Hillbilly Elegy

to Mamaw as soon as Mom arrived.
Shortly before I expected Mom, Mamaw
called. “Where is your mother?”
“I don’t know. What’s wrong,
Mamaw?”
Her response, more than anything
I’ve ever heard, is seared in my memory.
She was worried—scared, even. The
hillbilly accent that she usually hid
dripped from her lips. “No one has seen
or heard from Papaw.” I told her I’d
call as soon as Mom got home, which I
expected would happen soon.
I figured Mamaw was overreacting.
But then I considered the utter
predictability of Papaw’s schedule. He
woke at six in the morning every day,