Page 44 of The Idiot

I don’t know why that has me perking up, but I feel a sense of kinship knowing there’s someone here who lives in the sticks like I do.

“No, I know it. I’m from Washington.”

“Really? What part?”

“Central. Have you ever heard of Wenatchee?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “No kidding? I go up to Ellensburg for the rodeos.”

Shut the front door. “You… rodeo?”

“No. I raise show cattle. I’m not a rodeo rider or anything like that. Ranching’s hell enough on my back. I don’t need to get thrown off a cow or horse just for the hell of it. Not enough money in the world for that if you ask me.”

“Get the hell out. I used to go to the Ellensburg Rodeo with my dad when I was younger.”

“No shit?” He laughs, turning to face me. “Small world.”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

Finally, someone I connect with, and not by way of affixing themselves to my appendages. We gaze over the ballroom in amicable silence. It’s the first sense of ease I’ve found on this trip. Sometimes being able to share silence comfortably with someone is just as important as being able to converse with them. Jesse and I have that… once he burns off his energy. I don’t know how long it will take me to relinquish the number one spot in my heart to another person, but it probably couldn’t hurt to make another friend.

“I think that was the first time I really acknowledged without a doubt that I was gay,” I tell the kindly stranger. “The first rodeo my dad took me to,” I elaborate. “I was fascinated by all the cowboys in their tight jeans.”

Chuckling, he turns back to the bar, leaning on his folded arms. “Might have been mine, too. Guess I’m still fascinated, if I’m being honest.”

We share a laugh over that. Damned if I know why, since I sure didn’t feel like socializing tonight, but I extend my hand eagerly.

“I’m Murphy, by the way.”

Glancing down at my hand, the corner of his mouth ticks up before he returns his gaze to mine. The strength in his hand is evident, along with the calluses from hard work as he shakes mine.

“Rod. Nice to meet you, Murphy, from Wenatchee.”

There’s an unspoken approval in his eyes over a good old-fashioned handshake I admire. No vanity. No coquettishness. No flare. Yeah. Rod and I could get along.

“So, you don’t go to the rodeo anymore?”

“Nah. My dad passed, and our orchard keeps me pretty busy. No time for ogling cowboys.”

Shit. That sounded like a pickup line. He’s kind of a cowboy, isn’t he? Not exactly the friendship flag I was trying to raise.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Running any kind of land is more than a full-time job. I know that all too well, and I’ve got my brother to help me.”

“It’s fine. He’s been gone three years now. It’s just me and my mom. We don’t have a huge operation, but, yeah, it’s time-consuming.”

“Well, I’m glad you took some time away for yourself. Meeting another farmer here makes me feel less guilty about getting away.”

“I know what you mean. Not much time for vacations when you’re your own boss.”

“Worst boss I ever had,” he jokes, and I share in his laughter because I feel that sentiment in my bones—the responsibility of knowing not just your livelihood but your family’s namesake rests on your shoulders.

We talk about our work for a while, falling into easy conversation. It’s surreal to learn how often he’s near the same locale as me after living a lifetime feeling like I was the only rainbow fish in a big pond. It’s… comforting to meet someone whose lifestyle is similar to mine.And, he’s met Lasso Ted. Lasso Ted! Not just seen him at a show, he knows him. I didn’t even know Lasso Ted was still alive.

I don’t realize how close we’ve shifted toward each other to hear over the music until he nudges my shoulder with his. “You should come down to Ellensburg sometime. Give yourself a break. I’ll be back up there in November. We could critique the cowboys together. My brother would thank you,” he jokes.

“Not a cowboy fan, is he?”

Snorting, he takes a sip of his beer and then grins. “No. He’s more of a barrel bunny fan.”

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