A Cowgirl's Epiphany

Curt's cell phone rang. Lanie could tell by the conversation it was Martin. Lanie was slipping her boots on to help feed cattle with her half-brother. She could hear the cold rattling engine of the John Deere tractor and knew her half-brother, who lived across the way, would be about ready to feed.

"Yeah, buddy... Sounds good," Curt was saying. "We'll be there. What does Nan want us to bring? Sounds good. Bye."

"So nice of Curt to ask me if I even wanted to go over there..." Lanie thought to herself as she took her old feeding jacket from off the hook. Lately, Lanie had been frustrated, and she didn't know why. She couldn't even get excited about New Year's.

Lanie stared at Curt. She watched him stop at the hallway mirror and catch a glimpse of himself before putting on his ball cap. Lanie held back a smile, then ordered, "Come on, let's go feed. Pat's waiting. There's a couple of new baby calves we gotta check on."

She was unable to place a finger on her exasperations. Was it because of the way she felt her half-brother and sister-in-law seemed to be pushing her off the ranch? Was it the fact that Curt's parents were grooming him to take over their jewelry store business and then expecting both Curt and Lanie to work in their jewelry store just exactly like they did? To mimic their life--eat, sleep, and breathe jewelry? Lanie didn't mind working there now, but the idea of working in a long, narrow hallway of a jewelry store for the rest of her life was claustrophobic and frightening--deep down it was feeling more and more like a long jail sentence. Curt's parents didn't seem at all ready to retire--at least not for some time.

Both of his parents chain-smoked, especially while at work. They smoked just out the back door of the jewelry store, rarely closing the door, thus a cloud of smoke would waft back into and through the jewelry store. Not only did Lanie's eyes burn from their habits, but it made the walls close even farther in Lanie's mind. How long will I be required to work in this store? Ten years? No, probably more like twenty years? Maybe thirty years? Longer? What if that's not what I want to do the rest of my life? Will we get married? What if we divorce? Where do I fit in any of this--here or the ranch? She found herself anxiously pondering these questions more often than not lately and found the need to take deep breaths. As much as her mother encouraged independence and always let Lanie make her own choices in life, Lanie felt she had no control of anything.

Everything she wanted to do required a college degree. The community college she attended for two years out of high school offered little, a few AA certificates in some fields, leaving Lanie feeling trapped in a beautiful future which she had very little interest.

For Christmas Curt insisted she open her gift early. "Open it now," he said as they drove out to the ranch on Christmas Eve. Inside the box was a pair of gold studded earrings with beautiful half-carat "CZ's." That's right, CZ's--cubic zirconias, perfect imitation diamonds with no flaws. With all seriousness, after she unwrapped the gift, Curt confessed they were CZs and made Lanie promise to tell all their friends and family they were real diamonds. Was this why he wanted me to open it early? Lanie asked herself. She thanked him graciously and put them in her ears as Curt steered his shiny new truck out to the muddy ranch.

"They're so beautiful," her half-sister said later that Christmas Eve.

"Gorgeous, you lucky girl," her best friend Dana said when they met for lunch the day after Christmas. Both girls worked in town now and often met for lunch. She wanted to tell Dana they weren't real diamonds, but she promised Curt.

Lanie returned through the back door of the jewelry store after lunch. Curt was at the workbench resizing a ring and set everything down. "You told Dana they were diamonds, right? When you start taking better care of your jewelry, I'll buy you lots of diamonds--big ones," Curt teasingly chastised as he stopped what he was doing and pulled her closer. Lanie blushed and smiled. Then she shrugged her shoulders and looked down to the ground.

