Precariously he sat on the rusted tailgate of the old green ford. Dust from a road not quite there caked his lips and nostrils as the truck galloped over gopher holes and rocks as if to mock him, “Better hold on, boy, it’s a long walk home!”1
And hold on he would, for he knew the driver would never glance over his shoulder, never check the rear view mirror, never care whether the boy was still there or was bounced out a mile behind.2
He had jumped into the back for he couldn’t bring himself to sit beside his father. Shame cloaked his heavy heart and his hurt became too much to bear. Though tears wet his young eyes, his cowboy pride insisted it was just the dirt crusting his eyelashes.3
Miles of anguish passed silently before the truck finally clunked to a stop. The elder man’s curses cut through the choking, dusty haze with the precision of a scalpel. And the boy knew. He knew he had let his father down.4
He had felt this the instant his father had arrived. When he had rolled down the driver side window and questioned why on earth he was walking. He had been taught from a very young age that a cowboy shouldn’t walk. That’s what horses and trucks were for, and being as his eleventh birthday was still months away, driving was only allowed when alcohol rendered his father unable.5
His thoughts trailed back to the red roan. Somehow he had managed to stay on the brute for the first few bucks, but as his right boot slipped from the stirrup so did all hope of staying on the horse. The same horse he had been warned not to ride. As he was falling to the ground, more words of his father’s advice rang out to him, “Hold on to the reins if you ever get bucked off, boy, it’s a long walk home!”6
He leapt from the tailgate, his heel-worn cowboy boots slowly trampling along the gravel as he headed for the house. He could see his mother standing in the front doorway, fidgeting with her dirty apron. The red devil that now stood in the corral, was unsaddled and unconcerned by his arrival. 7
”Dammit mother, why’d you go and unsaddle that mare? It’d teach the little knucklehead a lesson to have to do it hisself!” and with these words his father stormed off into house leaving behind a squall of hurtful resentment.8
The boy did learn a lesson that day. The twenty feet from the truck to the house was a very long walk home.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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You have once again, amazed me. I loved the story and the sentiment, behind it. Makes one feel, as though, they are actually there, watching the story unfold. I will always love the stories and poetry, you write. You are one of only a few, I can say, I will always be a fan of. Your words and the way, you write them, have a life of their own. This is why, I will always want to read yours. And I promise you, one day, I will have read all of them. I want to thank you, for writing such beautiful pieces. Take care, my friend and have a great day.
Sandi -
There is something very satisfying about the short short story particularly when it is as well done as this one is but it just makes me wonder about cowboys, cowgirls, cowmen and cowwomen. Mind you, I have met plenty of cows in my time but I guess that that's not the same.
I can see a daft cowfather who treats his son like crap, silly cowson who is too silly to sit in the cab, and slatternly cowmother in her dirty apron. I guess the horse had the most sense - it knew the way home!
None of the foregoing stopped me from enjoying the short short. -
wow nice job! I love your pics
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I guess the life of a cowboy has to be learnt the hard ways. I felt for this young fella but at the same time, I knew it was a lesson he was going to learn over and over as he grew up. You certainly portrayed the relationships between the father and son quite well, with feeling and angst, and then you had mother forever in the background picking up the childs pain and covering him. I love the song 'The strawberry roan' by Marty Robbins. This reminded me of that.You delt with this with extroidinary feeling and captured each persons character with precision, a thing some stories cannot do. You created vivid pictures of what was happening and being felt. A delight which I enjoyed very much. I do hope you write more on this piece as it is just super and it would make a great story if you continued. Brilliant!
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Not only do you make the realtionship between the boy and his dad sharp as needles, you show how moms often carry a special softness for their sons, trying to soften the blows of failure and disappointmen by taking a little heat, too. You got me where I live...again. ~K
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You have yourself a fan
Are you tired of thanks YET? Honesty yet again Rory...I not only rarely leave the house I have not read a book in years either.
This is just superb and something I can readily relate to,bringing back different memories that were not shared by my parents to leave blackened. The red roan took me back to Lightning...the one that no-one should ride???
Hill after hill on a bolting Arab I thought I had conquered only to be thrown off the side on the flat due to a lengthy stirrup, I did not let go as the barbed wire fence was ready to tear my back to pieces. 1/2 a mile hanging onto the mane with one foot in the stirrup and the other taught against the side of the Arab clinging for dear life he came to a hault. I bailed off and told my brother to give me 'Lightning' as he had to be a pussy cat compared to the Arab.
Sheesh I raved a bit there but all verrry therapeutic for me
Thanks for the memory recharge
shhh...I had to save face by being braver as it was my boyfirend's Arab that near killed me
Linda
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It left me hanging for more. I think you have a great talent and hope you continue to use it.
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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Huh, that was a very interesting story. I liked it a lot. It was very well written. Kept me interested, always a good part of a story. Good job. Great write. Keep it up. God Bless!
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