Hey, Joe

Hey, Joe!

by Jake Rivers ©

This is a combined story effort between DG Hear and JakeRivers. Carl Smith has two greatsongs that are complete opposites in their story lines: “Hey, Joe” and “BackUp, Buddy”

“Hey, Joe!” Is the story of a guy that wants his buddy’sgirl. “Back Up, Buddy” is thestory of a man telling his buddy to leave his girl alone. We thought it would be interesting forreaders to see these stories at the same time by two different authors. We each have no idea what the other iswriting.

Back Up, Buddy

Back up, buddy, don’t you come any closer,

I know you want her but the answer is no, sir

Back up, buddy, don’t you come any closer, she’s mine all mine.

Hey, Joe!

Though we've been the best of friends

This is where our friendship ends.

I gotta have that dolly for my own.

Thanks very much, as always, to Techsan for his quick andaccurate editing! A special thanksto DG for joining me in a bit of fun.

A TIME OUT OF LIFE

Our platoon was pinned down by a VC sniper hidden on a hill at theend of the valley. No one had been able to get a hard fix on his location. It was Thanksgiving Day in 1965 but noone was eating turkey. We were ina long valley near the Phu Bai airfield trying to locate a Viet Cong force thathad been sending harassing fire at planes taking off and landing.

Earlier the lieutenant had tried to send out a small patrol and theSOB picked off two of them before they even reached the tree line. The LT shook his head and walked overto where I was cleaning my rifle.

The Marines at that time were using Winchester Model 70 30.06rifles for sniper work. Thiswas essentially a target rifle and they had acquired a number of them over theprevious decade. There werecomplaints that the match grade ammo would cause supply problems but for nowthat had been overruled. Thefollowing year would see a change to the M40, which was based on a Remingtonmodel 700-40.

I’d learned to shoot with a Winchester Model 70 30.06 growing up inthe hill country of west Texas, so this was essentially the same rifle I had athome. Antelope were real spooky soyou had to stand off quite a ways – and the heavy barrel was great forvarmints, such as gophers. I knewwhat I could do with what I grew up with. The addition of the eight-power Unertl scope gave me a much longereffective range than the 2.75X Redfield scope I had at home.

“Danny, anything you can do to help us out?”

I’d been listening to the few shots the sniper had fired and I hadthought a lot about the angles involved in the shots at the patrol.

“Yeah, LT, I think so. I’d guess he’s within fifty yards of that clump of rocks on the leftside of the valley and about half way up the hill. Put a couple of guys quartering around that area withbinoculars and have them let me know if they see any movement at all.”

We looked over the map and it was a good twelve hundred yards tothe rocks. I’d never sighted theWinchester for more than a thousand yards.

After twenty minutes or so, Billy, the lieutenant’s radio operatorleaned over, “Danny, I saw something move about twenty-five yards to the upperleft of the rocks.” Laughing a bitnervously, he added, “Hell, it was probably just an animal or something.”

“Yeah,” I thought, “… maybe.”

I got in a comfortable position and turned the knob for a thousandyards. If I did find a target I’dhave to wing it for the over-distance. I started at the rocks and slowly moved up and to the left, lookingcarefully at every inch of the terrain. Finally I saw an anomaly, a straight line. Deciding it was the barrel of the VCsniper’s, rifle I moved the aiming point slightly for where his head should belocated in relation to the barrel. I was assuming he was right handed … if not, I’d miss.

There was no wind; it was dead calm and hot. I figured he was about fifty yardshigher than I was and adjusted for that. Flashing back to the Sniper manual (the military had amanual for everything, even on how to dig latrines) I remembered the example. For a scope sighted for a target at 500yards, to hit another, unsighted target at 600 yards would be a hold off oftwenty-five inches. That worked out pretty good for this target since I wassighted in for a thousand yards and I was taking a shot at close to twelvehundred I wanted to shoot about fifty inches higher than where I guessed hishead would be.

I breathed out to the two guys with the binoculars, ”Okay, watch.”

A sniper is a one shot killer. The average grunt shot upwards of fifty thousand rounds foran enemy kill … the average sniper’s number was one point three – about aquarter’s worth of ammunition.

Fear played a big part in what I was doing. All too frequently I would be gentlyeasing back on the trigger and have the sense of a VC sniper taking aim atme. I handled it –controlling my fear was the name of the game. It was all about being in the zone: controlling my breathingby taking slow, steady deliberate breaths. I could feel my heart rate slow and my body coming to acompletely relaxed state.

When it was right, I was one hundred per cent in the zone. For that moment time stops, I wouldfeel alive with some nagging sense that I wouldn’t be staying that way forlong. That moment would seem tolast forever for me … a time out of life. Then I would pull the trigger and know I had taken a man’s life.

