“Please let me pay you,” I insist and she says nothing. However, when I reach into my pocket, she lets the window up. I just shake my head.She’s stubborn as hell, and for some reason, I like that shit.
She revs her engine a little, so I step back. She wants to leave and I can’t stop her. I watch as she drives out of the large, circular, pebbled driveway. For a moment, I’m stuck, real shit stuck, standing out here in the cold intrigued. The fine, sexy, mean lady has me stuck.
The sound of a horn is the only thing that moves me. I turn and see three Sprinters pulling in. Unc is back from the airport along with the two other drivers with the people for the retreat. I’ve been here longer than I anticipated.
After I found out I wouldn’t be working here, Unc took me to one of the ranch hand houses. I took a much-needed long ass shower, trimmed my beard, and washed my clothes in my rucksack. Of course, he didn’t give me a time limit in the house but I planned on being gone before he returned. Bumping into her just delayed my departure.
While they get the passengers off the Sprinters, I walk back to the spot where I’d knocked into her, grab my rucksack, then walk to my uncle’s F-350. I’m in it and pulling out of the driveway before all of the passengers are off.
At the end of the driveway, I connect my charger and phone, look up the address of the first ranch, then follow the directions. The first ranch is about twenty miles from here. The owner isWilde but Unc told me to ask for his foreman, Chris. When I make it there and ask for Chris, I’m immediately told there are no available ranch hand positions. Sadly, I’m basically told the same damn thing at the four ranches after that. I’ve wasted a tank of gas and four hours driving from ranch to ranch only to be in the same damn predicament, unemployed.
It's a little after two. I’m a little frustrated and annoyed and definitely hungry. My body is conditioned for three meals a day and my stomach is growling. For food, gas, and a moment to regroup, I head back to town and find a small diner, The Pancake House. There’s a gas station right across the street, so I go there first and fill up.
The diner is kind of crowded but I’m seated in a booth in the back corner only fifteen minutes after I enter. Like most diners, there are no frills; the selling point is the food. From the aromas, I can tell it’s good. It’s ready for the holiday too because there’s a huge Christmas tree at the main entrance and each table has a small poinsettia as a centerpiece. A few seconds after I’m seated, the server brings me a cup of water and a menu and I ask for time. The menu isn’t elaborate but I really just need to think for a moment.
Miller’s Pointe and The Phoxes Den were not random choices. They were deliberate and planned. I’ve been discharged for two years and ranching the entire time. In the Army, I was an interior electrician and spent my days inside. I loved what I did and I was damn good at it, but I missed being outside, inhaling fresh air daily, being around animals, and really all things farming and ranching. I also missed family and Uncle Rufus is all I have. I needed a recharge and I felt like being here, near my uncle, for a few months would get me the surge I need. Leaving here isn’t an option, especially after her. I have to at least know her name.
“Have you decided yet?” my server asks, causing me to look up.
So caught up in my thoughts, I haven’t really looked at the menu. I take a quick look at the front page. Breakfast is definitely their specialty but there’s a small section with limited dinner plates including a soup and sandwich combo.
“I’ll take the smoked turkey melt with a bowl of loaded potato soup,” I tell her.
“You want everything on your melt?”
“Yes, and can I get a lemonade too?”
“I’ll bring the lemonade after I put your order in.”
“Thank you.”
When she walks off, I pull my phone out and figure out which ranches I’m going to try after I eat. I have six more that Unc mentioned. As I map the first one, my phone rings. It’s Jamal.
“Meleck,” I answer.
“What up, bruh? Did you ever get out of Missouri?”
“Yeah. Late last night after the roads cleared.”
“I don’t know how you do those buses.”
“Because it’s easy and best. Flying really fucks with my ear now and I hate being stuck in them shits anyway. I need air and the ability to roll a window down when I want,” I remind him.
“So how is it? I’ve heard that ranch is the shit.”
“And it is,” I say while shaking my head. The Phoxes Den is a rancher’s dream: the land, cattle, horses, state-of-the-art stables, milking, and luxury homes and barns. I’ve worked eight ranches these past two years and not one measured up. “But they are filled for the season.”
“I thought your uncle got you in.”
“He did but I missed the deadline. He did his part; I didn’t ’cause of the weather but I’ll figure some shit out. I’m checking other ranches today. I’m sure I’ll land somewhere.”
“I’m sure you will. Just don’t be sleeping outside if you don’t,” he says, then laughs. “You are the only man I know who’ll camp outside with a pocket full of money. I’ll never forget when you got off the bus at basic training with your hat, boots, and buckle. I had never seen no real live Black cowboy until yo’ ass.”
“Well, it’s a million of us,” I say with a smile he can’t see. “Don’t sleep on Black cowboys.”
“You got me through basic training. I know what they can do,” he says sincerely.
For me, the Army was a choice. I grew up admiring my uncle and knew I would join. For Jamal, it was a Hail Mary. He comes from money. His people own one of the largest meat packing companies nationwide. He had everything he needed but not what he wanted—his parents’ attention. That shit had him acting out and fucking up. He was kicked out of college and arrested a few times for dumb shit. His parents gave him an ultimatum, join the Army or no money. Of course, he chose the Army but he struggled but we were battle buddies, each other’s front and back, and I pushed him through. We’ve been locked since.
