Cowgirls don't cry, or so I was told my whole life. They hold their heads up high, and they never let the tears spill over. Smile and laugh, never back down from a fight. Never wear your heart on your sleeve, hold your cards close, and keep a poker face, don't let a stranger look in your eyes and see the truth. Mainly, though, you never, EVER let someone see you cry. It is that simple. Cowgirls don't cry. Ever, for anything. My name is Tennessee Williams, and I'm fifteen years old. I was born and raised in Trusedale, Arkansas. My daddy is named Jeff, and my mama is Cheyenne. I have an older brother, Dale. He's eighteen, a senior at Trusedale High. I just started this year as a freshman. We live on the ranch Grandpa Garnier, Mama's daddy, left to her. It's where she grew up, and she lived there her whole life until she met Daddy. He was just passing through right out of high-school with some friends of his, on a road trip to California or something. He never did make it past the town limits. The ranch is a four bedroom two bath two story. Mama's great-great-grandpa built it when he first moved here, I forget when. Family history always did bore me. Anyways, it also has a chicken coop, and a decent sized barn. We keep about 15 hens and a rooster, along with six head of cattle and dozen horses. Dale and me, we have a dog each. His is a beagle he calls Rocky, whereas I have just a plain old collie I named Ginger. My favorite animal, and my closest friend, is Willow . She is a Texas trotter, a beautiful horse, pure black with a snow white stocking and lightning bolt on her forehead. Grandpa Garnier gave her to me when I turned 13, she was just a foal. Me and him used to ride for hours and just talk, that is, until he died this past spring. It's been about five months, and I still ain't said a word to no one. I just ain't got nothing left to say. Reckon that kind of thing happens when you lose the only person who really listened, the only one who truly cared.1
The thing is, even now, sitting on the bus in a seat alone, I won't talk to much of anyone. Even in school they stopped asking me questions, the guidance lady quit weekly appointments, and my parents just done gave up on me saying a word. Me and Dale, we ain't never been close to begin with. So the only living creatures to hear me talk are my animals, Ginger and Willow. Heck, I even quit talking to God after a while. I mean, He can't be all that great if he would take away Grandpa, especially from a fourteen year old girl not ready to be alone. I turned fifteen a week to the day after his funeral. Worst birthday of my life so far. Anyways, I'm just sitting here on the bus, quietly watching the fields and pastures pass by. We live out on the outside of town, away from most of our schoolmates, and I like it that way. The only kid within walking distance is Bobby Miller, a boy in the grade ahead of mine who lives with his daddy. His mama left them along time ago, but I ain't supposed to talk about that. He can be a real jerk sometimes, always pulling my hair and things, just like we were back in grade school. Boy, can that kid annoy me! He's sitting in a seat three rows in front of me across the aisle, looking back at me and away quickly, muttering something to his friends. Something that makes them laugh. Something about me. 2
Dale and the rest of the seniors sit in the very back of the bus, and I sit with the juniors. They never make me move, reckon it has to do with me being Dale's sister and not talking and all. I ain't never been a bother to them before, so they just let me alone. I can hear Dale laughing, and stare even harder out the window, thinking. I'm trying to figure out just when was the last time laughed with him, or anyone. I can't think of it, and it don't shock me none really. The fields and the wheat and the cows fade away, and the bus turns down Main Street, pulling out in front of the school buildings main hall. The October wind has blown the golden leaves around the sidewalk, and I follow the older kids off the bus. Ignoring the paper ball Bobby threw at me I just make my way up the steps and into the schoolhouse. Noise surrounds me, swirling with voices of the people I grew up with. I ain't even listening anymore, after three months I think I done heard it all. Who's going with who, who hates who and the new rope Dale and some buddies hung down b the pond. Yeah, in Trusedale things don't happen often. The most exciting thing was when the town over, Jackson, joined school with us. Bumped each class up to about 500 people, as opposed to the average 350, with one exception. This years freshman class has somewhere near 600 kids. It ain't a lot, but it's something to talk about. That is, if you talk. I found my homeroom class, a sophomore class actually, on account of them saying my test scores were high. They think I'm smart. Really, I just ain't got nothing else to do but homework. Used to be if I didn't do it, I couldn't go see my friends. Mama done figured out good grades or bad I ain't going out no time soon, so she used her only weapon. 'Tennessee Marie Williams, if you don't get all you work done for school, ain't no way in hell I'm letting you ride that damn horse of yours.' She says it almost weekly, standing there in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, apron splattered with flour or something else. And weekly I just bow my head and mutter 'Yes'm.' So when the thought of not seeing my friends worked, I aced everything my teachers assigned. But after last May....friends didn't seem important no more. Trivial. That means unimportant, I heard it last week on a television show. 3