Looking through a scope at a target is something quitepersonal. I would watch some guywipe his nose with his sleeve or the sweat off his brow with his hand. Sometimes I would watch the eyes shiftand I would wonder what he was thinking about … and whether he was married andhad kids. Was he looking at me …wondering what I was thinking? Wondering if I had a wife? Sometimes I just thought too damn much. It was best to think of this as an intellectual exercise ofthe dynamics of trajectory, speed and the play of the elements on the bullet onits way to its own violent death.

I eased gently on the hair trigger, images of the startled leap ofan antelope made when hit with a high-power rifle. In another world now, I barely heard the shot or the quickkick of the recoil. I’d heldsteady and had a quick flash of something falling back, streaks of red coatingthe clump of grass he’d been behind.

I looked over at Billy and he nodded, not saying anything. The LT put his hand on my shoulder andwalked away, sending another patrol out to see if the sniper had anydocuments. I lay down, my head onmy pack and looked at the sunlight making a dappled pattern through the trees. Lighting up a smoke my body and mindshut down. I went somewhere thatno one ever went with me: a lonely place, a place of cold and ice.

I remembered what the gunnery sergeant at the sniper school told ushe had heard overheard some anonymous Marine captain say to some friends in abar one night in Saigon:

“You have to be strong enough toendure lying in the weeds day after day, letting the bugs crawl over you andbite you, letting the sun cook you and the rain boil you, shitting and pissingin your pants. Lying there becauseyou know that Charlie’s coming and you’re gonna kill him.”

No one spoke to me – they had learned not to. Sure, I heard what they said, ”He’s acold-hearted son-of-a-bitch.” A nurse I’d spent a few days with in Saigon told me my eyes were thehard blue of glacier ice … but colder. She loved me a little but I don’t think she liked me very much.

Well, hell, I knew I was cold-hearted. I never could figure out how I felt about killing people fora living. I had twenty-two killswith twenty-three bullets. The onemiss was when I thought I could get an officer standing next to an enemysniper. I took the sure shot andtried a snap shot at the officer but I’d over-compensated and missed him.

Three weeks later I’d mustered out and was flying home. My granddad was picking me up at the airportin Austin and driving me home to his ranch west of Bandera. I didn’t want to come back and live intown, like I’d done before I moved to the ranch. I was now twenty-seven and starting over with my life. On the flight home I kept thinkingabout my skills: I could ride bulls and broncs and I knew how to kill peoplefrom a thousand yards with one shot.

BACK AT THE RANCH

Daddy Jim was standing there when I got off the plane. He was a big guy with thinning curlybrown hair running to gray and a ready grin. He’d taken over most of the running of the ranch since I’dleft. He gave me a hug that ‘boutbroke a rib or two, but damn, it felt good. It felt like he had lost none of his legendary strengthduring the time I’d been killing people over in ‘Nam. For a guy in his early seventies, he looked damn good.

“Danny, I’m sure glad to have you home, son. You were missed around here.”

I was glad to see he brought my truck to pick me up. After my folks were killed in a carcrash when I was fourteen, I moved out to the ranch to live with mygrandparents. I was pretty down onlife and granddad could see that. He found a forty-eight Ford pickup and helped me restore it. We put a lot of time on it together andbecame very close.

Driving home in my truck we talked and I felt a slight easing inthe pent-up tension of the last four years. Daddy Jim – we had always called him that – wasone of the good guys. He waspatient to a fault, never meddled; yet he always seemed to be there when anyoneneeded him. About a year after Imoved in with them, grandma died of cancer and it was the two of us against theworld.

I had a fair amount of mustering out pay – it’s hard to spendmoney out in the boonies of ‘Nam. I used some of it to help Daddy Jim get the ranch fixed up a bit. He’d mostly given up on cattle before Ihad moved in with him and concentrated on breeding bulls for the rodeo. It was pretty good money but more importantlyit kept him happy. Hisanimals always scored pretty well at the various rodeos.

Once a bull has shown some talent it can get entered at some of thesmaller rodeos. An average bull makes two/three hundred per out in early roundsand a top bull can earn upwards of six hundred for each out in the finals. It can go as high as a hundredgrand winning top bull of the year. For a bull with a good reputation each straw of semen can go for severalthousand dollars.

I was raised with rodeos even before I moved out to Daddy Jim’splace. I would go with him if itwere close enough. In high schoolI was on the rodeo team and was actually quite good at it. I did a little of everything but Iliked the bull riding and bareback broncs.

I turned professional after high school and started making somemoney at it. Then at a rodeo downat Uvalde I got in a fight over a girl in some no name, lowlife bar. I put a guy in the hospital and thesheriff down there gave me a choice of the Army or the jail. I did him one better and signed up forthe Marines. I wasn’t thinkingthat four years is a hell of a lot longer than three and a tour of duty in ‘Namas a sniper wouldn’t be a hell of a lot of fun. The hard part of it was I never woulda even looked at thatgal if I hadn’t been three sheets to the wind.

