a Cowboy love story...
Okay, so here's how the story begins...Cowboy is a homeless man, tall, rail thin, a former rodeo guy. His wife and his toddler son died in a car accident when he was in his 20's. It broke his heart into many pieces, and I would guess that it's been broken ever since. Cowboy is almost 70 now and he still cries when he tells the story. Wouldn't you?
Cowboy came into the shelter where I was volunteering back in early spring. He was wearing black boots, black jeans, a black shirt with pearl snaps, a black vest, a black leather jacket and a black hat and he carried, you guessed it, a black bag. He was tired, weathered, at the end of his trick rope.
We moved into the little chapel, no one ever goes in the chapel much, it's quiet and still there and it's small, and the chairs are comfy, it's a good place to talk. Cowboy told me he'd been walking all day, he was homeless, he gets a check, his on disability, he's old, after all. Still, that little check won't even pay for a cheap motel room and even if it did, a cheap motel room is about the loneliest, saddest, dirtiest place in the world. It's a room that carries every sad story it ever saw forever, even thought the floor is swept and the sheets are changed sometimes, the stories stick to the walls like some kind of insect trail.
I called a place I'd heard about, I didn't think they could help, most of the time the places I call are full, or they don't accept certain kinds of people, like cowboys, or they only accept people on Wednesdays at 3 in the morning, or on Fridays at 3 in the afternoon.
You see, the homeless resources are a tricky maze, you think you're close to a solution, an end is in site and you learn that you have to go to the beginning and start over.
Anyway, this time, they had a space, he fit the profile, he was old enough, damaged enough and it was his lucky day. I drove him to his new apartment after we closed the shelter for the day. He couldn't believe his luck, a brick apartment with a little park and hot water and cooking stuff and his own room.
Cowboy was happy that day. Now, it's been six months and Cowboy, like all of us, wants more. He's looking for love again. I suggested he go to Senior dances, he says he has two left feet. Then, I said, "one word, Cowboy,BINGO!" He hated that idea. So, I need help with this one. Where can an up and coming old man find a gal who's got a little cowgirl in her, a girl who likes Nascar and good coffee and tall men?
I'm open to suggestions.
Cowboy came into the shelter where I was volunteering back in early spring. He was wearing black boots, black jeans, a black shirt with pearl snaps, a black vest, a black leather jacket and a black hat and he carried, you guessed it, a black bag. He was tired, weathered, at the end of his trick rope.
We moved into the little chapel, no one ever goes in the chapel much, it's quiet and still there and it's small, and the chairs are comfy, it's a good place to talk. Cowboy told me he'd been walking all day, he was homeless, he gets a check, his on disability, he's old, after all. Still, that little check won't even pay for a cheap motel room and even if it did, a cheap motel room is about the loneliest, saddest, dirtiest place in the world. It's a room that carries every sad story it ever saw forever, even thought the floor is swept and the sheets are changed sometimes, the stories stick to the walls like some kind of insect trail.
I called a place I'd heard about, I didn't think they could help, most of the time the places I call are full, or they don't accept certain kinds of people, like cowboys, or they only accept people on Wednesdays at 3 in the morning, or on Fridays at 3 in the afternoon.
You see, the homeless resources are a tricky maze, you think you're close to a solution, an end is in site and you learn that you have to go to the beginning and start over.
Anyway, this time, they had a space, he fit the profile, he was old enough, damaged enough and it was his lucky day. I drove him to his new apartment after we closed the shelter for the day. He couldn't believe his luck, a brick apartment with a little park and hot water and cooking stuff and his own room.
Cowboy was happy that day. Now, it's been six months and Cowboy, like all of us, wants more. He's looking for love again. I suggested he go to Senior dances, he says he has two left feet. Then, I said, "one word, Cowboy,BINGO!" He hated that idea. So, I need help with this one. Where can an up and coming old man find a gal who's got a little cowgirl in her, a girl who likes Nascar and good coffee and tall men?
I'm open to suggestions.
Labels: homeless
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