We met at a rodeo. I learned that we both liked them, but for different reasons. She because she just liked rodeos; me because I enjoyed watching the clowns. I never presumed to think that I could be a rodeo contestant, but for some reason, even as a youngster, I always thought I could be a clown.
For those who may not know, rodeo clowns are there to distract bulls from fallen riders. They wear ill-fitting and outlandish clothes and use some of the same facial makeup that circus clowns use. Some of their antics provide comic relief for very serious and dangerous situations. I never had the nerve to try to ride an ill-tempered Brahma bull and never entered the arena as a clown either, but for some ill-logical, ill-conceived, and totally insane reason, I thought I could be a clown.
Anyway, JoAnne and I met at a rodeo in Colorado. I was there on vacation and she was there with her family. South Texas was too hot in the summer and Colorado was too cold in the winter so they had houses in both places and divided their time between them.
A year after we met, we married and moved to Louisiana, which is my home state.
Three years later she died of Cancer.
So why bring her up? Because for the four years we were together, I learned more about myself than I ever knew; both good and bad. For another thing, the investment portfolio her father started for her as a child, left me with a nice little security blanket. It wasn't enough to become part of the "jet set", but it gave me breathing room.
After she died, I took a couple of months off before going back to work at the same oil refinery I had worked at since I was 18. I even worked there full time while I went to college.
I was almost 29, had a few bucks, a good job, nice car that I drove every day and an even nicer car that I drove on special occasions. That special occasion car was a Red 1958 Chevrolet Impala convertible. It was, and still is, my pride and joy.
That brings us up to the evening I was sitting with a woman I had recently started dating.
I have never been a fan of romantic comedy movies, but there I sat on my sofa, not having had sex since before JoAnne died and trying to correct that situation. Unfortunately, my attempts at even getting to first base were being thwarted by the characters in the Rom-Com movie on the screen and my dates' rapt attention to them.
Realizing I wasn't going to get anywhere, I sat back and sipped on a beer. After moping for awhile, my attention went to the screen. I discovered that the female lead had just met her penpal of several years and they fell instantly in love.
It remined me of a penpal I'd had back in the day.
When I was 15, I took my mother's car without her permission and went for a joyride and ended up crashing it into another car and totaling both of them. The other driver was uninjured, but I broke my left leg. After it was set and a cast put on it, I was put in a Juvenile Detention Facility. News about juvenile delinquents doesn't usually make the local, much less national news, but my case was an exception. It seemed the car I hit was a very expensive sports car driven by a nationally famous football player who grew up and lived in my city but went to college in another state on a football scholarship and then played professionally. He was a very big deal in town and almost everyone knew him and his car and he pretty much had the run of the city; especially since he was involved in several local charities and gave a lot to the community. He tried to stay "low key" and never tooted his own horn, but everybody seemed to know him and his work.
Our local TV stations ran the story of the accident and two days later, because he was so famous, the story, with pictures of his expensive car and my mother's old one, was on every national news program.
What was not reported was what he did afterward.
When he heard that my mother was a divorced mom, working two jobs and the car was her only means of transportation, he felt sorry for her and bought her a new car.
As was his custom, he didn't make a big deal out of it. He picked out a car at the dealership and had it sent to the house and never delivered it in person. He dealt directly with the owner of the dealership and as far as we know, the press never found out about it. My mother sent him a thank you note and said she would like to thank him in person. He and his wife stopped by and had pie and coffee with her. My mother tried to watch every televised game he played in after that.
As a result of the story, I received, through a national news channel and one of our local stations, a letter from a girl in Montana. Her father was a football fan and she used to watch the games with him. When they saw the story of me hitting the star's car, she had the idea to write me a letter. In that I was a juvenile, none of the articles or broadcasts ever mentioned my name or showed my picture, so she addressed the letter to "The boy who hit George Thompson's car".