I didn’t really want to get back to doing the rodeo – thepain and lifestyle just didn’t appeal to me anymore. I talked to Daddy Jim and we agreed that he would handleeverything connected with breeding and I would handle all the rodeo stuff. We had a good reputation so it waseasier than it could have been if I was just starting up. I would get entries and make sure theanimals were transported and treated right. This was a good area to work out of; Banderaconsidered itself, “The Cowboy Capitol of the World.”

The winter tour ran from January through May and the summer one wasJune through September. I wouldtravel to most of the local events around Texas and Oklahoma and to the rodeoswhere we had top bulls entered. Wehad two guys that worked with us that would drive the trucks and take care ofthe animals. Occasionally we hadto ship some with the commercial transporters when we had more entries –this would be at the larger rodeos. We did a few PBR events - the Professional Bull Riders – and Iwanted to focus more on this part of the rodeo tour that granddad had.

I settled into a routine. The trips were fun since I knew a lot of people – many of themsince I was a kid. People that Ididn’t know stopped me and asked about Daddy Jim … everyone called himthat. I met a girl in Prescottat the Prescott Frontier Days on the Fourth of July and we were and item untilher ex won a couple of events at the Dodge City roundup in early August. She was one of the camp followers thathang around. Truth be told by thetime we got to Dodge I was happy to get shucked of her – she was gettinga bit too sticky. She was hotthough. If a gal’s only gonna haveone talent, hers was a good one to have.

I was finally able to relax for a while – the last fourmonths were our slack season. Ineeded an office so I knocked the wall down between my room and the bedroomnext to it and incorporated a hall bathroom. I put the office area in the corner where I had light fromboth morning sun and the late afternoon. It worked out well - I wasn’t planning on moving any time soon. It looked quite nice and I spent a lotof time relaxing there.

I started going out on Friday and Saturday nights … mostly I wentto the Silver Dollar Saloon in downtown Bandera. It was a popular place; the dance floor was small and coveredwith sawdust but it was a lot of fun. It was really more honky-tonk than dance hall but they did pull in greatbands. The place had been aroundsince the thirties – my mom and dad used to go there and dance.

It must have been the third time I was there – sometime inmid-November - I ran into an old friend of mine … more of a drinking buddyreally. I think he considered memore of a buddy than I did of him. In fact, when I ran into him I had to stop and think of his name. I knew it was Joe something … yeah, JoeAtkins.

I waved to him and held my hand out to shake with him but he passedright on by and grabbed me in a big bear hug. Seeing as how I wasn’t really a touchy-feely kind of guy, Istepped back and gave him that thousand -yard stare you get after a few yearsin prison. Except in ‘Nam it onlytook a couple of months … if you lived that long.

He backed off; looking embarrassed, and stammered something aboutgetting a couple of beers. Ithought about him while he was gone. He was a nice enough guy but I’d always considered him not to have muchdepth. It was like he was an actorplaying a role he wasn’t familiar with. He had an off-hand, somewhat diffident manner that made me edgy.

As he walked back with two beers, a Shiner Bock and a Pearl, Ilaughed to myself as I remembered that he had trouble making decisions. Even though he always did well inschool, it was like he didn’t even know how to spell decisive. This was typical of him, bringing twodifferent beers just to make sure I was happy.

“Danny, I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I got one of each. Is that okay?”

Yeah, Joe, that’s okay. I didn’t answer – just took the Pearl since it wascloser. I sure didn’t haveproblems making decisions, especially about which beer to drink – my rule#1 was to always grab the closest beer in case there wasn’t enough to goaround.

We chatted for a bit. Joe was working as a teller for one of the two banks in town. I told him what I had been doing. For not having seen each other in fouryears, we seemed to catch up pretty fast.

“Hey, Danny! What wasit really like over there, I mean in that place in Asia somewhere?”

Like he would understand. Hell, I’m not sure I did. “Hey, Joe! It wasgreat. I got to see the jungle andeverything. But it was mostly justbullshit, you know how it is.”

Joe nodded, wisely, like he’d been there through it all. I pictured him being in the zone, hislife flow ebbing, slowing, his body becoming still. The breathing cycle taking four or five seconds, inhale,one, exhale, two with the shot coming in a two to three second pause after theexhale when the body is at it stillest point. That pause could be extended for up to ten seconds withoutundue stress, but usually, two or three seconds was plenty. On the start of the exhalation cycle hewould place his finger on the trigger, and as the body stilled, start the easysqueeze.

