For a while in college, University of Alabama, I had a relationship with a boy I had come to know who was from Wyoming. He was almost out of place down there in Alabama. He was a country boy yes, but not a southern one. He was a cowboy, a rodeo guy who had done quite well on rodeo circuits around the country and even in Canada. His father had a huge ranch somewhere up there and he had grown up on horses, chasing cows, learning to rope and ride almost before he could read and write.
He was tall, lean, and handsome in a rough sort of way. Always wore jeans, plaid shirt, boots, and his old beat up cowboy hat. No matter where he went. He had a kinda beat up older pickup truck, but it ran well. He knew how to work on it.
He was not in any fraternity, probably had never been asked to pledge. I met him at a pep ralley before a football game. He stood out in the crowd with that hat. He seemed to be basically alone. We spoke. I liked his sort of slow drawl when he talked, his totally unassuming demeanor, and his friendly though piercing blue eyes. After the rally I asked him if he’d like to go get a hamburger or something. He said no, he had to go study. But if you give me a phone number I will call you. I gave him mine. We said goodnight. I didn’t sleep well that night thinking about him.
I got no call. But did see him on campus a week or so later, so went to him and asked him if he remembered me and the pep rally. He was a bit surprised but just casually looked at me and said yes, and that he had known he was supposed to call me, but had not because he felt I was someone he should not pursue. Why, I said. Because you are so well known here on campus and kind of a big person on campus. I said bullshit! Call me! And I walked away, since I had a class in 10 minutes.
