Feeling This (13 page)

The bartender comes up, setting the mugs
down in front of me. He holds out his hand introducing himself, “Hi, I’m Gabe.
You’re not from around here, are you?”

I shake my head and smirk while taking a
swig.

He leans on the bar obviously intrigued by his
discovery and asks, “What brings you to this shit hole?”

I’m a little surprised at his bluntness. He
doesn’t know me from anyone else. I was hoping to get peace and here this guy is
trying to have a conversation with me.

“Just getting away.”

He walks off, checking on the two men at
the end of the bar. I finish one beer and start on the other. I’d really like
something a little stronger but it’s early in the afternoon. Wallowing in my
pity, I look around the room. It’s really nothing special. A stage spans one
wall with posters promoting bands and drink specials. The chairs and tables
strategically placed before the stage are well worn wooden ones. All the walls
are wood paneling with the exception of the wall behind the bar. It seems to be
made of brick, definitely an old establishment. I would imagine most of the
buildings around here are. 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 my story. This might be the perfect place to help me forget.
Turning the car off, I trudge back through the heat to the bar. Once inside
again, my eyes adjust to the poor lighting and the chilly air cools me off.
Gabe speaks up from behind the bar, “Hey ‘stranger wanting to get away’, you’re
back.”

I ignore his nickname and ask, “That guy
who was here before. He said something about a job.”

“Bert? Yeah, the one over at the Bruin
ranch.”

“How do I get to the Bruin ranch?”

“That’s easy. Take main street North
through town. It’ll turn into highway 50, Take it out ten miles. You’ll come to
the Bruin farm on the right side of the road. It spans probably bout two
hundred acres.  When all you can see is cows and fields, you’re probably there.”

“Okay, Gabe right? Thanks.” I shake his
hand over the bar and turn toward the door again.

Remembering I don’t really have anywhere to
stay I spin back on my heel calling out, “One more thing. Is there a hotel
around?”

He chuckles, “Down the road is the Derby
Motel. That’s about the best you’re gonna get in these parts.”

“Thanks again.”

This time I walk back to my car with more
of a purpose. I’ve got something else to think about now. If my mind is busy, I
won’t have to think about Susan.

Gabe was right. The drive to the ranch is
pretty much exactly ten miles. A wide dirt drive peeks out between tall white ash
trees at the edge of the property. A white mailbox has Bruin mottled across the
side. Once I start down the drive, I pass under a large wooden sign hovering
above the path with the words, Bruin Ranch. The lane winds through a canopy of
trees finally ending at a circular drive before a wide, grey, two story house.
A wooden porch extends the length of the house on both floors with a white
picket railing on the top floor.

I turn the engine off glancing around as I
get out of the car. A tall man with a receding hairline, greying at the temples
steps out on the porch through a swinging screen door. As I walk toward him I
notice his bulky frame and very dirty white shirt and jeans. He places his
hands on his hips and asks in a deep voice, “Hello there. What can I do for
ya?”

I walk a little faster, coming to the
bottom of the steps leading up to the porch and introduce myself, “Hello sir.
My name is Jordan Rhodes. I understand you might have a job available.”

He eyes me curiously as he walks down the
steps slowly stopping one above the last. He stretches his hand out and I grasp
it firmly. He utters, “Pleased to meet you Jordan Rhodes. I’m Stanley Bruin.”

He withdraws his hand, taking the last
step. We are face to face and I notice he still towers over me by a couple of
inches. I’m not that short at six one. This guy must be at least six three. He
looks aged and worn with skin darkened by the sun.

“I just might have somthin’ for ya. But
first I need to know some things.” He walks over to the edge of the porch and
sits, gesturing that I should do the same.

I ask, “What would you like to know?”

“Well I can tell from yer hands, this isn’t
the kinda work yer’ accustomed to.”

I turn my hands over and stare at them
thinking about what to say. This was such a spur of the moment decision; I
really did not think things through. I decide as little of the truth as I can
get out is best.

“Yes, you are pretty right on. I wanted to
try something different.”

“Can I ask, different from what?”

“Well, I’ve been working in an office for a
while now. I wanted to do something outdoors for a change.”

He chuckles, “This work ain’t just workin’
outside in a garden or anything like that. You do understand that don’t ya?”