If the scope continued to show a good target he would continue witha steady pressure on the trigger. As the firing pin sent the round off to its final destination he wouldkeep the trigger all the way back with his head held firmly to the stock. He would keep his muscles relaxed andcontinue to look through the scope tube, avoiding any reaction to the sound orrecoil. After the recoil finishedhe would release the trigger and think about the death that was the object ofthe exercise. Those deaths wouldadd up and …

“Danny, hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, Joe. It was allbullshit.”

The waitress walked by with a tray full of beers for anothertable. I reached up and took one,winning a wink and a smile from her. We’d been doing some half-hearted flirting on the nights we were boththere. She was the younger sisterof a girl I’d dated in high school.

Joe and I chatted for a bit – he was rambling on and on aboutsomething. Then some key wordfiltering through my musings made me pay attention again.

“… anyway, she’s real good lookin’. We’re kinda engaged, but, well, I haven’t exactly askedher. I want to, I mean I really want to askher but I’m hoping I’ll get promoted to Senior Teller at the end of the yearand I’ll be making a lot more money. What do you think, old buddy?”

“Well, Joe, I guess I’d have to see her. I mean, you don’t want to make a mistake, do you?” Like I cared.

Joe responded, sounding excited, “Yeah, that’s a great idea,Danny. Hey, we are coming tomorrownight for the band. Johnny Duncanwill be playing – it should be a big crowd but I can save you room at thetable. This will be great. You can meet Angie - that’s mygirl, Angie Seldon – and we can have a lot of fun.

I figured, what the hell, I could always find some girl to pickup. “Sure, Joe. That sounds like fun.” Like tearing wings off flies andkilling people for a living was fun.

I showed up a little late the next night. I had a big blue roan mare, Donna (don’t ask – thatwas the name of the first girl I’d been with in high school), and hadn’t beengiving her enough work so I took her on a long ride in the afternoon, ignoringthe light rain and my slicker. Ihadn’t slept well the night before – I kept seeing myself backin-country, somehow knowing that a Cong sniper was in the zone, inhaling,exhaling … and I woke up in a cold sweat. I never had those dreams while I wasover there but lately they were coming all too often. Maybe two or three times a week I‘d wake up somewhere aroundoh dark thirty and never get back to sleep.

Feeling in a dark mood I almost didn’t go but when it came tostaying home and drinking beer or going out and drinking it, I decided on thelatter. In my sour mood I put onblack jeans and a black, long sleeved shirt and jammed on well-worn blackJustin boots and my fairly new Stetson hat. Both of these were from my rodeo days and dressing in blackhad been my trademark. In thatmood I went to meet Joe and his soon-to-be fiancée, driving my fire engine redtruck.

SILVER DOLLAR SALOON

Now come on Joe let's make a deal

Let me dance with her to see if sheis real.

She's the cutest girl I've everseen,

I'll tell you face to face I mean tosteal her from you.

The rain had ended and it was actually a nice night. Not warm by any means but comfortablycool in my long sleeved shirt. When I walked in the band was in the middle of tuning up. There was a lot of noise from everyone gettingsettled and making sure they had beer in hand.

Joe saw me walking in and was suddenly pulling on my arm towards atable next to the dance floor. Hewas walking a bit unsteady so he must have gotten there early to hold thetable. I’d say four beers forsure. When I saw Joe’s girlsitting at the table, looking up expectantly towards us, I came to an abruptstop, almost falling as Joe kept pulling on my arm.

It was like driving in the dark all night for hours and hours andcoming over a hill to see the first blaze of the glowing dawn. All around everything would be gray,dull and listless – the bright morning sun becoming the world. It was like that the first time I sawAngie. It wasn’t the parts –they were nice but it was the package that hit me all at once. Her brows were a bit too thick, a faceslightly too round, lips naturally the red of cherry wine and a mouth a tad toowide but alive now with a ready smile.

As I straightened I became aware of her long, thick coal black hairflowing over her shoulders and her eyes … her violet eyes taking my heartcaptive with a lurch that scared me. We stared at each other for a moment - I’d never seen violet eyesbefore. I’d heard one time thatElizabeth Taylor had eyes like this … but then I’d never seen her up close andpersonal.

We stared and her smile slowly faded – later she told me shehad never seen such icy blue eyes, and she felt a cold chill down her back thatfroze her smile.

Joe was standing there confused, looking at his girl then at me …then back at Angie again. Hegave it a brave shot – for him – and started with theintroductions. I brieflyshook hands with her, the hand stronger and rougher that I would have expectedfrom such a lovely, such a feminine girl. She was medium height with a not overly large bust and hips just wideenough to give the promise of child bearing.

I sat there for a while as Joe talked to her about something - Iknew not what. The waitress showedup with beers for all of us as the band started its first number and severalcouples moved out to the dance floor. Saved for a few minutes from trying to follow the conversation, I staredat Angie, unseen by Joe but Angie suddenly smiled at me and lifted her beer ina silent toast.

