Cody in Wyoming - 1. Chapter 1

“Cuantas cosas quedaron prendidas,

hasta dentro del fondo del alma?

Cuantos luces dejaste encendidas?

Yo no se como voi apagarlas.”

The sympathetic, melodic guitar contrasted the tragic lyrics torn from Chavela Vargas’ aged vocal cords. My sobs echoed her cries. I’m afraid I’ve never been able to simply shed tears. I’ve wailed, sobbed and keened but I’ve never simply cried.

I reached for the CD player’s controls, realizing that her songs were not the best for me to be listening to while speeding through Wyoming’s vast, lonely spaces . I needed to keep my eyesight clear of tears. Better to listen to something more upbeat or entertaining, at least until the radio could pick up an NPR station once again. I wiped my eyes to clear my vision and then ejected the CD, placed it in its jewel case and picked up the following one: Cheb Mami. Perfect! Not too demanding or emotive, something I could enjoy without being reminded of my return to singlehood. A chuckle clutched in my throat while I wondered what it was about Mexicans that inspired them to perfect the art of the weeping, suffering singer. At least I couldn’t understand the Arabic of Cheb Mami’s lyrics as I could the Spanish. Yes, “Meli Meli” would be much easier on my emotional stability while driving alone in my little Subaru, carefully negotiating the icy patches and blowing snow obscuring the interstate’s lane markers. Not too different in my imagination from Algeria’s Atlas Mountains, only with blowing snow instead of blowing sand. Before long, I was bopping to the rai break beats, feeling much younger than my 47 years.

I was in my second day of driving, my second day alone in the car with Butch, my wolf/dog hybrid. He had kept me sane during the past two years since my life partner, the man I’d devoted my life to, had decided I was cramping his style and chose to dissolve our partnership. Best not think back on that fiasco. Yeah, Butch’s daily walks and the thrice weekly visits to the dog park had kept me from the extremes of isolation I was given to. That, and his devotion and irrepressible good humor had given me something to look forward to each day when I returned home from work. As long as he got his food, water and walks, he was a happy, loyal companion. At least I had a friend, albeit a canine one, that I could count on for constancy in my life.

Cross country driving enforced solitude which fostered introspection, perhaps too much given my recent descent into melancholy. Instead of thinking back to the collapse of my life during the past 24 months, I disciplined myself to look forward to my coming visit with my family to celebrate Christmas. Usually I would fly, but I couldn’t countentance Denver airport’s crowds and endless lines during the Christmas season, so I chose to drive from Seattle to my mother’s home in Boulder in the middle of winter. Perhaps not the smartest decision, but I was in my Forester with all wheel drive and snow tires and had plenty of time. I felt confident that all would be well despite the gusty winds and occasional white outs from blowing snow as I drove east on I-80 in the no-man’s-land of southern Wyoming.

Coming back to the present after spacing out while thinking of the coming visit with my two brothers’ families and my mother and her husband, I checked the rear view mirror to see Butch looking at me with a longsuffering expression on his canine features. He was clearly impatient being cooped up in the “back-back” behind the dog screen. Yeah, he needed some exercise. I glanced at the gas gage, noting its drop towards a quarter tank. Billboards indicated a truck stop 45 miles ahead, but I didn’t want to run the tank that low given the uncertain road conditions. I kept an eye out for a nearer gas station.

Within ten miles, a road sign identified an intersection with a county road, so I slowed and carefully negotiated the deep snow of the rarely used interchange. Butch was whining as I flicked the turn signal and slowed, his indication that he would be getting out for a run soon. I was grateful for the ABS when the tires lost traction at the very bottom of the exit ramp and I slid onto the shoulder by the stop sign. No harm done, though it required all four driving wheels to extricate myself from the soft snow and get back onto the roadway. It turned out the county road was barely more developed than the many ranch exits I had passed on the last 120 miles of rural interstate. However, there was an isolated, rustic two story building with gas pumps at the side of the county road, so I pulled in and prepared to step into the biting wind and 4o temperature (as noted on the exterior thermometer). With my gloves on and the flaps of my hat pulled over my ears, I got out only to find that the card swipe on the gas pump was out of service, so I carefully stepped past the icy patches and approached to door to the gas station. The gusts buffeted me and grabbed the storm door as I opened it, nearly wrenching it from my hand before I got it under control.

As I stood inside the door of the gas station, adjusting to the warmth and the dim interior, I noted it was something of a general store, with a small shop for incidentals, a small collection of rental DVDs and an equally small deli counter. The shop appeared to take up most of the ground floor, which left the top floor for… an apartment for the station owner? I must have been correct because I heard the clumping of boot clad feet descending a hidden staircase. A man about my age stepped into view and offered a brief smile, acknowledging me. We shared a few sentences covering the weather (miserable) before I mentioned my need to fill my gas tank. He took my card and I left through the front door, making certain I had a firm hold on the storm door before opening it. As there wasn’t anyone else by the pumps, I let Butch out while I pumped gas. He immediately sprinted away from the parking area to bound through the 8 inch deep snow beside the gas station. We don’t get much snow in the Puget Sound area so it wasn’t something he was accustomed to. He was having a great time racing around, tossing it into the air and biting at it before it fell. He was in hog heaven, or perhaps, dog heaven. Back at the car, I would have liked to wash the windows clear of the grime kicked up by the many semis on the interstate, but the squeegees were frozen solid in the washer fluid. Yeah, it was seriously cold!

