Celia burst through the door and into the parking lot. Storming to her truck, the urges to scream, to cry, or to tear something apart fought within her. She kicked the rear tire of her truck and then slammed her open palm against the fender. Jerking the driver's side door open, she jumped in and slammed the door. Her chest rose and fell with a vengeance. She opened her phone, blocked both Mark's and Tommi's numbers, then deleted them.
"Fuck you both!" She grabbed the steering wheel and shook it as she released a guttural scream.
The Silverado kicked into gear. Hitting the accelerator hard, she peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up dust and gravel behind her. She headed home, but the thought of sitting in that fucking apartment sounded about as appealing as a threesome with Dog and his beleaguered wife.
A little way down the road, another roadside bar appeared; it was Texas after all. She pulled in, crossing two lanes of traffic without signaling.
Slamming the truck door, she marched into the bar and grabbed a stool. The bartender, a short man with hairy, muscular arms, came over to her. "What can I do ya for?"
Without hesitation, Celia said, "Shot of Cuervo." Her nostrils were flared, and her eyes pinched tight together.
The bartender reached under the counter, right in front of her, and a shot glass appeared. The succulent bottle of Jose Cuervo followed, and in the blink of an eye, he'd poured a full shot.
She guzzled it. Smashing the glass to the bar, she said, "Again." He poured the second shot and waited.
Sure enough, "Again," she said.
The bartender poured the third shot and waited as she downed it. Bowing her head, sucking air between her teeth, she slammed the glass in surrender. "Yeah, that'll do it. Can I get a draft?"
The bartender reached down into the cooler, also under the counter in front of her, pulled out a frosted glass, and filled it from the spigot to his right. A perfect pour that he set on a bar napkin.
"You need anything else, just give a shout." He walked away to wash the glasses that had piled up in the sink.
"Fuck me!" she said into her beer. "I shouldn't have been surprised." Her head shook with frustration. "Tommi's just the doormat wife of a big talking, dick head, man."
Breathing deep and labored through her nose, she reconciled the situation.
"My bad for letting that happen. But it is what it is. I feel pretty damn stupid, though, thinking Tommi had an ounce of integrity."
This beer is a better listener than Tommi ever was.
A sad, sarcastic chuckle emerged from her gut. "I really gotta get better friends."
For the first time since she had sat down, she looked around the room. A weird mid-week energy bounced off the walls. The ruckus made it easier for her catastrophic reality to blend into the commotion.
And then, the universe bestowed upon her the sign! The juke box kicked on, and Carrie rang out, singing 'Before He Cheats.' Celia let out a loud whoop and started to clap as she sang along.
Not being a big party girl, Celia didn't realize the attention her behavior was attracting. A single gal in a bar, singing and dancing on her barstool, drew the attention of the room to her, signifying one thing and one thing only: she was available and looking for action.
Her head hung low, her arms waved high, as her hair swung right and left, keeping time with the music. Every lyric in the song resonated as they had never done before. It didn't take two verses before a big 'ol cowboy stood behind her.
She let out another loud, "Whoop!" and spun around to sit down. As she spun, she found herself face-to-face with the man. His sudden appearance startled her.
"Whoa! You scared me there, dude. Where'd you come from?" she laughed.
The cowboy stood over six feet tall, with broad, rugged shoulders, and wore a brushed-felt cowboy hat. His lack of facial hair allowed his pearly white teeth to shine bright. He looked at her and smiled.
"I was just wondering why a beautiful woman like you would be so excited to hear that song?" he said with intriguing ease.
She looked into this man's eyes and saw kindness, nestled behind a perceived seduction.
With deliberate precision, she made an impulsive decision, "What the hell." She let out a boisterous laugh, "You really want to know?"
The cowboy grimaced, "Now I'm not so sure that I do." He laughed, cocked his head to the side, and said, with caution, "Okay, lay it on me."
Abandoning all pretense, the story of her last few days poured out.
She told him about Dallas, the boob job, coming home, Rod and the tiny gal, quitting, Valerie, and then Tommi. The hurt and betrayal spewed out in a bitter, caustic, loud diatribe. And as the climax to the story, she pointed at her left eye. The cowboy's eyes filled with concern.
"Yeah, that's right. Doesn't this story always end like this?" she spewed out, staggering a bit on her stool. "I'm a fucking cliché."
Celia looked into the cowboy's eyes, twitched her eyebrows, and waited for his response. Hearing the entire series of events out loud surprised her with how intense the whole thing had been. It almost sounded concocted, but a slight brush of her cheek reminded her how it was all too real.
The man dropped his head and said, "Damn. I'll leave you to it then. Maybe we'll meet up again some other time." He stood to leave.
Celia laughed and grabbed his arm. The three Cuervo shots started talking. "Is that all it takes to make you squirm? A little surgery, a little cheating, a best friend shitting all over you, and bang, you're out? Whew, better I know that now than later."
Her taunting continued, and her aggression intensified, "Big old Texas cowboy gets scared off by a little uncomfortable conversation. I get it. It's not pretty." She guzzled down a mouthful of beer. Sloshed beer foam spilled onto the bar top. She let out an ironic chuckle.
With compassion, the cowboy turned to her, "I can recognize roadkill when I see it. This isn't a good time for you; it might be best to get out of here and head home. Lots of guys would take advantage of this situation, and that won't turn out well for you. Do you need a ride?"