I had this … feeling come over me. It was like having been out in bittercold and coming in to stand close to the red-hot stove. My hands and feet started tingling andI felt a sudden warmth flow over me. Something hard, black and bitter broke loose in my heart; the killingwas over – God forgive me! – and I didn’t think I would have thosedamning dreams again.

My face felt like a plastic mask melting in the heat and I felt thestrangeness for a real smile forming, my lips curling up at the edges. Later, after Joe left, she told me thatit seemed like she could see the glacial blue change to the rich blue of a hotTexas summer day.

The band played a few more numbers and we had another round ofbeer. Joe didn’t seem in any hurry to ask Angie to dance – later she toldme that the only time they danced was when she stood up and took his hand– so I leaned forward and asked Joe, loud enough for her to hear, if Icould have a dance with Angie. Notwaiting for an answer, I stood up and pulled her chair back and we stepped onthe dance floor. The sawdust onthe plank floor made it perfect for dancing, although crowded because of itssmall size.

The first song we danced was western swing and we held our own witheveryone else. Before the nextnumber Johnny announced the band would take a break after a slow number. Without asking Angie or looking at Joe,I put my arms around her and slowly waltzed to the far side of the smallfloor.

Angie felt like she had been in my arms forever. We both relaxed into each other anddanced as one. I didn’t pull hertight but I didn’t hold her away either. When the song ended and everyone was clapping, Angie blushed prettilyand thanked me for the dance. Shewent straight back to the ladies room to get ahead of the crush of like-mindedwomen.

I sat down and looked at Joe; he didn’t look too good.

“Danny, I think I’ve had too much to drink. Could you take Angie home for me?”

I walked him over to the bartender and asked him to call a taxi forJoe. He nodded, like it hadhappened before. I assured himthat I’d take care of his girl for him.

As I turned away, I told him, “Joe, you’re my friend and all, but Igotta tell you – I have to have Angie for my own.”

He didn’t answer, just looked at me confused like. As I walked back to the table, I wasn’tsure if I’d actually said it but it was the way I felt.

I pulled out Angie’s chair as I saw her walking back to thetable. The band was settling backin as I told her about Joe.

She looked over at the band for a minute, then back at me. “He’s done that a couple of times. He tries to keep up with all the otherguys but he really can’t hold his booze. I’ve tried to tell him to drink sodas or something, but …”

She gave a deep sigh and shook her head slightly, with a sadness inthose lovely eyes I hated to see. Her hands were folded on the table and I put a hand over hers.

“Angie, I …” and she cut me off before I could say any more.

“Danny, don’t … okay? At least not now,” she pleaded.

I nodded my understanding but truth was I was impatient to tell herhow hard and how deep I’d fallen. We chatted for a while – getting to know each other kind of stuff– while the band was playing some slow tunes. I took her hands again, turned them over, and ran my thumbover the permanent calluses on her palms.

“What’s a girl like you doing with hands like these,” I asked– knowing as I said it that it sounded pretty stupid.

She just nodded, like it was a meaningful question, then asked,surprisingly, “Take me to dinner and I’ll tell you. Can you remember that it’s only dinner and that I’m not yourgirl?” Then she whispered whatsounded like, “And no one else is either,” with a sadness that tore at myheart.

The band had started another swing number and I wasn’t positivethat’s what she said, but the sadness was real. We walked out through the crowded room and started towardsthe far corner of the lot where my truck was parked all by its lonesome, underthe bright light overhead.

As soon as it was clear where we were headed, she came to a deadhalt and asked, “Is that yours? It’s a ’48 F-1, right?”

When I nodded she started walking towards it a little faster, andthrew over her shoulder, “I’m gonna drive it to the restaurant.”

I tried to catch up with her, saying, “Angie, but that’s a stickshift …”

She stopped and turned around, “Hey, buster, you think a womancan’t drive a truck? Jeez!”

So she drove over to the restaurant and we wound up with two bigporterhouse steaks. She wasn’t aparticularly large girl but she ate like a cowhand that hadn’t seen the chuckwagon for three days.

After we placed our order, she started talking about herself.

“I was raised on a ranch over by Fredericksburg. I’m only child and my dad raised me todo everything. I had thesame chores I would have had if I were a boy. I got my first pony when I was six and after that spent asmuch time on a horse as I could. Dad gave me my first rifle when I was ten – it was a WinchesterModel 94 lever action 30.30. Twoyears later I shot my first whitetail with it and dad showed me how to cleanit. From then on if I shot it, Icleaned it.

“I was always smarter than everyone else,” she said this like shewould say she was short or tall, just a fact, and continued, “so I finishedhigh school when I was seventeen. That meant that I could only do one year of high school rodeo,” shepaused and looked askance if I knew what a rodeo was – clearly Joe hadn’ttold her anything about me, “And I did barrel racing.

