Cody in Wyoming - 3. Chapter 3

I slowed carefully before taking the exit ramp off I-80 down towards “Cody’s” gas station. I took it slower than the previous time. I had to. The winter storm that had dumped snow from Seattle to St Louis and that was now shutting down the Atlantic states, the storm that had closed Snoqualmie Pass and had forced me to postpone leaving home for 24 hours, had left the ramp deep in new powder. I crept through the crud so I could refuel at Cody’s station and try to resolve my curiosity about the man and what he was doing here on this desolate stretch of interstate. Here I was, more than half way through my second drive and my third trip to Boulder in the last eight weeks. So much had happened in the weeks since the Christmas trip. I had missed nearly a week of rehearsals to fly east the morning I got Mom’s call that Jack had died from a massive stroke. The two of us spent a couple days reminiscing before my brother, Keith, and his wife, Alison, were able to get away from their lives to stay with her. Mom was philosophical, after all, Jack’s health had been marginal for months. Still, this was the second time she had been widowed and she was struggling with the loss. She showed all of her 85 years.

I wrapped myself against the cold wind before I exiting the car. At the gas pump, I swiped my card (the card reader was working again) and started to refuel. Despite being mid-day, it was dark; the cloud deck pressed low on the flat landscape. I let Butch out of the car and he repeated his actions from our previous visit, rushing to the side of the station, prancing into the snow (deeper now than the first visit), tossing it into the air and snapping at it, then following animal tracks, nose to ground, scoping out the local fauna, leaving yellow patches here and there. I noticed there were other yellow patches in the snow. Other dogs must have visited the vacant lot.

I crossed the parking area to watch Butch’s antics. I gathered a snowball to throw at him, but it was too dry to hold together. The ball disintegrated in the stiff wind as it left my hand. I grabbed a piece of the snow compacted by the plow that had cleared the station’s lot and threw a piece at Butch. It broke on his flank. We squared off, him crouched back, his rear in the air, tail wagging slowly, his forelegs straight, from paw to elbow touching the ground. His head was down but his eyes raised to look me in the face. He was challenging me, teasing me. I slowly crouched and reached to grab another piece of snow, never taking my eyes from his. Deepening my crouch, I crept towards him, aping canine tracking behavior. I knew that soon he would break his stance and rush me. Which he did. He tore across the intervening space and leapt at the last minute passing to my right, skidding to a fast u-turn and then rushed me again, this time leaping towards my extended hand. I tossed the snow to him and he snapped it into powder. He rushed me again, pirouetting on his final approach, his head level with mine, eyes looking directly into mine, nearly completing a full turn before landing on all fours once again. He was a remarkable acrobat. Then he trotted back to me and pushed his flank against my thigh, demanding a butt rub. Which he got.

I admitted that I was postponing my second encounter with Cody. My initial curiosity about the man had morphed into a personal interest during the weeks following my last visit. Ridiculous but true. I didn’t know the guy; he lived a thousand miles from my home; he lived in an area where I could never pursue my career; nevertheless, I had developed a fascination with the guy. I steeled myself to walk to the store rather than simply drive away after filling the tank. There are times that my social skills leave me, when I revert to the wallflower I was in high school. This would definitely be one of those times. I had no idea of what I would say when we came face to face.

I approached the front door, feeling my increasing heartbeat and elevating blood pressure. I opened the front door, taking care to keep the storm door from crashing into the wall due to the stiff, cold wind. Again, I stepped into the dim interior and immediately checked the front counter to see if Cody was there. Instead of him, there sat a younger, thick haired, clean shaven version of the man. I imagined I had stepped back 25 years and was seeing Cody as he might have appeared when he was college aged. The young version didn’t look so bad, just a bit vapid, inexperienced. I preferred the older version. The boy looked up from his hand held game and grunted his acknowledgement of my presence before returning to behead an opponent or blow away an adversary, whatever they do with their game thingies.

