Where Have All the Cowboys Gone

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone



"God dammit!" I let the Mustang coast to a stop on the soft shoulder of the Interstate. A carillon of honking horns only fueled my anger. Jumping out of the car I kicked the rear-tire, though that was not my problem. It was just to release some tension for being so stupid. The gas tank was empty. I got back into the dead Ford as car after car whizzed past me.

I looked at the Post-It note stuck to the dashboard. In my handwriting were the instructions to the photography shoot that was probably many miles of exits back or maybe even ahead for all I knew. John found the client and said; “Do me a favor and photograph his products. We can pull together a catalogue for him later. And take your time…we’re billing him by the hour.” I could have been in and out in less than a few hours, but I had let my daydreams get the best of me, and not to mention a GPS would have come in handy.

I recollected how dreary it was when I left John’s apartment this morning. Sensible, safe, predictable John. He smelled of nothing at all. He was opaque and right now, I couldn't muster a spark for him. Further signs of restlessness swelled when I fell behind the silver Airstream with Texas plates on the Interstate.

With the sun full and at out backs now, it glinted off the mirrored silver and hypnotized me. Carefree on the open road. I wanted to be taking pictures of landscape...craggy, verdant, and barren. It didn't matter what kind of beauty. That's why I had become a photographer, but I had gotten sidetracked in the corporate world of money. All I wanted now was to follow the Airstream to wherever. And I almost did until the dazzling Airstream exited at the last rest plaza. My dream stalled.

Being lost and then the final insult of running out of gas, I held my cell phone wondering who to call. Everyone was at work by this time, but I dialed up John. I didn’t even have him on speed dial.

“Hello…”

“John, it’s me. I…”

“Can’t talk right now. I’ve got a big client on the other line, Clare. I’ll call you back when I have a chance.” Click.

Stranded, I couldn't leave my livelihood stuffed in the duffel bag lying across the back seat. Two digital cameras, one 35mm, and video equipment were too heavy to take on a hike back to the nearest gas station. A smaller duffel bag stored a change of clothing, so I struggled out of my tailored dress and awkwardly squirmed into the jeans from the bag. I got out of the car to tuck in the blouse. Several cars tooted, but didn't stop. Wadding up the dress, I tossed it in the backseat.

I paced around the car several times in search of an answer to my dilemma, finally resting against the trunk. Even with my sunglasses on, the sun was dazzling on something as I looked back from where I had come. In a minute it was almost blinding. The fireball advanced steadily on the interstate all shimmering light and finally when it was larger than life it halted several yards from where I stood. I was mesmerized when a tall stranger wearing a cowboy hat swaggered out of the bright light. A tanned face and a southern drawl asked, "Can I give you a lift somewhere?" His smile was genuine and suggested mischief.

I dragged the heavy duffel bag from the back seat of the Mustang. Cowboy reached down and picked it up then walked it to the Airstream. I grabbed my boots and followed. My mind raced. What the hell am I doing?

As we pulled away from the shoulder his sweet smile asked, "Where to, Miss Purdy?" He tipped his hat and revealed tousled blond hair.

That made me laugh. "Texas, if you don’t mind," I answered. Without apprehension, I left safe and predictable behind. I smelled a real man.