“I would have to ride my horse for an hour a day getting both of usready. Mostly I trotted her sincethat gets horses in shape the fastest. All the rodeos require official dress: this means I would wear a cowboyhat, a long-sleeved button up shirt, and jeans and boots. Dad would always make me wear new oralmost new jeans.

“You probably don’t know this – a lot of people don’t unlessthey are involved or real fans – but barrel racing involves riding myhorse around three barrels set up in the arena. I had to go around one side of one and circle it, cross thearena floor and do the same with the second barrel and a third and then back tothe gates. Fastest time wins andpoints are taken off for things like touching a barrel.

“I wasn’t the best but I was pretty good. I’m telling you all this so you’ll know about the calluses. Are you confused, or should I go on?”

I made a gesture with my hand to tell me more.

“Anyhow, I’d always wanted to be a vet – large animals, ofcourse – so I went to school in Manhattan, Kansas. I picked that school because my unclelives nearby. I finished myundergrad degree in three years including the pre-vet requirements. I took the full four years to become aveterinarian since I wanted to take some extra courses. I just graduated in May of this year.

“I did some of the local rodeos for the fun of it either hereduring the summer or up there using one of my uncle’s horses. For the three years of my undergrad Iwas on the equestrian Hunt Squad and Western Action Teams. It wasn’t rodeo but it was fun.”

She looked at me with a searching glance. “None of this means anything to you, does it?”

I smiled, and commented, “Well, it does explain your calluses. So you are a vet now?” At her nod, I continued, “Where do youpractice now?”

“I’m right here in Bandera. One of the guys that was doing the large animals moved out of state andI took his place. But my dream isto have my own practice and just do ranch animals. What about you? What do you do? And where do you live?”

“Well, first I live with my granddad, out on 470 just short ofTarpley. You must have heard ofhim; he does a lot of business with your practice. Everyone calls him Daddy Jim.”

At that she turned white and exclaimed, “Oh, God, you are thatDanny, the one that came home from the war. He talked so much about you and … oh, Danny, I’m soembarrassed. I saw your picture onthe wall at the 101 Ranch Rodeo in Oklahoma. You were riding that bad-tempered Brahma, Tornado!”

I smiled at her discomfort, “Well, if you remember the picture Iwas about six inches above Tornado and moving away rapidly. Yeah, I rode him for all for threeseconds. Not one of my finermoments. If I remember right thepicture was of the bull, not me”

“But, Danny, you were a professional, and I was running on and onabout barrel racing. Your lastname is different – I guess he was your mom’s dad – and I nevermade the connection when Joe introduced us. I feel so silly!”

I laughed a little and gave her a big smile, “Angie, I wasfascinated. I have to say thateverything about you fascinates me – especially your eyes. They are so enchanting …”

“Danny, don’t. I can’t…”

“Angie, can I ask one question?”

She nodded, not looking too happy about it. I took her left hand in mine and rubbedher ring finger, like I was looking for something. I turned it over, then back.”

She looked confused, and asked, “What are you looking for?”

“Joe told me you were engaged. I was just looking for the ring.”

“He said that? He’snever said anything. Oh, I know helikes me – a woman can tell that – but he’s never even hinted …”

I didn’t say anymore so I paid the bill and we left. She did let me drive her home in mytruck. When we got there I jumpedout and opened her door. Shelooked surprised – I guess she didn’t see much of that from Joe … oranyone else. At her door I tookher elbows and looked in her eyes; fell into them was closer to the truth.

I kissed her gently on her forehead, and whispered in her ear, “Youfelt something between us when we were dancing, didn’t you?”

She looked down; glanced up at me, then back down as she whispered,“Yes,” with a sense of wonder. Sheturned and ran for her door and I walked slowly back to my truck.

That night I slept the sleep of the just … even though I knew Iwasn’t. I woke with the dawn andlay there thinking. My thoughts ofAngie were juxtaposed with those of Danny, the killer. I smiled as I thought of her, hertouch, her soft voice and hard hands. Her gentleness and essential toughness at peace with each other –a peace I felt I’d never be able to attain. I feared that when she found out what I had done … how many Ihad killed – she would take the safe route and marry Joe. Just from that thought I felt the coldnesscreeping back into my heart.

TOMORROW … AND ALL THE TOMORROWS TO COME

Hey, Joe!

Now we'll be friends till the end.

This looks like the end, my friend,

I gotta have that dolly for my own.

I saw Joe a couple of days later at the bank. It was almost lunchtime so he asked ifhe could buy me lunch, “… to thank me for taking care of Angie.”

Feeling a bit guilty – but not too much – I went withhim.

“Danny, what do you think about her?”

