|buy prints of select halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (prints of all photographs are available upon request)||day 100
It was almost nine before Aaron managed to pull Rebecca away from the press and into the tent. Bob and Lisa had saved three seats near the back. The lights went out and the giant plasma television screen came on. A single spotlight followed Tucky Thompson as he stumbled to a podium on the left side of the television. On the right, Rebecca could make out the vague shape of the Lady Sasquatch – her mother, Helene. She felt a jolt of anger, but calmed herself with the reminder that she’d be taking her home at midnight.
Tucky was drunk. Whisky swished over the top of his glass and onto his hand. He positioned the microphone. “As many of you know, tonight is a bittersweet night for me. Tonight I have to give my Sasquatch away, and then none of you are gonna get to see her anymore. I dunno if you’re a hunter out there, but a hunter knows that if ya kill it, it’s yours, if you bag a deer you don’t think it’s fuckin’ kid is gonna show up and take you to court and be all ‘give me back my mommy….’”
A discernable snicker spread through the tent during the Sasquatch Summer re-enactment scenes that featured Stew aping about in a floppy black wig. But no one was laughing when it was time for Dave Thompson’s interview. The camera held steady on his face, measuring every twitch and extra blink of his eyes. He was restless and shy, and squirmed in his seat so much his head bounced out of frame more than once. He talked about his father and the Lady Sasquatch and about living amid the chaos of the Sasquatch Circus. But mostly he talked about Rebecca. He said that he loved her and he cried when he was asked whether he thought they’d ever be able to repair the damage done to their friendship. Dave didn’t talk about the sex or Bob Richman breaking his hand on his head.
“Do you blame your father for your estrangement from Rebecca?” the producer asked.
“That’s not what this is about,” Dave answered.
“Do you blame the media?”
“I said that’s not what any of this is about.”
“What is it about, Dave?”
“It’s about Rebecca. It’s all about Rebecca. Don’t any of you understand?”
Rebecca shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The show cut to a commercial and she could see people turning to look in her direction. The tent was illuminated by the giant television. Across the aisle she saw Dave. He glanced over and Rebecca smiled.