She sent it to the national station on which she saw the story, who forwarded it to my local station, who called my mother and told her about it. She picked it up at the station and they, of course, wanted her to open and read it there, but she didn't. I was still in the juvenile facility so she brought it to me. I didn't have a lot to do, so I answered the letter.
Her name was Madison, but preferred Maddie. We wrote back and forth until just before I married JoAnne. They knew about each other and JoAnne thought it was "cute" that we were still writing after so many years. We even invited her to our wedding, but she couldn't come. Maddie and I had no secrets and discussed everything about our lives and had talked about meeting on several different occasions, but never did. We had, of course, exchanged pictures and I was pleasantly surprised to find that she was an attractive girl. Also, like any teenaged boy, I had envisioned meeting her, sweeping her off her feet, and fucking her.
Those feelings went away as I matured and our friendship developed. I told her everything about me and my life and she did the same.
After JoAnne and I married, Maddie and I grew apart.
Then I found myself sitting on my sofa, sipping on a beer and next to a woman who was almost teary eyed at two actors on the TV, who had been pen pals, vowing to love each other forever.
When the movie ended, my date decided the evening had as well, and it was time for her to go home; so, I took her.
The next day, I found myself thinking about Maddie. I had at some point deleted her phone number and tossed her letters and pictures, but I rummaged through some old boxes to see if I had missed any. Apparently, I had done a thorough job because I couldn't find anything that had her address.
It had been about four years by then that I had even thought of her, but once it started, it didn't stop. The last I remembered she was working as a server in a restaurant in a Miles City casino.
I googled her name and a small article about her wedding popped up. It seemed she married a blackjack dealer at the same casino she worked in.
Married or not, I figured it would be okay to say hello to an old friend, so I called the casino to see if she still worked there. The person I talked to must have watched the same movie my date and I had because when I explained to her why I was calling, she thought it was a wonderful idea, but legally could neither confirm nor deny either Maddie or her husband's employment, but did agree to give my name and phone number to Maddie in the event she ever ran across her.
Less than three hours later my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number and it wasn't in my contacts, so I ignored it. The caller did leave a message however.
"Oh my God. Mark? Is it really you? This is Maddie...Madison Stiers, but my married name is Newman, not that I'm married any more, but I never changed it back. How are you? How's your wife? God, it's been a long time. If you get this, call me back. I'd love to talk to you. Bye bye." She left her number.
Hearing her voice was like an old friend coming back.
I called her immediately and we talked for a long time. Those calls became regular events and we both enjoyed them. Two months after the first phone call, I was driving to Miles City, Montana.
I checked into my suite at the casino and called Maddie. She had taken the day off work to get herself all pretty for me, so less than 20 minutes after I called her, she was knocking on my door. She flew into my arms as soon as I opened the door and I never had a chance to really look at her until after the hug and I held her at arms' length.
She was an attractive, shapely, and tanned blonde with green eyes. I had seen pictures of her of course, but the reality was much nicer. We had dinner at a local steakhouse because she didn't want to eat in the same restaurant she worked in. We talked and had drinks until 2AM. We met again at 10 and started all over. I was there for three days and saw her as much as her job would allow. I even met her family. They owned a small cattle ranch. When she reminded her father who I was, he remembered and asked if I was still in contact with the football player whose car I hit all those years ago. I told him that I had never actually met him, except at the accident itself, but I occasionally saw his name in relation to some charitable project in town.
When I got home, I remembered that conversation. I had no idea why I'd never tried to contact him to thank him for what he did for my mother and me. I googled his name and hundreds of pages came up. The gist of what I read was about either his football success, his generosity, or his social life; or lack thereof. He was very private about his generosity and personal life. He and his wife were never on the social pages and it seemed that the only public thing he did was go to car shows. The one thing that stuck out was he married his high school sweetheart when they were both Sophomores in college. They had three children and were still married. He was retired from football, but made occasional appearances on some of the shows that televised the games. I decided to look him up.