“Well, Joe, have you said anything to her? I mean, have you told her you love herand want to marry her? Have youbrought a ring?”

He looked out the window for a long moment, “No, I haven’t saidanything. I’m afraid to. What if she says no? I love her so much I can’t live withouther. God, I’d die.”

I felt I had to be honest with him. Everything had to be on the table for all to see. “Joe, I think you should talk to herand see how she feels. You can’tlet it drift forever – what if she finds someone else because you waitedtoo long.”

He nodded, but looked scared by the whole thing. I started wondering if he was somewhatunbalanced but I shrugged it off. It wasn’t my problem … at least I didn’t think so.

“Joe, I’ve got to be fair with you. We’ve been friends on and off since grade school. But I like Angie and I want hermyself. This is where we can’t befriends anymore. The only problemis that when she finds out I was a sniper in the Marines she won’t wantanything to do with me.”

I knew immediately when I’d said that last part I had made amistake. Joe was looking out thewindow at my truck and didn’t look up as I left.

I knew Joe would tell her about the sniper stuff and my burgeoningdreams of love and a new life would fade faster than they started. That night the Viet Cong sniper paid meanother visit and my soul felt empty as I came to understand the disgust thatAngie would feel for me.

Daddy Jim knew something had happened but he didn’t sayanything. I threw myself intoplanning for the winter rodeo season and working with Jim as he was now askingme to call him.

“You’re as much my son as your dad was but, more than that, you aremy friend and my partner.”

I told him I would but it was sure hard to remember. A month went by and I didn’t see eitherJoe or Angie. I did make a tripwith Jim to San Angelo to deliver a couple of calves and that gave us a lot oftime to talk. In his gentle butpersistent way he got me to talk about everything: Joe and Angie and the wholesniper thing that was weighing so heavily on me.

I told him all about it, what it was like being a sniper, of how Ifelt when I killed someone. I toldhim of Angie and her violet eyes – he smiled at that but didn’t sayanything, just listened to me. Ifelt better having talked to him. I’d never said anything to anyone about what I had done and how I felt.

It was suddenly a couple days before Thanksgiving and Daddy Jim -well, Jim - asked, ”Do you have any plans for dinner on Thursday?”

I shook my head no, wondering where he was coming from.

“I’ve got a gal said she would fix a turkey if she could joinus. You okay with that?”

Hell, I didn’t know the old goat was seeing anyone! “Jim, that’s fine. Do you need me to do anything?”

Thursday morning I was loafing around when Jim came out freshlyshaven and dressed nice. I hadn’tplanned on doing either – actually I kind of felt like a third wheel.

“Danny, you gonna just lounge around like you don’t have anythingto be thankful about? Beproud boy! You served yourcountry, you had great parents, and we got us a nice ranch. Now go shave and get dressed.”

It was easier to do what he said than argue, and he was right. I was drowning myself in the morass ofmy own problems but on the whole life was pretty good. I shined my boots, put on some new bluejeans and a white shirt. Jimnodded his okay and when the doorbell rang, asked me to get it.

I opened the door with some degree of curiosity – wonderingabout this lady friend of my granddad’s I hadn’t heard anything about. I was stunned to find Angie standingthere, her arms burdened with several bowls of food.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Get the turkey out of my truck.”

With that she stood on her toes and kissed my cheek. I turned and watched her walking intothe ranch house, my hand on my cheek where she had placed her lips. She was wearing a sweater skirtcombination that showed the promise of her soft curves. I somehow got the turkey into thekitchen where she and Jim were talking like old friends … as I found out theywere – at least since she had started at the vet clinic in May.

I was somewhere, time out of mind, and wandered through theafternoon in somewhat of a daze. That’s not to mean I didn’t enjoy it, I just wasn’t … focused. After dinner Jim said he had to run anerrand so I helped Angie clean up.

Later, we took coffee into the living room. I tried to start but Angie cut me off.

“No, I’d like to have my say first if that’s okay. First, about Joe: I had no idea he feltthe way he did. He was a friend ofmy roommate and we dated some but that was all. He was pleasant and non-threatening. I didn’t know anyone in town so Ilooked at him as more of an escort than anything else.

“I heard from Harry, who owns the jewelry store, that Joe waslooking at engagement rings. Hewas surprised when Joe mentioned my name. Harry had a mare with a complicated delivery and I went to his place tohelp out. We became friends and heand his wife have had me over for dinner a couple of times.

“I knew then I had to talk to Joe before he went too far. About a week later I asked him over tothe clinic so we could talk in the conference room. I didn’t want to be alone with him for the discussion weneeded to have. I told him how Ifelt and as I talked he got this weird look on his face and I started gettingworried. When I finished, he tooka box out of his pocket and took a ring out. He held it up to the light, studying it with an intense lookon his face.