She remembered her embarrassment and frustration awhile back. Curt had driven out to the ranch, stopped at the corrals where her and her half-brother were working with the cattle on horseback and discovered Lanie wearing her some of the rings he had given her. He had made her take her gloves off to see exactly what jewelry she was wearing. "I asked you not to. It's just that horseback riding is really hard on ring prongs," Curt implored. Lanie, still sitting on her horse reached down and pet her horse on his wet neck. Rusty was sweaty after sorting calves from the cows so they could vaccinate a few. Lanie understood Curt's point. "I'm wearing gloves," she said as a means of consolation, but knew it wasn't enough. In embarrassment, she reined Rusty away from the fence to go help her half-brother.

* * *

But now, it was about 8:15 on New Year's Eve. Curt and Lanie walked in Martin and Nancy's house. It was formerly the Bailey Ranch. Martin and Nancy had recently rented the house. The house was an old two-story white Victorian-style home not far from Lanie's family's ranch. Orlo Bailey had passed away and Lehma had moved to an apartment in town. Orlo had been one of Lanie's dad's best friends and the two families once shared a ranch for grazing cattle in the spring and summer in the hills north of Eagle Lake in Grasshopper Valley. Lanie had attended the Standish Bible Church off and on most of her life and Lehma played the piano each Sunday for the congregation. Lanie had a great respect and reverence for Orlo and Lehma and even for this house. This house was theirs and would always be. It made Lanie sad not to see Orlo or Lehma at the door anymore. Lanie's dad died when she was thirteen, she had been in eighth grade. She missed her father, but didn't feel she could talk about it much to anyone. Lehma Bailey and their other neighbor, Diese Theodore, were stalwart and influential women in Lanie's life. They didn't dwell or show pity when her dad died, but supported her through church. Both showed her family respectful and neighborly kindness. It felt almost sacrilege to be partying in Orlo and Lehma's house. Maybe that's why Lanie was reluctant for New Year's.

But her frustrations ran deeper. Lanie had begun to realize her dad's passing had made it easier for her half-brother and sister-in-law to strong-arm the entire ranch from their mom. Lanie felt their impatient greed for the entire ranch and they got their way. Her brother always got his way. What about me? Lanie asked, but didn't have the courage to ask her mom. It was my dad's ranch. He was my dad, not Pat's dad."

Curt was carrying a ten-gauge shotgun in its case into Martin and Nan's house. He sat it on the back porch and placed a bottle of Wild Turkey on the counter with the other bottles of spirits. Lanie placed a plate with a garlic cheese ball and crackers on the kitchen table with the other hors d'oeuvres already there.

The gang was in the living room and someone was requesting Hank Williams, Jr., music. "I wanna hear "All My Rowdy Friends," Burr hollered.

Mark's wife, Jodi, suggested, "Then you have to play "Country Boy Can Survive."

"Hell, yeah," Mark agreed. "Ain't that right, honey? Country folk can survive," Mark sang off-key as he hugged Jodi. Sweet Jodi nodded her head. They were the perfect couple.

Hank began to sing his dirge about his lack of friends. Martin's speakers shook the single-paned windows of the old Bailey house. The only music this house had ever heard was Lehma's piano music, Lanie thought to herself. "Somebody give me a chew..." Curt said. Burr took out a round can of Copenhagen from his back pocket, hit the side of the can to his palm twice, then twisted the metal lid off and offered the tobacco to Curt.

"Lanie," Burr ordered, "take a dip."

"No thank you, Burr, I'm a Skoal girl myself."

"You got some? Who's got some Skoal?" Burr yelled. "I wanna see Lanie take a dip of Skoal."

"Just pour some of that peppermint schnapps in that Copenhagen and it'll taste just like Skoal," Martin chuckled. Lanie laughed.

"Gross," Nan retorted. "Hey, girls, let's go into the kitchen so we can at least hear each other and talk.

It was such a contradiction and felt like a horrible sin to be sitting in Lehma Bailey's kitchen drinking the strong Rumplemintz that Tom and Dana had brought. Each girl lifted the holiday shot glasses and toasted one another. And from the other room they could hear Hank Williams, Jr. singing:

"And I think I know what my father meant

When he sang about a lost highway and old George Jones

I'm glad to see he's finally getting straight..."

