Deep in my thoughts about the town I’m in, trying to avoid thinking about other things, the scruffy looking man down the bar leans toward me with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and asks, “Got a light?”
I look around not sure he’s talking to me and answer, “Um no sorry I don’t.”
He calls down the counter, “Hey Gabe, got a light?”
Gabe strolls down, pulling a lighter out of the front pocket of his jeans and hands it to the guy. As he lights the cigarette he looks my way commenting, “So you’re not from around here. Where are you from?”
“Dallas.”
He chuckles, “Yeah, I would have guessed that. Big city boy in a small town.”
I don’t respond so he rambles on as Gabe fills two more mugs for me.
“I’d guess you’re running from something. No one in their right mind comes to Mount Vernon for any real reason. Folks round here are tryin’ to get out.”
I take a long drink of my beer avoiding his questioning look. But as I set it down he asks, “So what’s your story?”
My head hangs staring at the bar. I did not come here to be anyone’s entertainment or to make friends. Gabe notices my uneasiness and tells him, “Back off Bert. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.”
The Bert guy pipes up one last time as he’s getting up, “Well, whatever your story, there’s no work here if you’re lookin’ ‘cept a ranch hand job out at the Bruin ranch. It might still be open. I left it so’s I could get outta here. Good luck.” He tosses some bills from his pocket onto the bar, fastens a brown cowboy hat on his head and leaves.
Gabe collects the bills and turns to me agreeing , “Bert’s right. The Bruins are good to their people. If you are lookin’, I would go there first. That is if you don’t mind workin’ hard and a little sweat.”
I look up crossing my arms on the bar, “Thanks for the thought.”
“No problem.” He turns to walk to the back where swinging slatted half doors hang; reminding me of the doors the cowboys always came through in the old western movies. I toss back the last of my beer and check my watch, 4:30. Getting up, I take my wallet out and leave money to cover the beer and a tip. As I walk out I hear Gabe call, “Thanks dude, hope it all works out.”
I continue out the doors and trek out through the scorching heat to my car. Once inside after turning the air to full blast, I sit with both hands on the steering wheel wondering what to do now. I don’t have a plan and because of that I’m lost. Bringing me out of my dilemma, my phone starts to vibrate in my back pocket. I reach down, glancing at the screen. It’s Dave. I debate whether to answer it or not. As it rings a third time I hit the answer button, resigned with the knowledge that my mom probably put him up to calling.
“Hello.”
“Hey Jordan, how are you?”
“I’m good Dave. How are you? How’s Bree?”
“We’re fine. Listen Jordan, I won’t keep you. Your mom asked me to call you. Dude, she’s really worried. Actually, I’m a little concerned too. This isn’t like you to just take off like that.”
I knew she had him call me. I sigh, “Sorry she put you up to this. I know it’s out of character but trust me, I’m okay. I just needed to get away for a while. I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay whatever you want. What do you want me to tell her?”
“Just tell her I’m fine and I’ll call her in a few days. I need to get lost for a little while.”
I push the end button and set the phone down beside me. Out of the front window I watch as the two gray haired men leave the bar laughing while wobbling down the road. One is balding at the crown. Both are dressed in polyester type pants pulled too high above their waists and button down short sleeved shirts. I watch them all the way down the road until they turn a corner, disappearing from my vision. Only an hour and a half from Dallas and I am already in a place so foreign, I feel lost. No one here knows me or
I look around not sure he’s talking to me and answer, “Um no sorry I don’t.”
He calls down the counter, “Hey Gabe, got a light?”
Gabe strolls down, pulling a lighter out of the front pocket of his jeans and hands it to the guy. As he lights the cigarette he looks my way commenting, “So you’re not from around here. Where are you from?”
“Dallas.”
He chuckles, “Yeah, I would have guessed that. Big city boy in a small town.”
I don’t respond so he rambles on as Gabe fills two more mugs for me.
“I’d guess you’re running from something. No one in their right mind comes to Mount Vernon for any real reason. Folks round here are tryin’ to get out.”
I take a long drink of my beer avoiding his questioning look. But as I set it down he asks, “So what’s your story?”
My head hangs staring at the bar. I did not come here to be anyone’s entertainment or to make friends. Gabe notices my uneasiness and tells him, “Back off Bert. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.”
The Bert guy pipes up one last time as he’s getting up, “Well, whatever your story, there’s no work here if you’re lookin’ ‘cept a ranch hand job out at the Bruin ranch. It might still be open. I left it so’s I could get outta here. Good luck.” He tosses some bills from his pocket onto the bar, fastens a brown cowboy hat on his head and leaves.
Gabe collects the bills and turns to me agreeing , “Bert’s right. The Bruins are good to their people. If you are lookin’, I would go there first. That is if you don’t mind workin’ hard and a little sweat.”
I look up crossing my arms on the bar, “Thanks for the thought.”
“No problem.” He turns to walk to the back where swinging slatted half doors hang; reminding me of the doors the cowboys always came through in the old western movies. I toss back the last of my beer and check my watch, 4:30. Getting up, I take my wallet out and leave money to cover the beer and a tip. As I walk out I hear Gabe call, “Thanks dude, hope it all works out.”
I continue out the doors and trek out through the scorching heat to my car. Once inside after turning the air to full blast, I sit with both hands on the steering wheel wondering what to do now. I don’t have a plan and because of that I’m lost. Bringing me out of my dilemma, my phone starts to vibrate in my back pocket. I reach down, glancing at the screen. It’s Dave. I debate whether to answer it or not. As it rings a third time I hit the answer button, resigned with the knowledge that my mom probably put him up to calling.
“Hello.”
“Hey Jordan, how are you?”
“I’m good Dave. How are you? How’s Bree?”
“We’re fine. Listen Jordan, I won’t keep you. Your mom asked me to call you. Dude, she’s really worried. Actually, I’m a little concerned too. This isn’t like you to just take off like that.”
I knew she had him call me. I sigh, “Sorry she put you up to this. I know it’s out of character but trust me, I’m okay. I just needed to get away for a while. I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay whatever you want. What do you want me to tell her?”
“Just tell her I’m fine and I’ll call her in a few days. I need to get lost for a little while.”
I push the end button and set the phone down beside me. Out of the front window I watch as the two gray haired men leave the bar laughing while wobbling down the road. One is balding at the crown. Both are dressed in polyester type pants pulled too high above their waists and button down short sleeved shirts. I watch them all the way down the road until they turn a corner, disappearing from my vision. Only an hour and a half from Dallas and I am already in a place so foreign, I feel lost. No one here knows me or
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