Now I do my work quietly and quickly, and ain't never got lower than a 'B' on anything. I don't know what I'd do if Mama said I couldn't ride Willow no more, go plumb crazy I reckon. I LIVE to ride, and without it I ain't got nothing left. Grandpa taught me how when I was four years old, and I done loved it ever since. So here I am, back row of a sophomore class, burying my head in the sleeves of my flannel shirt, soft and well worn. My faded jeans have a small hole in the leg of 'em, below my pocket. And my boots tap out a rapid beat impatiently. I hate homeroom, nothing but social hour. I don't look up at all, not even when the door swings open. I don't tear my green eyes away from the window, ignoring the visitor. I don't look up when someone takes the empty seat in front of me. I do, however, look up when that someone speaks. No one, besides Bobby with his tormenting ways, ever bothers talking to me. Reckon it's because they know I ain't never going to talk back. So when this stranger opens their mouth to speak, I am party shocked and partly mad. Can it not be more obvious I ain't feeling downright friendly right now? 4
Hey there, he, yeah some boy, said. I can't help but notice his voice is soft and very southern. Reckon that it's a natural thing to notice. Right? The names Steve Andrews, I just moved here from Alabama. Well that sure does explain his accent. I can hear the sudden silence in the class room. After the second week of school ain't no one tried talking to me. They all thought I was weird, seeing how I was fine when school got out last May, then when Grandpa died a few days later the town chalked my sudden muteness up to grieving. Over the summer I done avoided all contact outside family, and Bobby whenever he showed up and Dale's random buddies. It was kinda ironic really, how everything happened I mean. School gets out and I'm moving on up to a higher one, a week later Grandpa dies, and then a week later I turn fifteen. Now here I am, darn near exactly five months later. With the first person outside my family talking to me in nearly three months. 5
He has very nice eyes, I notice randomly as they start to cloud over with unease at my continued silence. Very blue, almost clear, and very cold. Like ice. So cold it burns. No, the burning must just be the flush in my cheeks. I blush when I get nervous you see. It's real irritating if you ask me. Of course no one does though. I may not talk much, but I ain't blind. He was cute, in a very down home kinda way. Tan, most likely a farmers, not skinny, not fat. Looks athletic. Hair about medium length and brown, a light green eye color and an adorable crooked half-smile. His gaze turned more wary and embarrassed as he noticed the open mouth stares of our classmates and my extended muteness.6
She don't talk, Bobby's loud voice broke through the silence. The boy, Steve, looked at him confused, and the whole room, including the teacher Mr. McAdams, looked uncomfortable. I mean, she ain't said a word to no one since a week after school let out last year.7
Oh, well can you tell me what her name is then? Steve asked quietly, still looking at me. I ain't saying he was embarrassed no more or nothing like that, just that he sat there and didn't look away. I can feel myself fidgeting under his intense scrutiny. Bobby just shook his head and the whole class seemed to take it as a cue, picking up right where they left off, turning away from my corner. Steve kept looking for a good second or two, then just twisted around in his seat real quick. I tuned the teacher out, nothing exiting ever happens in homeroom. Reckon Steve is the most interesting thing to happen around this town for a while. It ain't often we get new people around here, Trusedale being such a small town and all. So this boy with the friendly smile while wind up being a topic of gossip for weeks, and judging by the look in Susie Carmicheal's eye, the object of interest for sometime. Instantly, and I ain't real sure why, I hated that idea. Stupid little cheerleader has everything else why should she get him too? Feeling slightly catty, and out of character, I glare at her. Bitch. I decided to tell him my name someday, really honest to God tell him. Not let some nosy gal do it, or some leering jock. Brushing my brown hair back behind my ears, I was plain old stupid for cutting it so short, I top the bill of my old cap back, and see Bobby shoot Steve a nasty look. Odd, besides me Bobby ain't never really picked on no one else. Something 'bout this boy bugs him, and I can't help but think on it. Huh. I got so darned wrapped up in my own head I almost didn't hear the bell ringing. I missed role call, seeing as how McAdams just looks at me, not expecting an answer.8
Dang. Gathering my books up in such an all fired hurry as I was, I bumped into sombody, sending 'em flying all over again. Dangit. I didn't even get to pick 'em up, they done been gathered and thrown back in my bag already.9
"Tennessee. Pretty name," a lazy voice said. I could feel Bobby's eyes, and Susie's, on my back. I just silently took my books from that damned boy, nodding in awknowledgment. The nosy people moved on, talking quietly. Reckon the whole buildings going to burst into fire if they get their gears going any faster. For some reason that pissed me off. But it was balanced by the fact he payed enough attention to catch my name, followed by weird unease. Strange. " Figure if I wanna be friends with you, I gotta do all the talking." He continued his chatter to the gym, where he followed me to the bleachers where I pass the time. I ain't even looking at him, not saying a thing, showin a sign of interest. Still, he talks.10
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