Headlights radiated around the kitchen and then dimmed out. The front gate opened and the girls could hear footsteps.

"It must be Martin's cousin, John, but we call him Bruzzone. He's from the Bay Area," Nan stated as she opened the door. The man gave Nan a peck on the cheek and brought a bottle of Hennessy.

"Cognac, only the finest for you, my dear. I also brought ingredients to make some hors d'oeuvres, I hope that's okay."

"Of course, Bruzzone," Nan said. "I hope you didn't have trouble finding your way."

"Oh, your map was perfect. I had no problem."

"Bruzzone, I'd like you to meet our friends, this is Dana, Jodi, Lanie, and, of course, you know my sister, Rebecca. Girls, this is Martin's cousin, John Bruzzone, but we all just call him Bruzzone. The boys are in the living room, let me introduce you." Nan grabbed his hand and led Bruzzone through the swinging door of the kitchen and introductions were made.

Bruzzone looked to be about 35 and balding. He wore round, gold-rimmed styled glasses. He dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He was a man, but different. He was--a "city man." He had a deep voice. He entered the house with a forced smile it seemed. He seemed stressed. It was even, perhaps, questionable if he was straight or not. But, he radiated intrigue, intelligence, and manners. He was not like anyone else Lanie had ever met.

Bruzzone returned to the kitchen and went right to work. Nan was appointed Bruzzone's "sous chef" and chopped vegetables for salsa and guacamole. The chips Bruzzone brought were from Trader Dicks--a store unavailable to that part of the state for hundreds of miles. Two of the ladies returned to the living room to mingle with the others. Nan continued to help Bruzzone while Lanie and Jodi visited. They learned that Bruzzone was an English major in college, but spent most of his life residing in Oakland or Alameda working in car parts stores. He had a sharp memory and could spit out almost any car's part number. His dad was an attorney and president of the California Bar Association, but soon to retire. On the weekends he volunteered as a chef at a jazz club in Alameda. "Two of my great loves," Bruzzone said. He aspired to be a full-time chef and loved jazz. He was different and unique--more so than any human Lanie had ever met. Listening to Bruzzone made Lanie want to travel. Bruzzone made her want to meet new and different people. Lanie wanted to go to a jazz club, she'd never been to one. Bruzzone's culinary passion made her want to try new foods. She wanted to go to this Waldon Pond Book Store in Oakland. She wanted to go to Trader Dicks. He had traveled to England recently and loved Herrod's. Lanie had always wanted to travel. Bruzzone was different, unique, exceptional, bright, kind, and worldly.

By 10:30, the music was louder and had switched to Luke Bryan's "Spring Break" CD. Bruzzone had brought fresh crab and baguette bread loaves from the Bay Area and decided to whip up a hot crab dip.

"Lanie," Bruzzone said as she and Jodi were headed into the living room to check on Mark and Curt, "would you be so kind to be my sous chef?" Lanie grinned and began to shred the flavorful cheeses Bruzzone had brought from Trader Dicks. Instead of a cream cheese, he had brought mascarpone cheese. Lanie had never even heard of mascarpone--or brie. Bruzzone said the next time he visited, he would bring her the best brie in the Bay Area. Bruzzone asked lots of questions. He asked questions about growing up on a ranch. He commented on the beauty of the old Bailey house. He genuinely listened as Lanie told him about Orlo and Lehma and what special people they were to Lanie.

At 11:50, the group headed outside, including the men with their guns, to fire them off at midnight. Lanie ran back into the house to find her cell phone. She was tipsy, but remembered wanting to call her mom. After several rings her mom picked up. "Happy New Year, Mom! I love you. Hey, open up the front door at midnight, listen for our gunshots. We're over at Orlo and Lehma's old house now. Martin and Nan just moved in. I love you. We'll be careful. Happy New Year. Bye."

