Ron...the road out ... runs back the same way....we'll save your stool.
White Line Distancing
Jake pulled into the cantina just as the orange
sun dropped below the scorched horizon.
He swore he saw a dust cloud stir up
from the drought dried desert floor as
the heat of day gave merciful way to
dusk's promise of night's relief and respite.
Both he and his truck were running on fumes.
He'd been on the road for weeks now.
A man on a mission, a brother sequestered
by a sister's request. A scavenger hunt of sorts,
searching for someone, somewhere in Hell's half acre
between Texas and Mexico.
Right now all he wanted was to be out of
the heat and to feel something cold on the
back of his throat. His mouth felt as parched
as the red clay crust on his boots.
Perhaps his rawhide thirst made him foolish,
but he'd take his chances with the locals
that he might encounter inside. He knew
down here in the flats, this close to the border
it could be miles before he'd come across
another watering hole.
He could smell the women and the
whiskey as soon as he walked in.
It was also then that he saw Travis sitting
across the room, his attention taken by
a lovely young senorita.
Jake smiled at his dumb luck.
He'd been looking for Travis for weeks,
and then just stumbled across him
while in search of a cold brew.
It had been over eight months since they
had seen each other, since that day
Iambe sent Travis packing in his truck.
He walked over to the table wearing
that cocky grin of his.
"Buy an old friend a beer?"
"You're a long way from home,
aint you Jake?" Travis replied, not showing
any sign of surprise at Jake's sudden presence.
"I took a wrong turn at Amarillo and just kept on going
till I ran out of white lines." Jake joked in return.
The two men had a mutual respect for one another
that needed no explanation as to the reason either were here.
Jake sat down and took a closer look at the striking
woman that was keeping company with his friend.
Travis smiled, then winked as the impact of her beauty
became apparent on Jake's face. She excused herself
and left the men to talk. No words were needed as they
watched her flowing cotton skirt sway as she walked away.
Jake simply raised his beer to Travis and nodded.
He sensed an inner peace about this man now that
he was sure he'd not seen before.
They talked about the weather,
about their trucks ...
about the rodeo Jake had won,
the cattle drive Travis had rode lead on.
They talked about everything but the reason
they both knew Jake had come.
It was well after midnight when Jake told
Travis it was time he got back on the road.
Travis walked him out to his truck,
"Ride the white lines safely home my friend."
They shook hands and made eye contact
that said all need be. Travis watched Jake
drive off into the dark desert distance,
then went back in to find his companion.
Jake had days of driving before he'd be home,
he would think of something to tell his sister.
He knew he'd done the right thing tonight,
even if she wouldn't agree. Some things men
just understand between them.
Having Iambe under your skin was like having
a rattlesnake in your sleeping bag, or a tattoo
of a lovers name who didn't want you anymore.
Travis had broke free of her hell cat hold.
Jake wasn't about to brand him with that
kind of heart burn again.
When he got to the interstate he headed
in the opposite direction of home.
He was going back to the rodeo circuit.
He'd take his chances with the bulls and the broncs.
They didn't have a thing on a scorned Iambe's kick.
thank you poet sir...for the inspiration...and for things taught and shared.
Take care of you and that impressive muse.
Unknown to us, there are moments when crevices open for time to come alive with begining.