Lone Star 2


We are cruising down the West Texas highway late at night, my traveling companion and I. The darkness is refreshing, an almost forgotten companion revealing stars lost to the suburban klieg lights.

A Comanche moon lights the way back home.

dashboard.jpgHad we been sitting in a hotel bar, we’d tell the exact same stories. But we are in the rental car, chatting away about football and lost loves and the cotton crop.

Fall is upon us. And even though the trees aren’t around to mark the coming cool, the breeziness of the surroundings and the conversation are indicators enough.

Back home, we are missed. Out here, we are ready to return.

The Texans have been warm and generous with their time, no surprise to either one of us. Their voices echo with an accelerated twang unique to these parts.

In our car confessional, we honor those who came before us, fallen colleagues and old pros. We remember the way things were like two old men, but share superficial insights like two young bucks.

The high beams click on and off with each approaching lone car. No deer have threatened imminent collision. Our path is clear.

Outside the convenience store, three teens pull up, faces painted with team logos. They must’ve lost tonight to be so subdued, so solemn.

Back on the road, I coax my colleague to share dirty jokes and the one story that haunts most men, the rejected proposal.

And like a true gentleman, he entertains me with tall tales.

Which happen to be true.

The man in the moon smiles at us all the way home.


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