“Then he stared at me with a look of furious hate on his face andthrew the ring at me as hard as he could – luckily it hit my hair andfell to the floor. He turned andstormed out, slamming the door. Itook the ring back to Harry and I haven’t seen Joe since. I also heard that he quit at the bank.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No, just let it go. Can I talk to you about something else?”

I just nodded, curious now.

“Remember what I told you about hunting with my dad? How I shot my first buck when I wastwelve? I got another onethe next year but about that time I decided I wanted to be a vet. Suddenly the killing for sport seemedawful to me. Oh, I wasn’t aprig about it. It is part of ourculture and I know my dad enjoys it, but it wasn’t for me anymore.

“I started volunteering at the local vet office and I came tounderstand that there is a difference between killing for sport, or profit orany other reason and killing for humane reasons. We sometimes have to put down a dog or horse that’svicious. A family pet ages andgets to the point it can’t even stand and euthanizing it is the kind thing todo.

“Joe told me about your being a sniper in the war. I was disgusted with him, as hismotivation became clear. But,Danny, this wasn’t something you did for sport or fun. Do you feel like grabbing a gun andshooting some one? I don’t thinkso. In fact, I know you aren’tlike that. I can see in your eyesthe pain and anguish you’ve suffered for doing your duty. What you did saved the lives of many ofyour comrades. That’s somethingyou should be proud of and take comfort in.”

She walked over and sat on my lap and took my head in herhands. “Danny, let the pain go ...it’s not your fault.”

I looked into the depths of those velvety, violet eyes and felttears come to mine. I startedcrying, silently, as did she. Weheld each other for a long time. Later, when I woke, I realized I had been sleeping with my head on herlap. Her eyes were closed but whenI reached up to touch her cheek with my hand, they opened and she smiled at me.

In a soft voice, she whispered, “You can ask me on a date if youwant.”

I wanted and from then on we would get together once or twice aweek when I was in town. Neither of us saw or heard anything of Joe. It was like he dropped off the face of the earth.

It was the middle of January and I was driving into Bandera on theway to San Antonio. Jim and I haddecided to take on a partner to do all the work I was doing and I would takeover most of the breeding part. Iwas driving to meet the potential partner for a couple of hours to talk aboutour needs and expectations. Thesun was bright on my too dirty windshield as I was squinting from behind thevisor to see the road as clearly as I could. I saw a sudden movement coming from the right – aflash of blue, then … nothing.

~~~~~~

It was two days later when I came out of the drug-inducedcoma. I had a small amount ofbleeding in the brain from the trauma, several broken ribs and a fracturedright clavicle. The doctor didn’teven talk about the various bruises and contusions, though I was well aware ofthem.

Angie was asleep when I came to but awoke right away with thecommotion of the doctors and nurses. It didn’t look like any permanent damage – just a whole hell of alot of discomfort. Angie hadbeen by my side the whole time, sleeping on a cot one of the nurses broughtin. A Texas State Trooper came tosee me but there really wasn’t much I could say, and he didn’t tell meanything.

After I felt somewhat better Angie told me what had happened.

“It was Joe. I guesshe just snapped. He was trying tokill you and was almost successful.” Here she started crying and sat on the edge of the bed, holding myhand. “He didn’t have his seatbelt on and he went through his windshield into your truck. He … well, he didn’t make it. The trooper said they looked for asuicide note in the wreckage but didn’t find anything. They decided to list it as attemptedmurder and suicide.”

She leaned over on me, crying, but jumped back when she felt mewince from my ribs.

“Oh, God, Danny, I’m sorry.”

I took her hand and pulled her back to the edge of the bed. We talked some more, and then she wenthome to get some rest.

A week later I was released from the hospital and we put our plansin place. Since Jim wasstill around, it wasn’t going to be full time for me. I had a long talk with Angie and told her I wanted to workwith her.

“Angie, I want to do what you do, heal things. I don’t want to go to school for sevenyears but I have been checking into several vet technician programs. If I do that, would you hire me?”

She laughed and said, “You betcha!”

When I finished the two-year program, we put up a building close tothe highway - where the drive turned off to the ranch - for a new office forAngie to do her thing. We put asmall apartment in the back of the building and Angie moved into that. We had not been in too much of a hurryto marry because both of us were adamant that this was something we only wantedto do once and to do that forever. I still had some healing to do - it took a long time for me to becomecomfortable with what I had done and while she was sure of our love she wantedto be even surer.

It was three years after I came home from the terrors of war beforewe joined our lives forever. Ayear after that, Daddy Jim died, just six months before Big Jim was born. We called him that since he weighedover nine pounds at birth.

My demons have gone to sleep … although they do visit once inawhile to make sure I appreciate the gifts that God has given me. With Angie’s love I was able to livewith the past – and to live for the future with my family.

Hey Joe