Takin’er Nice’n Slow Like
Ol’ Mr. Sun’s been howlin’ and rarin’ to go as of late; I can’t blame him much. But even before he starts his crowin’, somethin’s movin’ in the shadows. It didn’t take long until I figured out it was the neck ties and other rattle snake types; the ones who are too rich to realize who they are. They’ve been comin’ down from their castles with their angry eyes on – scarin’ all the birds off. I only know they’ve been scared off ‘cuz every once in awhile I’ll see a feather float down from the clouds and land in the street… It gets ran over quicker than a jack rabbit on a sugar cookie but it’s a pretty sight while it’s fallin’. Anyways, those rattle snakes start kickin’ up dust, orderin’ cream cut coffee and throwing their used up dollars on the ground. The wind don’t know no better so it just mixes them up with the other garbage. I’m not sure what they’re so bent outta shape for, but you won’t find me askin’em. Sometimes I just sit inside, spittin’ seeds and waitin’ for the sun to stop screamin’ at me.
On the off chance where it does, I’ll muster up some “want to” and introduce my keester to a leather seat. From there on out, it’s all about takin’er nice’n slow like until I figure out where I’m goin’. Now if your askin’ me how to be happy, that’ll most likely be my answer, but if your askin’ me why you aren’t happy yet, well then, I’m sure I do not know. All I do know is on this particular day, I was lucky enough to figure out where I was goin’, and so I did. I was headin’ down the trail a piece when somethin’ caught my ear and made my neck hairs stand up. An antique store that was hangin’ on to the side of a gas station called me out by name; you can imagine my reaction. I was so distracted that I forgot to catch the caution light, so the neck ties started barkin’ at my back side. Naturally, this woke up the neighbors and to my surprise, I found a smile tap dancing it’s way under my mustache. There’s somethin’ enjoyable about slowin’ people down who think they have to be movin’ so fast. It may be a sin for takin’ pleasure in other people’s popped head veins, but… it’s nothin’ I can’t ask forgiveness for.
After I got my go ahead from the street lamp, I trotted my way into the side lot of the nostalgia shack where once more I heard my name. This time it was a whisper of a menacing shade, and it wiped the smile clean off my face. For some reason, I was left streaked, white knuckled, eyes wide and lookin’ like a hedgehog. There I sat, with my pony still purring, lookin’ in through the front window of that scarred over flea market. It was lit with one orange light that hung left of center. It seemed to have a jazz-cat swing to it that made all the shadows from inside swirl a touch. I untied my bandana from my neck, gave my forehead a once over, settled down my bronc and walked towards the door. I looked up from my boots and realized I was farther away from it than I thought. As I stepped, my heartbeat matched the jingle of my spurs and the sound seemed to echo in my ears. The wind started to pick up, just enough to keep a new crop of sweat beads from poppin’ up from under my hat. The door handle had my undivided attention.
It was bronze, oxidized and rusted, and looked as if someone had taken a handle off a dresser, turned it upright and shot two screws through it. The door itself seemed older than the buildin’ by more than a few decades. It had a sad grey and black tone to it and looked as if it was sheddin’ it’s outer layer; almost as if the sun had sucked the color right out of it. I took my final two steps sending dust flying up over my boots as they landed cautiously just outside of the entrance way. The doors winda’s were dark and coated with dust so my peerin’ eye got nothin but it’s own reflection. I reached for the handle, lookin’ to my sides as I did to make sure no one was plottin’ on me. I took one last breath, swallowed the lump in my throat and gave it a firm tug. All the sudden, a blast of wind surged through me, howled past my ears and kicked up dust into my jacket. Over the wind, I shit you not, I heard my name again but this time it was deep in my skull and louder than cannon fire. I shrunk back behind my free arm until the dust and noise settled down. Still with a hand on the handle I finally took a peak to find the door had not moved an inch. I checked my back side once more to make sure no one was messin’ with me and then I gave the door another tug to find it locked. Being a flimsy old piece of drift wood, the top and bottom bent and bowed outwards from my pulls but the lock in the middle remained fixed. Now, I wasn’t one to argue about a locked door and it wasn’t no waterin’ hole so by my account it didn’t warrant any knockin’.
A relieved chuckle leaped up from my belly: “Must be out fer lunch”
I retied my bandana, fixed my hat, dusted off my chaps, saddled back up and hit the trail for home. Naturally, I forgot to catch the caution light again, and on came the neck ties right on queue, barkin’ at my back side. Strange enough, ain’t nary a smile was found on my face this time. A little worried, I ran my fangers through my mustache, wipin’ away some forgotten sweat patches. A little flustered, I clicked my heels into the side of my cayuse and hightailed it on home.
“Maybe tomorra, when the sun ain’t so loud”.
