The Cowboy and His Hometown Girl - Short Story by Gina Maria Manchego

 

The Cowboy and His Hometown Girl

Short Story

by Gina Maria Manchego

 

 

The old cowboy parked his truck under the ancient oak. Both man and tree had seen many a day fade into twilight. The years had fled fast for both of them. Autumn was stealing the leaves from the bending branches. The season was like a thief sneaking into the afternoons, gingerly plucking the remnants of summer jewels from their aloft perches.

Through the windshield, the cowboy’s crosshatched eyes regarded the scenery before him. Although he had been going every September, his memory always struggled to find the exact destination. His legs groaned as loudly as the hinges on the rusted Ford door. The glory of the crisp air made the slightest breeze bring down an umber cascade to the ground. The crackling of drying foliage under his feet reminded him of the task at hand.

He gathered his things from the bed of the time-weathered vehicle and scouted. He walked quietly down the path, counting his steps. Each foot nudged him through years past until it delivered him back to that first sunset that they shared. His memory of it always summoned her. He rounded a cobblestone walkway and there she was. 

He murmured almost inaudibly,

“Hello, babe.”

He’d never forget her in that dress she had bought just for him. His hometown girl in cerulean blue, freckles dappling the apples of her cheeks, nose wrinkling when she smiled at him.

“My cowboy finally made it back!”

He felt the corners of his mouth turn up as she ran to his open arms to bury her face in the crook of his neck.

The cowboy prayed that she’d hold on forever. Every fraction of feeling happened in slow motion for him when she was in his embrace. His calloused hands stroking her soft, shiny hair, he marvelled at how the strands looked like iridescent black pearls in the evening light. The cowboy took in her intoxicating perfume, tones of sensual jasmine and opulent jacaranda musk. He’d breathe her long and deep, growing increasingly love drunk with every inhalation. 

When she pulled back to meet his gaze, it transported him into a deeper realm of bliss. Those ever-changing eyes, all colours interwoven into currents that dared to take him under if he gazed too long. Eyes he’d give up his life to drown in, those captivating vessels into her soul that shined both siren and ingénue at the same time. 

The cowboy brought offerings like believers did for their deities, gifts to place before her. He loved to bestow her with delights. Tokens to excite and charm her, cause her to blush from the romantic gestures. That time he produced a creation he’d made especially for his hometown girl. A large Celtic cross welded with the fire that lived in his heart for her.

“It's to hang on your door, babe. To keep you safe.”

“Oh my, how can I ever thank you?”

They both knew it was a leading question, one that followed with a signal. She coyly bit down on the corner of her bottom lip. It was his cue to kiss her. He would never find words to describe the way her pout felt on his mouth. One could easier ask God what heaven felt like as he moulded it in his fingers. 

The cowboy refocused when he arrived at the destination. Letting out a heavy sigh, he looked wearily at the plot of land covered in browning grass and fallen leaves. He set to work, wanting to make it prim and pretty for her. He held the rake firmly in his hands and gathered nature’s debris, fashioning a mound to collect and dispose of. The cool wind whispered against the beads of perspiration developing on his brow. 

Toiling, he drifted off again to the first night. She wanted to learn how to slow dance. He was more than happy to oblige her. The cowboy remembered how she stiffened in his arms, taken aback by the intimacy of it all. He knew she was nervous, so he pulled her closer and began to pendulate. Back and forth, side to side, he felt her resolve disintegrate into a million molecules that floated into the surrounding ether. Softly, he sang in her ear,

“… Well, excuse me, but I think you’re in my chair…”

Lord, how he hoped the lyrics to the song would never end. Even when he sang the last note, he continued to hum as he rocked her. The sun set on them both, encapsulating them in a dream where they only existed for one another. 

Coming back to reality, the cowboy laughed at his foolishness when he caught himself dancing a bit. Swaying with that old rake like he was holding her instead. He finished gathering the downed foliage, almost done. He was certain she'd be pleased with his efforts.

Did he dare let his mind wander to making love to her that first magical night? The transition from dancing to her bed happened as effortlessly as the sunset dipped into nightfall.

There, with him, she bloomed in the moonlight like a perfect orchid. He was lost in the beauty of it all, not knowing if the light illuminating around her face had come from within or from the waxing orb in the sky. 

The cowboy allowed himself the indulgence of their union. He travelled back in time. His focus retracting smaller and smaller as he passed through every single memory of her. Each moment that her body ebbed and flowed with his, embracing her tenderly until their hearts beat in unison. Time seemed to collapse in on itself until she and the cowboy became a pinpoint, like the pupils of her chameleon eyes. A pulling in, before a supernova explosion that left only her silhouette beneath him as he emptied a galaxy full of stars inside. 

No accumulation of experiences after that would measure up to the Eden of the first time with his hometown girl. He would only realize that too late. The ancient cowboy felt hot tears well up on his corner lashes. Swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, he continued working, grabbing the last dead leaves caught up on the welded Celtic cross he had placed as her headstone so many years ago. He made his way to the details around the edge of her grave, plucking out any last menacing weeds. The old cowboy knew it had to be perfect, after-all it would be his last time there. Trembling, he knelt before her on an arthritic knee. He gave the cross one last wipe down, revealing the etching he had added upon the loss of her. It read,

“Mother, friend, and my hometown girl.” 

He laid flat on the freshly tended grave. The sun had finally set in the September sky. The old cowboy’s last thoughts were of that first night when he laid next to her, knowing every part of her body and soul. There, he drifted off into the ever after, murmuring almost inaudibly,

“Goodbye, babe.”

Gina Maria Manchego - is a multi-medium artist and poet. She has been penning since childhood, her goal is to create dynamic scenes with the written word. Gina lives in the wild mountains of Colorado, USA.