I hadn’t expected this turn of events. I hadn’t anything to say to the youngster. Again, I realized how unprepared I was for this encounter. Changing mental gears clumsily, I looked around the store, noting the same things I had seen on my first visit and noticing the wood stove and stack of split firewood toward the back. Not knowing what else to do, I checked the candy bars while I tried to figure out how to quiz the kid for Cody’s particulars without sounding too inquisitive or invasive. I decided on a peppermint patty and while I was reaching for a it, I heard the kid curse and then shout towards the ceiling, “Uncle ‘Rents, I gotta book or I’ll be late for class!” With that, he grabbed gloves, a hunting hat, and a down parka and ran out the door. I heard a truck crank a few times, fire up and slowly pull away.

It was quiet. I was alone in the store. I put my hand on the back of one of the chairs next to the stove as I enjoyed the warmth for a moment, then made ready to leave. At the counter, I found a bell, so I rang it and heard the clomp of boots descend the stairs. And there was “Cody” coming into view. So he was “Uncle ‘Rents”. He didn’t look different from our first meeting, no better, no worse. He was just him, kind of normal but a good normal. A kind of normal I could welcome into my life. While lost in thought, I wasn’t preparing a line of conversation to engage him. Not particularly good tactics if my goal was to get to know ‘Rents better. I was tongue tied.

Luckily, ‘Rents took on the role of shop keeper.

“Will that be it?” He gestured towards the candy.

Trying to extend our time a bit longer, I mumbled, “Um, no” and turned towards the refrigerated cases and grabbed a water. Not my wittiest repartee. I was uncomfortably self conscious.

I put the candy and water on the counter and looked up. He squinted at me.

“Have I seen you before?”

This happened to me occasionally, cause I’ve had parts in a few general release movies. I hated whenever it occurred. People assumed a familiarity between the movie viewer and actor that simply didn’t exist.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you? A couple months ago? Got a big dog too. Yeah, you’re that guy. Name starts with a “K”… Ken? Kurt?”

I exhaled with relief. “Karl… My name’s Karl. You remember from eight weeks ago? That’s amazing!”

He looked abashed, which wasn’t such a bad look on him. It made him look boyish. A bit of an unexpected expression on a balding, bearded man, but not unattractive. He still hadn’t scanned my purchases.

“So, your name is ‘Rents… like ‘the ‘rents’, like ‘parental units’? How can you be both a parent and an uncle?”

“No. No, you got it wrong. It’s not ‘Rents, it’s Rence, R-E-N-C-E… for Clarence. Not a name you hear much anymore and obviously too long for my nephew.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Karl.”

He reached across the counter. The hair on his forearm caught my attention: thick, curly, dark, masculine. We shook. His hand was meaty, thick, firm. Firm, like his handshake. The skin was calloused. He did other work in addition to standing behind a convenience store counter. Splitting firewood? And I was getting myself in much deeper than was reasonable or rational. I so had no business noticing his physique. I so had no future with him.

“So,” he continued, “What brings you past my station twice in the past couple months? Are you starting a new territory as a sales rep?”

I was taken aback by his conversation. I suppose I’m a bit of a WASP, but I’m not accustomed to sharing my personal life with strangers.

“Uh… It’s… family matters… helping my mother after her husband’s death last month and preparing her to move. I’m heading to Boulder to help her pack up and get ready to move to a senior citizen’s community.” More detail seemed unnecessary. Actually, Mom’s plans had changed with Jack’s death. Instead of moving to an apartment in downtown Boulder, the new plan was for her to move to a facility for active seniors outside of Kansas City to be nearer her grandchildren == my nephews and nieces. I was sorry she was moving further from me, but couldn’t argue with her priorities.

“Whoa, sorry to hear of your step-dad’s death. Was it unexpected?”

“Well, yes and no. He’d been sick for a long time, but his passing was quick. A stroke. But he’s not, well, wasn’t my stepfather, just my mother’s husband. I mean, he never parented me. They got married after I had grown up and moved away. It’s strange, he was a pretty sorry excuse for a husband; he could be nasty and demeaning to my mom. It’s hard to forgive that. Still, it’s hard to lose him. I never liked him, but it’s hard to say goodbye to another human being, no matter how unpleasant they were. Does that make sense?” I found myself sharing far too much with Rence. I felt embarrassed being so forward with him.