I kept thinking about the man behind the counter of the gas station. His appearance had surprised me. Now, I can’t claim to have effective gaydar, and his behavior didn’t provide any pings, but his appearance was unexpected. It had me wondering if, maybe… He was around my age, with a full gray beard and short, brown hair surrounding his bald crown. His face was squared with even features. It was attractive without grabbing attention. He was trim -- not slim like a twenty-something -- solid but without a gut. He wore simple clothes, jeans, a t-shirt and a plaid long sleeved shirt. His clothes fit well, but weren’t tight on him. In all, his appearance conformed to a gay “bear” image, which seemed incongruous here in the middle of nowhere. I flirted with the idea of dropping some hints to see if he picked up the conversation. But somehow, that seemed ridiculous and it was certainly out of character for me since I tend to keep a low profile as a homosexual. Still, I was curious.

Well, the gas pump clicked off, so I removed the nozzle, replaced the gas cap, then took out Butch’s water bowl and crossed the parking area to watch him play. He was racing about, nose to ground, following what must have been small animal trails running between the dried grasses and twiggy shrubs. After looking up, he ran to me, panting, with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth despite the frigid temperature. He was clearly a happy dog. He trotted along beside me to the station entrance, where I stepped inside and asked the owner to fill Butch’s bowl. He took the bowl, disappeared for a moment, returned and then followed me outside.

He looked on as Butch lapped up most of the water in the bowl. “Nice looking dog you got there. What kinda dog is he? He’s mighty big! He a wolf?”

“No, no he’s just part wolf. I don’t know what the rest is. Some shepherd maybe? I got him from the shelter. His original owners weren’t prepared for him to grow so big.”

At my voice, Butch looked up, then crossed over to me, sat down and put his chin, still dribbling water, against my thigh. He looked up into my face with the canine version of adoration.

“Ugh! Butch, you annoying beast! Damn it!” I jumped back, barely keeping from slipping and falling on the ice. Already, my trousers were wet through and my thigh was getting mighty cold.

The station owner, who seemed impervious to the cold, started laughing, stepped forward and reached towards me to steady me.

There was a quick flurry of activity and Butch was instantly standing crossways between us. His expression had changed from ”adoring pet” to “stoic guard” with his attention focused on the station owner. The owner snatched his hand back and slid to a halt. I quickly reached out to steady him.

“Whoa! Is he OK?” The owner was clearly worried.

“Butch, leave it” He lowered his guard.

“Sit!” He sat.

“Yeah, he’s OK. Sorry, Butch doesn’t warm to strangers quickly and he’s really protective.” I looked the owner in the eyes and then looked down where I was grasping his bicep. It was a nice firm bicep. It distracted me momentarily.

“I don’t mean to be too familiar. It’s just that if Butch sees that we’re friendly, well, he doesn’t feel he has to be so protective.” I made sure he was stable and then released my grip and stepped back (carefully due to the ice!).

“Wow, man, he’s real well trained.” He crouched and extended his hand towards Butch and clicked his tongue.

Butch ignored him. There are times I’m pleased he’s as attentive to me, only. There are other times I’ve wished he would warm more to strangers. Just then, I wished he’d be friendlier with the station owner, because I wanted to be friendlier with the owner. The guy had piqued my curiosity.

“Butch is… well, he’ll need to know you better before he’ll give you any attention. It probably won’t happen today.”

The owner shrugged and stood back up. I picked up the water bowl and stepped towards the station door.

“I need to be get going. Thanks for the water.” I gestured with the bowl. “Let me settle up and I’ll get on my way.”

The owner (I still didn’t know his name and I felt self conscious about introducing myself.) followed me through the door and stepped behind the counter. He ran my card, handed me my receipt and, after looking at his copy, said, “Well, Karl, thanks for stopping in. Have a safe drive.”

I thanked him and stepped back into the sun, cold and wind. Butch welcomed me, jumping and twisting in his enthusiasm. Back at the car, he jumped into the back, I climbed into the front, removed my hat and gloves, put on my sunglasses, started up and pulled out of the lot. I looked back and saw the owner (I was sorry I hadn’t gotten his name) at the front window. The car slide a bit as I accelerated back onto the interstate, but was surefooted as it came up to speed.

I had something new to think about to pass the time as I drove east towards Cheyenne before turning south to Boulder and Christmas with my family.

“Que te vaya bonito”, Chavela Vargas, from the album “Macorina” “How many things stayed lit in the depths of my soul? How many lamps did you leave burning? I don’t know how I’m going to extinguish them.” (please forgive the author’s translation) “Meli Meli”, Cheb Mami, from the album “Meli Meli”