That might have been a cowboy that I just talked to. I mean you never know, do you?
He was in his early-sixties but looked older to me. Well, he looked to me what I once would have considered an older man to look like. It could be because I was catching up to him in age, well or at least a few miles back. So that could have been it, or he could have been “weathered”. That was probably it. Not that he was not good looking. He was in a rugged sort of way.
He wore a western type shirt. I had the sense that it was quite aged. Jeans, of course the jeans were there. I did not get a good glimpse at his feet to see if there were boots or not, but, my instinct says yes, the boots were there too. I did not spy a hat on his head or in his hand, but still……………
His eyes were a deep blue, so blue that you could swear your saw the ocean in them. Oceans with ships that carried men far far away from their loves, sometimes never to return. There was something about his eyes. You could see the story was there, you just had to look hard enough……..
If you ever really got to know him, you would know his walk, how he kind of swaggered when he was a young man, like he had the whole world at his feet. He definitely wore cowboy boots then, well broken in. He also worked with horses on a ranch. But that was not all.
He once called himself, “Buffalo Mic” and collected women like some folks collect charms for bracelets. He had a particular fondness for redheaded women. He loved those redheads. Fiery temptresses he called them. He would also call them the Devil’s Lovers.
He had the “gift of gab”. He would speak and people would gather around him, wanting to be close to him, to touch him, to talk like him and walk like him, and if you were a woman, to be loved by him.
Married women stepped out on their husbands with him. Very young women were had by him. Older women adored him. They would seek him. Not one was immune to his charms, but one was wise to him, and only one.
Her name was Jean and he was her first and her last love, forever and ever. Even though he hurt her with his many infidelities, she continued loving him through his lifetime, clear through to the end of it. She had had a couple of other men whom loved her, had even had children with them, but she only loved Buffalo Mic. She had known him since she was 15 years old and they fell madly in love.
Eventually, after years of loving him and being loved back in Mic’s “way”, she had had enough of his unfaithfulness. She could not share him anymore and left the state, raising her children away from him, far away, though she never stopped loving him.
After Jean left, Mic spent 2 months in solitary in his mountain cabin, brooding, hurting and tripping on LSD. He did so much acid and peyote, that it was a miracle he lived through it. He did not have any great revelations as he had expected.
Jean was his other half, but he was a man who would never be faithful . He and she both knew it, but he could not imagine his life without her always there, his comfort, his heart.
Finally, Mic emerged and went back to the world, continuing on with his womanizing and wicked ways. Still, people wanted to be near him.
As he grew older, his marriages left behind him like broken vases, he spent more of his time alone with many frivolous relationships in between. He still liked women, loved women, just felt like he had to put out too much effort, and frankly just was getting tired of all of the effort and the game, the game he had played for so many years, so many many times. No surprises left for him.
When Mic died, not many were there to mourn him as he had wanted it that way. Two of his sons and two of his step-children were there. A handful of friends whom were close to him 30 plus years prior. None of his former girlfriends, or wives were there. Except one.
The one who had loved him in spite of it all, through thick and through thin, through happiness and heartache. The one who had continued loving him from a distance was the one who spread Mic’s ashes and wept her love out, her tears of sorrow and love mixing with those ashes that were part of her heart.
Yes, that may have been a cowboy that I had talked to. You just never ever know……..what stories people hold if you look hard enough. ………………………