This cowboy's kindness aggravated her. She overcompensated with a nastiness that anyone who knew her would not have recognized. "Do I need a ride? Is that you cutting to the chase?"
He dropped his hand onto her forearm. "No, that's me looking at your eyes.
You shouldn't be driving. Where do you live?"
A surge of despair, anger, and sorrow overwhelmed Celia. Her face flushed and her eyes misted.
"Why are you being so nice?" She squirmed away from him; his kindness unnerved her. "I'm not worth it. I'm a stupid piece of shit. Leave me the fuck alone."
Tommi's betrayal had been the last straw, and it broke this camel's back. The faux indifference that had masked her devastation dissolved. Her shattered life exposed itself to the world. Tears welled up as the anguish building in her throat made an unwelcome appearance.
Her hands covered her mouth as her face began to contort. "What the fuck has happened to me?" Gulping huge gasps of air, she looked to the cowboy, hoping this stranger might be able to save her from the impending torment about to erupt.
There was no escape; the pain burst out.
The first sob exploded like the cry of a mother at the sight of a stillborn baby. Sob after sob followed. They came constantly and uncontrollably, double- or sometimes triple-clutching. Her head dropped onto the bar with a thud. She covered it with her arms, hoping to hide the shame and degradation spewing from her soul. Her cheek pressed hard against the bar top, yet the wet, cool surface offered no respite, no hiding place from her anguish. She inhaled the smell of stale beer as her chest heaved and snot ran over her lip and onto the bar top.
The cowboy rubbed her back in an effort to comfort her. She heard him say, "Could we get a glass of water?"
All the pain that had built up over the years spewed out. Her endless frustration, anger, and loneliness gushed from deep in her soul. The incessant feeling of helplessness streamed out of her nostrils and her eyes. Gasping for breath, unable to stop the sobbing, she writhed in anguish. Her head rocked back and forth, rolling over the bar top.
She had lost control; release was the only option; she surrendered to the purging of her soul. The pain and frustration had been built, tight and tidy, over thirteen long, arduous years. The resolution of these failures would take as long as it took. The dam had ruptured, letting years of pent-up sorrow flow free. Her heaving sobs racked through her body.
After a few minutes, an actual few minutes, three or four at the least, her breathing began to steady. Dark splotches had formed on her shirt sleeves as they absorbed the tears.
The sobbing slowed, no longer happening with every breath but only intruding now and then. Celia popped her chin onto her hands. Her hands were in a schoolgirl prayer position with her index fingers running up each side of her nose. Her chin rested on her thumbs. She stared straight ahead, her hands closed over her nose and mouth, like breathing into a paper bag.
Celia saw the top of her head in the mirror behind the bar; the thought of raising it higher terrified her. She could only imagine the mascara streaking down her cheeks and how her red and puffy eyes divulged the agony of her broken life.
The cowboy continued to rub her back in a calm and steady manner. Why this gave her solace, she didn't know. Surely, Rod had never done that. There were vague recollections of her mother, from time to time, attempting to comfort her with this gesture, but it held a totally different connotation.
Grabbing some bar napkins, she swabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. Once convinced that she had absorbed all of the moisture from her face, she lifted her head higher, hoping that she had at least swabbed away the mascara. Resting now on her elbows, she had no doubt that everyone in the bar would be staring at her. As she straightened, the cowboy stopped rubbing her back and swung around to sit next to her. Celia had a mortified grin on her face, embarrassed by the knowledge that she was living her worst moment ever, publicly. The cowboy smiled back.
"What I tell you, roadkill. I can spot 'em a mile away. So sorry for your troubles." He said it with a lilt of sarcasm, dashed with a hint of humor, and covered with a dose of sympathy.
She shook her head at her own miserable situation and choked out, "Like my mother always said, you only get one chance to make a first impression." A sad laugh escaped, but within that laugh, a glimmer of sunlight popped through. Her pain, betrayal, and anguish moved into her past. A pervasive sense of impending doom had been replaced by a lightness in her soul.
The cowboy dropped his hand on hers. "I called you a Lyft. I know you're not comfortable with me taking you home, so the rides on me. Just tell the driver your address, and you're all set. He'll be here in four minutes."
"Wow!" A short exhale betrayed her surprise. "That... is so kind." She once again wiped her eyes. "I'm so sorry for all of this. Believe me, I never expected to be vomiting that out all at once." She gave her body a once-over. "At least I didn't puke or piss myself."
"The night's still young," the cowboy said.
Amazed at his kindness, she said, in a weak and scratchy voice, "Hey, I don't even know your name."
He considered that and said, "You know what, next time we meet, I'll give it to you." His phone beeped, "Car's here, I'll walk you out."
Celia stood up, shaking, as though she had cried out all of the muscles in her legs. He held her arm, and together they walked to the door. Her breathing still came shallow and choppy, but she managed to put one foot in front of the other. Adding to her horror, she had been right; everyone was looking at her, some with sympathy, others with disdain.
Outside, they found the car and driver. The driver leaned over and said, "Hey, pal, I don't have a destination."
The cowboy replied, "The lady'll get that for you."
Opening the back passenger door, the cowboy turned to her. "You get home safe, and I promise, things will look better in the sunlight."
Before he closed the door, he added, "Don't waste your time with people who don't see you. You have more to offer than you know."
The door closed. As the car pulled away, she tossed a weak wave to the kind stranger. He waved back and turned toward the bar.