There was always somethin’ there ‘tween ’em. He’d look up from the want ads and there’d she be; hoverin’ over him with a pot of coffee ready to pour. It was like it was magic; she could read him and he could read her. Timing is everything; right?
So, they sat at the kitchen table. Him, poking holes in his scrambled eggs. She, spreading grape jelly onto a piece of dry white toast. This ritual had been goin’ on for a number of years. Went on when their son and daughter were in grade school. Went on after they graduated. It was like it was a ceremony or somethin’. He’d be dressed in his work clothes while she stood over the stove in her white robe that ran all the way down to her blue ankles. They’d chat a little bit. Ask how the other slept. She never complained of his snoring. He never said a word ’bout her gasping for air. They tolerated these annoyances.
There were times when he felt like leavin’. Headin’ out to Durango, or maybe El Paso. But, she could read his mind. She knew when these thoughts occurred. They usually took place after a week of drinkin’. Or, when he’d managed to slip and fall into bed with another woman. She knew ’bout that also.
Sometimes he had dreams of takin’ off to Montana or Wyoming. He had dreams of layin’ a lasso on a calf’s head; right ’round her neck and pull then tag it like real cowboys. She’d look at him with those blue eyes when these thoughts crossed his mind. She didn’t have to say a word. He’d just take his filled Thermos and give her a kiss on the cheek.
You have a good day now, she’d say, You hear?, He’d give her a kiss on the other side and walk out the door without sayin’ a word. Just like a real cowboy.