He looked on with understanding in his eyes. Nice eyes… large, warm, dark eyes… deep brown, in fact… kind eyes. Damn! I was doing it again, softening towards a man with whom there could be no future. But, I was definitely warming to him. Damn, again!

“Yeah, I know what you’re saying. And you make perfect sense. There’s something about acknowledging our mortality that bonds us as humans. At least those who are willing to accept their humanity and mortality.” He hinted at an eye roll, easing away from our developing familiarity. I noticed his countrified accent and words had evaporated. He spoke in a more educated mode. What was up with that?

“Hey, you want some coffee? There’s a pot over there.” He gestured to my left, where a half pot sat on a hot plate. I was grateful for the change towards the mundane. Our conversation had gotten far too personal for my comfort.

“Nah, I’d just have to stop at the next exit to pee. I’ll just take the water and mint.” I pushed my purchases across the counter.

As he passed me my change, he searched my eyes before saying, “Listen, if you feel like it, stop by as you pass back through. We could sit and talk some.” He tilted his head towards the wood stove and the chairs beside it. He caught my eyes. His gaze lingered. No… that sounds too erotic, but his look stretched an extra beat. His expression was slightly wistful. Clearly something was going on between us, what a director I once worked with had called “gender tension”. He definitely had an agenda. He was interested in me.

So, that answered one of my original questions. Apparently, he was a homosexual. It left unanswered how he lived as a gay man out there in that cultural wasteland. His intentions towards me remained uncertain, if less mysterious.

The tension was broken by a single bark from outside the front door.

“Oh crap! I completely forgot Butch. He’s been out there all this time. Listen, Rence, I’ve got to move along. I’d love to stop and spend more time on my way back. I’ll be staying in Boulder three days. It’s not enough time to pack Mom’s house, but waiting for the storm to end kind of blew our plans. I’ll stop back in four days. Will that be ok?”

Butch barked again. He had lost patience waiting for me. Rence stepped around the counter and walked me to the door. We stepped outside and Butch jumped towards me, grabbing my sleeve lightly in his teeth.

“Hey! NO!” I hated it when he got mouthy. My reprimand didn’t much diminish his enthusiasm, but on his subsequent jumps he didn’t include snaps at my sleeve.

Rence looked on with a relaxed smile. We walked to the car, where Butch jumped in the back. I grabbed the ruff behind his ears and rubbed his neck. He relaxed into the attention. After shutting the back, we walked to the driver’s door where I turned and looked up into Rence’s dark eyes. He was slightly taller than me.

“You’ll stop by on the way back?” he asked again.

“Count on it. In four days, weather permitting, in the early afternoon. Wait Rence, how will I contact you if I’m held up?”

He reached into his back pocket, and pulled a card out of his wallet. I lost my train of thought, imagining the curve of his butt. I liked the thought of how his jeans hugged his glutes, of how his wallet echoed the curve of the muscle. Jesus! I was way over the line with my imaginings! I came back to earth, or, rather, I came back to the parking lot of a gas station being scoured by a harsh, freezing wind in the vast dry plain of southern Wyoming. I took Rence’s card and slipped it quickly into my wallet before the wind snatched it and blew it all the way to Utah. I looked up at him again. He gave me a quick grin as he extended his hand to me. We shook. I sat in the drivers seat and he leaned over the open door.

“Give me a call when you leave your mother’s and I’ll make sure I’m here. If you call from Rawlins, I can have a hot lunch ready for you if you like. That is, if you can wait that late to eat… and if you want to…” His assured attitude wavered slightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be great, only I don’t have a cell. It’s madness in this day and age, but I’m a Luddite, I suppose.”

His smile returned. He reached down and put his hand on my shoulder, my deltoid to be exact. I was suddenly self conscious about my gym toned physique as opposed to his natural musculature. My gym based exertions seemed less substantial than his wood splitting or whatever rural activity had developed his body.

