The whole incident was by chance. On a whim, I decided
to get a chicken sandwich at Jack in The Box. I noticed the dog first. His
attention was centered on a man, hair to his shoulders, dirty in the way that
the hair clumps together as if invisible vines are threading their way through
his mane to form matted tendrils. His clothes had seen better days, and his
cowboy boots were well worn with miles of travel clinging to the soles. The dog
looked adoringly at his master and crumpled to the ground in heap, all the
while still gazing with devotion at the man. His body landed next to a backpack
and two duffel bags held together with bungee cords.
It was what happened next that continues to haunt me.
The dog attempted to get up, slumped down again and when his master pointed
toward his bundle of belongings, the dog inched its way closer to the bundle. The
man bent down and slipped the bungee cords around the middle of the dog,
binding him to his things, as if the dog was merely part of his possessions
that he didn’t want to carry into the restaurant with him. He double checked
for tightness and turned his back to the dog and started to head into the
restaurant.
I tried to look away. I could feel my heart starting
to ache again, as it does so often these days. I couldn’t. I could feel outrage
in my gut along with the sadness that was threatening to overtake me. It was as
if he read my thoughts. He stopped in mid stride and pivoted around, fixing his
gaze on me. His eyes were as blue as the sky, his smile easy and warm. He said
hello and asked to play me a song if I would buy him a cup of coffee. I couldn’t
help but smile back. The guy had manners, in the slow, effortless way that
southern men often did. His voice, husky yet smooth as honey, dripped with
charm. I handed him a few dollars and told him to enjoy his coffee. He invited
me to stop back for my song after I went through the drive thru. I didn’t take
him up on his offer, too engrossed in talking to my boy as we drove home.
I thought about him though. That effortless honeyed
voice, those eyes and that lanky frame. What was his story, I wondered? How did
he end up in my small town? Every day for a week, he crept into my thoughts at
the oddest times.
On Monday night, under a full moon in a clear night
sky, I snuck quietly out of the house. I just needed orange juice, damn it. I
am such a creature of habit, first thing in the morning, straight from the jug
with juice dripping down my chin, sweet and tangy and the only way I like to
start the day. I saw him then, sitting in front of the grocery store. I stopped
in my tracks and said hello, grinning like a fool. He remembered me and thanked
me again for the coffee. His voice, weary, yet ripe with promise felt like an invisible string, pulling me closer. I just wanted to know more about him. He
said his name was Colin, but everybody called him Cowboy and he had been
traveling for eight and a half years. He was getting tired of sleeping outdoors
now and wondered if I had a garage or a barn where he could spend the night. I
was tempted, because I knew I would hear more about his journey, but it takes
more than a silky voice to get me to turn over part of my safe place to a dusty
man with sky blue eyes.
I asked him for an introduction to his beautiful dog.
He said his name was Hank and when I yelped in delight, he looked at me
quizzically. I explained that my dog was named Hank too…He grinned then and
asked me where I had gotten Hank. I told him I found him on the streets of
Tucson, grimy and full of ticks. He’d been with me for almost ten years. He was
amazed that I found him on the streets. He told me that his Hank was a gift
from his old girlfriend. They were together for eight months, and she bought
Hank for him because the brown spot on his back was in the shape of a heart, a
sure sign that she loved him. She loved Hank too, but not as much as she loved
her hometown of Amarillo. She couldn’t picture leaving behind the town she
loved, where tumbleweeds blew across the barren lands at all hours of the day
and night, wandering, not unlike the man she claimed to love. He left her
there, took Hank and moved west, until he landed in my town. I bid him goodbye
then. I could feel my resolve starting to wane and I knew that my love, working
so hard through the night, would not approve. My safety always came first with
him and I’m no fool when it comes to pleasing the man who adores me.
I moved my way through the store, determined to get
out of there with what I came into the store to get, and nothing more. I stopped in
front of the juice and stared into the refrigerated section, not seeing it,
really. Instead I was thinking about Colin and Hank. Sitting on the curb,
hungry and tired but unwilling to ask anyone for food. What could I get them?
Was he like so many others these days, with self-imposed dietary restrictions?
I pondered as I walked to the front of the store and almost bumped into the
fresh baked chicken under hot lights. I knew instantly that this was the right
thing, because they could share it, and both would have full bellies as they
slept under the brilliant, twinkling stars.
He was still sitting on the curb as I exited the store.
He looked up at me and smiled that magical, charming smile. As I handed the
chicken to him, he looked up, astonished. For me? Are you sure? I assured him
that it was all his to share with Hank. As his eyes filled with tears, he
crooned his pleasure by saying the only thing that came to his mind. Mam,
please tell your boyfriend that he has an amazing lady. Will you tell him that
for me? I grinned, nodded and melted into the night, back to my safe place,
where traveling, grifting cowboys could only enter through my dreams.
