January 28th came and went without incident. Without notice. I thought The Cowboy’s ghost would come and haunt me on this the anniversary of me having ghosted him, but if he did, I didn’t even notice. So much has happened since then, and yet nothing at all has. Since then, I have become kind of a recluse. It’s just me and the animals, and the birds I’ve created a safe haven for this fall. You will be amazed at how many birds come and visit you when you deliberately leave the fallen leaves. My favorite of the visitors is a pair of Northern Flickers who eat the grubs underneath the leaves. Northern Flickers can be so elusive, I only ever hear them by the river, but don’t see them until they take flight, and even then all I get to see is a flash of something orange flying by. To get a front row seat to this pair has been a treat.
There’s been no snow, but a quick drop in temperature which turned on warning lights in the Jaguar: Low tire pressure, Low Coolant. I filled the coolant tank with that so very expensive coolant I had to romance someone into going to buy for me in Sacramento. I laughed remembering what The Cowboy had said about the black and white 125.00 dollar bottle of coolant, “The fuck! Is it made out of Panda?”
While I filled the tank I told my parents, “Where the fuck is the coolant going that I need to fill it every 6 months. It worries me and the dealership doesn’t have an answer. The Cowboy told me it was a sealed system.”
My mom snapped her lips at me, “Pinche Cowboy mujeriego.”
I laughed. I never told my mother he was a womanizer, so it’s funny she inferred it, but he most definitely was and I didn’t particularly care. That was not the reason why I left. But people are so simplistic and two-dimensional. The Cowboy was not two-dimensional and that’s why I liked him so much. I also liked him because he was dark. So dark. Dark enough to see my light. But this darkness was new to him, brought on by a tragedy. I think before this darkness, he and I would have never been able to relate about a thing. I think that before this tragedy he thought he had it all figured out in life. It’s unfortunate when people are not students of classic literature, mythology, Shakespeare…or they would know the cause of every man’s demise, always: Hubris. It is such a given it makes all stories kind of boring, really, it is such a spoiler alert and yet, the characters never seem to see it until tragedy strikes.
When I mentioned The Cowboy, it came from a place of nostalgia, but not with any pain and I noticed the lack of feeling. Time eventually lessens all pains, I thought. I’m sure the Cowboy would absolutely disagree with me, and he would be right to.
It has begun raining again, and I don’t mind. These days I’m such a homebody, a recluse. But spring is around the corner and I’m looking out for new flowers. New flowers I just spotted for the first time in my abundant Manzanita. Wow. I always wondered why my Manzanita never bloomed. Well. In unison they decided it was finally time to bloom, again.
My Love is for the Birds - Sketches 