An so that’s how it ends, more or less. After the crowd drifted away I walked on down to the bayou where they is a point that looks out over the bay an the Mississippi Sound an then on out into the Gulf beyond it, an if you could, you could see clear down to Mexico, or South America. But it was still a little misty that evenin, an so I went an set down on a ole park bench, an little Forrest come an set beside me. We didn’t say nothin, cause I think it had been about all said, but it got me to thinkin what a lucky feller I am. I got me a job, a son proud an tall, an I had me some friends in my day, too. I couldn’t help but remember em all. Ole Bubba, an Jenny, an my mama, an Dan, an Sue, is gone now, but probly not too far, cause ever time I hear a big ole foghorn on the water, or a bell from a bell buoy, I think of them; they is out there someplace. An there is little Forrest, an Jenny’s mama, an Sergeant Kranz, an all the rest, still here. An I ain’t forgot what Jenny said about Gretchen, neither. An so, in a way, I am the luckiest feller in the world.
They is just one more thing to tell, an that is when they decided to make a movie of my life’s story. That is unusual, even for me. Somebody got wind of the fact that I am a idiot who has made good, an in these days it is what they call a “man bites dog” sort of story.
So one day these Hollywood producers come an inform me I am gonna be in the motion pitchers. Well, a lot of you know the rest. They done made the show, an everbody all over the world went to see it. Mr. Tom Hanks that I met in New York that night, he played my part in the movie—an was pretty good, too.
Well, finally it become the night to go to the Academy Awards show in California, an I took everbody that was my friends there, an we set in the audience—I even got to set with Bubba’s folks. An damn if the pitcher didn’t win most of the Academy Awards, an at the end, after they get through thankin everbody else, they decided to thank me, too.
They was a Mister Letterman, as the host, a nice feller with big picket teeth an a trick dog an shit, an as the last item on the menu, so to speak, he announces they is a special award for ole Forrest Gump, for bein “The Most Lovable Certified Idiot in America,” an I am called to the stage.
An after they give me the award, Mister Letterman ast if they is anythin I would like to say to the TV cameras. An in fact, they is, an I been savin it up. An so I look out there on all them fancy dresses an expensive jewelry an pretty women an handsome men, an says the first thing that comes to mind, which is, of course, “I got to pee.”
Well, at first, ain’t nobody clappin or commentin or nothin. I think they is all embarrassed, account of we is on national television an all. An after a moment or two, the audience begun a kind of deep mumblin an whisperin to theyselfs.
An Mister Letterman, who feels like he must be in charge, I think he ain’t sure what to do, so he motions behind the curtains for the hands to get a big ole stage hook, an haul my fat ass off the stage. An the stage hook has just grapped me behind the collar when all of a sudden, out of the audience, a missile sails across the footlights. Little Forrest, it seems, has got so excited he has chewed up his entire Academy Award program, account of they don’t serve no popcorn at the Oscars, an so he is armed with what might be the world’s largest spitball. An when they are tryin to pull me off the stage, little Forrest thows the spitball an hits Mister Letterman square between the eyes!
Gretchen is horrified, of course, an cries out, “Oh, my goodness!” But let me say this: It was a sight! All of a sudden, all hell bust loose. People begun jumpin up an hollerin an pointin an shoutin, an the nice Mister Letterman is flounderin around behind the speaker’s platform, tryin to pick the spitball off his face.
But then from out in the audience, I hear one shout above all the rest, an it is this: “That’s my dad! That’s my dad!” An I gotta tell you, that was enough for sure. So I reckon you can say we been there, an then the curtain comes down on all of us.
You know what I mean?