SheRetired: The Cowboy at Denny's

The Fourth of July and Christmas are Jack's favorite holidays.

It was March 28, 2001 at the Denny’s along I-80. For the dinner hour, the place was deserted.

The waitress was a skinny thing with pale skin and a bright yellow, cotton candy textured bob in a shade that was probably invented by her hairdresser. As a woman who spent time shopping for boxed blue black or soft black hair dye, I already know you could not possibly find that shade of blond anywhere in nature.

She brought me a plate of fried chicken wings and other samples of grease, refilled my extra-large glass of Mountain Dew and left me with a glass of ice before sliding across the room to the trucker who took a seat in a booth by the window. The afternoon light is harsh on anyone over the age of 20, but this man was good looking in a haggard sort of way. He stretched his long legs into the aisle to reveal tight black jeans over brand new steel-toed boots. I think black jeans went out of style about ten years ago, but he had short hair under his ball cap and sported two days’ worth of beard.

If you were about to be newly single past the age of 40, sometimes any man in tight jeans can look like a fashion model. Sometimes, a man can be like a mirage and actually look attractive from across the room.

I had just started my new job a month ago, and I had already put in for a month’s vacation. I didn’t want to admit it so early in the game, but I hated my job. Although I had attended the academy for six weeks, I was not prepared for the job. To my surprise, my new employer went along with my vacation wishes and arranged people to fill in while I was gone. I couldn’t lie to myself. I had taken the vacation because I thought I would like the new job when I returned. I was hoping my vacation would give me an attitude adjustment.

I was all wrong for the job. I was still married, but was determined to get a divorce. My soon-to-be ex did me a favor and moved to another state. In his pea brain, he expected me to drop everything and work a joint in Florida. I found a lawyer in a small town to represent me and shouldn’t be paying more than a grand for my divorce. He was a short man as tall as me, and with his legal assistant, they worked hard at getting my divorce in less than a year’s time.

I had a caseload of youthful offenders that I didn’t really know what to do with. I never had children, so learning how to deal with their lies and manipulation tactics was a learning experience. I was new, and I gave them all of my attention. In my eyes, they were a needy group of children who had committed the worst of crimes as sexual offenders. They were going to remain in the system. From my experience, I already knew that. They knew that. But in my heart, I was frustrated. There was nothing I could do to change this. My boys were going to prison, no matter what I did.

I found myself crying on the way to work and crying all the way home at the end of the shift. When I reached the workplace, I wanted to floor it. The thought of ending up in Tulare, Turlock or Merced wouldn’t bother me at all.

So as I sat at the counter with a plate of grease and a drink with enough sugar and caffeine to bring on the pounds and other ailments, I worked on a lesson plan. I thought the boys would enjoy a fairy tale. I would read them a fairy tale, but something with a modern twist. At the counter, I was making notes as I skimmed through Bruno Bettelheim’s book on fairy tales.

What was I thinking back then? None of them had a childhood, so how could they understand fairy tales? None of them had mothers who sang to them or read to them like I did. I had to deal with their parents, too. Most of them were barely existing on an Oregon mountaintop on meth or were already incarcerated in a California prison. They weren’t mothers who put on aprons and baked cookies or fathers who took their boys fishing. Anytime you leave your child in an institution, for whatever reason, you are basically throwing them away.

“Will you please give Arthur and extra blanket tonight?” one mother asked me. “I read it’s going to be cold in Stockton.”

Sometimes, it took all I could not to tell these parents to shove it. I couldn’t see past the fact that if you had kids and brought them into this world, weren’t you the one responsible for them? As it turns out, Arthur is a great kid. His is a little slow, but should benefit from years of therapy and education. They all could.

But what would I know? I was only on the job for a month and already hated it. I was making the most money I had made in my life.


A spectacular view of Lake Tahoe and the casinos from the Heavenly Valley Gondola.

From across the room, I could hear the waitress laughing this horsey type of laugh. She stood near the trucker and was twirling a short strand of her hair. Her pen and pad were in the front pocket of her apron.

At the entrance of the restaurant, I saw this tall man in a black cowboy hat. He took off his hat and had to duck. He probably had to spend his days ducking through doorways. He was that tall.

He nodded at the waitress and sat next to me.

Just Heavenly in July 2011.

“Hiyadoin,” he said softly. “Hiyadoin.” His voice was low, his eyes a soft shade of brown. When the waitress strolled over, he ordered a salad with ranch dressing on the side. She returned with water and iced tea. Most likely, he was a regular.

“Are you a student?” he asked.

I wasn’t expecting company and felt I needed to entertain him. I was forty, and you could say I was a student. I was married so long, and now I was now forced to catch up on life. About six months ago, I had looked into the eyes of my ex and told him that I didn’t want him in my life. I was pleased that the fight to make me miserable was no longer his priority. To my surprised, he backed up, didn't fight me and shortly after, he left the state.

I found myself talking about Bruno Bettelheim and incarcerated California inmates and wards. This had been my life for 14 years. I remained in California, but was away from my hometown of Sacramento for over a decade. He was born in Sacramento like me, but never ventured out.

“I’m leaving for a Caribbean cruise tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?” He seemed amused that I was going alone. “When are you coming back?”

“Late next Saturday night. Maybe around midnight.”

“Give me your email, and I’ll write you,” he said with confidence.

“Really?” I scribbled my email address on a piece of paper and pushed it towards him.

If he pays for my plate of grease, I’m that’s a very good sign, I thought. Lots of cheap guys out there.

He pulled out some bills from his wallet and left them under his water glass to pay for our snacks.

When I got home from the cruise, I turned on the computer and saw his message. I wasn't expecting to hear from him again, and I was pleasantly surprised.

“Hello,” the IM from The Cowboy immediately appeared onscreen.

I dropped all my bags and sat down at my computer.

“Well, hello.” My hands were shaking as I typed, but we’ve been together since.

Our first date? Tahoe the following week. We constructed a snow bunny because we didn’t have enough snow for a snow man.