“That’s fine. I’ll just plan for you to show up about four hours after you call from Boulder. Trust me, lunch won’t be a souffle. Don’t worry about when you show up. If you need to drive slow, drive slow. Now, drive carefully. You’ve got a long way to go this afternoon. I’ll look forward to seeing you in four days. I hope all goes well with your mom.”

We made our final salutations, he stepped back, shut my door, slapped the roof with his hand and headed back to the station’s door, apparently oblivious to the cold gusts.

I started up the car, the CD player kicked in and Satie’s “Gymnopedies” picking up where it had cut off when I stopped to refuel. The music’s calm order was a foil to my flustered state of mind. I pulled the car around and was pleased to see Rence standing at the open storm door. He raised his hand and then stepped inside. I gave my attention to the uncertain road surface as I turned towards Laramie and returned to my solo trip.

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I arrived in Boulder without incident. There had been some dicey driving just south of Cheyenne due to strong gusts and a white out along the highway. Slowing to 25 mph, I was able to creep along without mishap. It blew me away that drivers were shooting past at 60 mph in the poor visibility. I didn’t see any accidents, but because of the limited visibility, I wouldn’t have been able to see any cars that had skidded off the interstate.

That night, I had trouble falling asleep at Mom’s. I reviewed my day. Mom and I had had a phenomenal meal at a local Indian restaurant. It sounded as if it was the first full meal Mom had eaten since Keith and Alison had left following Jack’s death. She had lost a lot of weight. Mom admitted that there had been days when she hadn’t even left her bed. That scared me. I hated to think of her pining away after Jack, especially since he was such an ass.

I’m very attached to her. I hate to think of myself as a mama’s boy, but there’s a pinch of truth to the gay stereotype, at least in my case. It’s ironic that I feel more attached to her than my brothers. They have their families, after all, and I have… well, I don’t have one, not even a partner anymore. And now, she’ll be moving closer to them and further from me. I suppose it’s an unfulfilled love triangle of a sort: me, my Mom and my nieces and nephews. Silly really, but there you have it.

I changed track and thought back to the visit at Rence’s. In the hours after leaving Rence’s gas station, I had reviewed the visit repeatedly. I reviewed it once again. Who was his nephew? Where did the kid go to school? Where was the rest of his nephew’s family? For that matter, I still didn’t have an answer to what Rence was doing working at a gas station in Wyoming? He seemed to have a broader perspective than I would expect of a gas station owner. What led him to live in such an isolated location? He seemed anxious to make a connection with me (as I did with him). Why was he so solicitous? Was he lonely?

I remembered his card. I hadn’t taken the chance to look at it since he gave it to me. I felt a thrill, an effervescence in my gut, when I thought of him offering me his card. Yeah, I was putting way too much emphasis on a couple brief conversations with a guy in a gas station in Wyoming. I was falling despite my rational mind’s resistance to developing a connection with him. I reached for my wallet. The card was textured paper stock, taupe. It had the silhouette of a ram on the left side. On the bottom right was his name: P. Clarence Ynzunza. Wow! Ynzunza. What a name! Then I looked above: Carbon Springs Ranch – Fine Fleece, Lamb, Artisanal Farm Cheese. Wow again!

I left the card on the end table, turned out the light and indulged in more speculation. It seemed incongruous that he worked in a gas station when he had such a designer business card. What was his role at Carbon Springs Ranch? Owner? Foreman? Cheesemaker? The card didn’t say. ‘Artisanal’ – now that was a yuppie word if ever there was one. It made me think of urban farmer’s markets and upscale, nouveau cuisine restaurants. How did he/they market their products? Was there a local food/slow food movement in Wyoming? Was Rence a part of it?

I must have fallen asleep while imagining a place for me at Rence’s side. My own Broke Back fantasy with my studly, grizzled shepherd – our own private, happy ending with me in the role of Jack and Rence as Ennis living in a cabin surrounded by sleeping sheep, out in the mountains of southern Wyoming. I eased into an erotic dreamland and a sound sleep.