Both “Kansas” and “Girl” deal with unresolved childhood traumas that have followed the protagonist and narrator into adulthood. Some conquer their demons; others court them. Sometimes, the mind manifests unresolved events as dreams, playing them over and over in an effort to heal. By replaying an elegant series of hypothetical scenes in “Kansas,” Dobyns empowers the dying man as a hero and his tormented psyche is finally healed. His encounter with the farmer has plagued him through life because the outcome was dire and unknown. He didn’t deal with it.
In the beginning, he is truly a youth living in the moment with no concern for the future: “The boy had two plums and he ate them.” He could ration them in this precarious, hitch-hiking situation but he doesn’t. He naively climbs into the truck and doesn’t notice the revolver resting on the seat beside him. Then he makes awkward exchanges with the farmer. As a boy, he is confused and unable to act in an adult world.
“Girl” summarizes this in a perfect microcosm. The reader is first lulled to sleep with trivial instructions, and then jarred by strong language and shocking phrases. “This is how to make a good medicine to throw away a child before it even becomes a child.” Her writing seems frantic and stream-of-conscious in style. “Girl” progresses chronologically as the daughter ages and ends with humor. Kincaid also uses a repetitive device with the recurring “slut” line. Although her mother may have once been the actual slut she keeps mentioning, the daughter allows the condescending verbal attacks to bother her. She deals with it through the healing power of writing.
His grandiose and unrealized dreams disintegrate over time: “The war came and went. He wasn’t a boy any longer.” In his last illness, his wife realizes there is no hope for the future. The remaining action plays in his mind as he toys with the outcome of his boyhood encounter. The boy makes bold decisions and intervenes, first arming himself with the confidence he needs by assuming an idealized version of himself. He is already accepted to Julliard. In a twist of karma, he decides his own fate and becomes the martyr. Two bullet wounds mark his final death pangs, and perhaps symbolize two heart attacks. He finally wins because he takes decisive action and the trees, bursting with color, symbolically exalt him as the hero.
“Kansas” ends beautifully by sweeping full-circle. The older son inherits his own scene which replays through his life. He, like his father, is haunted by his failure to act. The old man draws his last breaths, the glittering progress of the large, silver zipper pulls across his father’s face, and he misses what could have been a final, shared moment. The characters lacked the necessary experience and maturity to act in their situations. When we rise to an occasion and fill the boundaries of our hero’s armor, we find that we no longer need them.