“Yes sir. Can you give me a chance and I’ll
show you? I’m a hard worker and not afraid to get my hands dirty.” These words
surprise me. I’ve never had to convince anyone I’m worthy of working hard.

He laughs a full belly laugh. His rather
large middle jiggles. He places his hands on the edges of his knees looking to
me, “Okay Jordan Rhodes you got the job. I can pay you eighty-five a day and
you get Saturdays off. I need someone as soon as possible though. Can you start
tomorrow?”

“Yes sir.”

He stands and holds his hand out once
again. I grasp it. His grip this time is loose and he asks before letting go,
“Can I ask where yer from?”

“Yes sir, I’m from Dallas.”

He lets my hand go and turns taking a
couple of steps up the porch. He calls back over his shoulder, “Okay Jordan
from Dallas, we start bright and early at five in the mornin’. See you then.”

He makes his way back into the house and
the door swings closed, echoing with a loud thud.

***

The alarm near my head beeps at the turn of
the clock to 4:30. Oh man, what did I get myself into by taking this job? I
make my way to the bathroom and splash cold water all over my face for five full
minutes, trying to wake up. The faucet squeaks as I turn it off. I pull on a
pair of jeans, a grey shirt and my black boots. Grabbing my keys, I make my way
out to my car for the short drive out to the Bruin ranch. I stop for a coffee
and a bagel at a little mom and pop shop at the end of Main Street. It’ still
dark out making me long to go back to bed.

Once I pull into the drive, a man stops me.
I put the window down as he explains that Mr. Bruin likes the help to park out
behind the barn. He takes a step back and eyes my car, claiming, “Ahh, maybe
you should just pull up to the house. I don’t think this here car will make it
out to the barn.”

I nod, roll the window back up and drive
the rest of the way to the main house. Mr. Bruin comes out the same door as
yesterday as I pull up. He laughs, “Did Mike tell you to come all the way up?”

I nod not sure who really told me but I
assume it’s Mike. He agrees, “Yeah, that car woulda got stuck in the mud. Come
on out. I’ll show ya where the barn is and introduce you to the boys.”

As we walk out he talks, slowly drawling
out his words, “First thing are the cows. You ever ridden a horse? I probably
shoulda asked that yesterday.”

“Yes sir. I umm learned when I was young.”

“Good. Then you’ll do just fine. I’ll pair
you up with Joe. He’s our newest on the ranch but he knows his stuff. Mike is
my foreman. He can get ya what you need or help in any way too.”

When we approach the barn, a group of men
are standing around talking quietly. A couple of them spit chewing tobacco
while waiting for the rest of the crew. Mr. Bruin calls out, “Hey fellas, come
on over. This here’s Jordan Rhodes from Dallas. He’s gonna take Bert’s spot.”

I’m introduced to everyone and told to stay
with Joe for the day to get the hang of everything. Joe looks to be a little
older than I am. He is about my height with short brown hair. His clothes look
as if they’ve already seen a day’s work. Actually most of the men standing
around are dressed in worn, stained clothing.

Unfortunately, Joe has been working on a
broken part of the fence on the back side of the property. We head out before first
light and work for hours hauling round, wooden posts to the post holes we dig.
Then we attach the wired fence to the posts. It’s long and laborious. By the
time Joe looks at his watch, the sun is high above us beating down and I’m
drenched in sweat. He announces, “Grub time. Let’s head back.”

I follow him back to the barn silently. He
has been pretty quiet most of the day. The questions he did ask were pretty
general so my answers gave nothing away about why I’m here. We are the last to
arrive at the barn. I find a spot about ten feet away from the rest of them. I
settle on a bale of hay savoring the chance to sit and rest.

The rest of the ranch hands are all
laughing and joking. Joe calls out something about a sister. I glance up
wondering who he’s talking to. My eyes land on a petite girl with long dirty blonde
hair that reflects the sunlight when she moves. Her skin is flawlessly white
and she’s dressed in a little blue sundress with silver flip flops. She’s
handing out brown paper bags to each of the ranch hands. She rolls her eyes at
something that Joe said. When she turns in my direction my eyes move to look at
the ground and find a piece of hay to twirl through my hands.