She ended the call and looked at Bruzzone who was returning through doorway of the kitchen. He had that tense smile on his face and said he was looking around for his coat, that he'd got some strings of firecrackers from Chinatown. Lanie felt her face flush. What was this feeling?

She felt like she was in the presence of some modern prince. He was an old-soul, and at the same time, a contemporary Renaissance man. Bruzzone represented what else was out there in the world. Lanie realized she rather had a crush on this new stranger and romanticized the lifestyle she'd never experienced--and probably never would. But Bruzzone's presence was opening up shutters, windows, and doors to the world beyond Lanie's world. She understood the beauty and safety of her world, but wanted to experience more before settling down with Curt. Maybe losing the ranch from any grip she did have would be a blessing in disguise. A freedom that her half-brother and his wife would never be able to experience. Freedom from their negativity. A freedom she'd never known before.

"Come on," Lanie said to Bruzzone, "we're going to miss it."

"Where are they? I have horrendous night vision," Bruzzone replied. Lanie grabbed Bruzzone's hand and led him around to the other side of Orlo and Lehma's house where the group was.

The boys were getting their shotguns ready. Burr had his bear pistol pointed in the air but was having trouble holding his arm steady. "Somebody take that gun out of his hand," Jodi said.

Burr, being Burr, stated, "No one's taking my gun outta my hand. What are you? A bunch of politicians or somethin'?"

Nan was busy watching the time on her new smart watch Martin had given her for Christmas. "We got about two minutes, everyone," she announced.

Lanie had settled herself nearby under an old tree with an old swing hanging from one of the branches. The ancient wooden swing seat was the perfect perch for the spectacle that was about to take place. This is probably a swing that Orlo made for the grandchildren, she thought to herself. As the boys loaded their shotguns, Bruzzone stood behind Lanie and began to push Lanie just ever so slightly in the tree swing. Lanie, in her head, began to recite a poem by Robert Lewis Stevenson that her mom used to read to her:

How would you like to go up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Nan said, "About twenty seconds, guys." Bruzzone had was now stooped down and fumbling with the firecrackers and his cigarette lighter.

"10... 9... 8...," Nan counted.

But Burr stumbled back into Curt. Curt's 10-gauge misfired to his right and instantly an unintentional blast ruptured their ears and echoed in the frozen night air.

"Whoa," someone said. Then silence.

One side of the swing had collapsed and the seat was left dangling and twisting from its last tether. Lanie had collapsed to the ground, but was sitting upright. In irreverent time, Bruzzone's string of Chinatown's firecrackers finally sparked and viciously rattled the cold air like a snake violently fighting its prey. Its noise and smoke only added to the mayhem and confusion.

Everyone was shaken. The group had ran over to where Lanie was sitting on the ground.

"What the?" Mark exclaimed as the last firecracker ceased.

"Oh my God! What just happened?" ask Jodi.

"Dang you, Burr!" someone yelled.

"How'd that happen?" Burr shouted. "I didn't do nothin!"

"Yeah, right," someone retorted.

"Oh my God, Lanie," Dana said. "Are you okay?"

"I cannot believe this happened," someone said.

Lanie's eyes were wide. She was motionless and speechless. She looked around at the group and then down at her hands. She slowly reached up and touched her face. After a collective pause from the huddling friends, Lanie began to laugh. Curt's gun had severed one of the old swing's ropes that Orlo Bailey had tied to the tree all those years ago. The buckshot had flown just above Lanie's head and to the right of Bruzzone, who miraculously had been fumbling with the firecrackers.

Lanie, in her shock, laid back on the hard, frozen dead grass and looked up at the stars, her ears were ringing from the shotgun and firecrackers' blasts. The sulfuric smell and grey smoke of the gunpowder hung in the air. Lanie was heaving with laughter and then tears. She saw the stars overhead in the beautiful black sky on this cold, crisp New Year's Eve. Each star seemed brilliant and crystalline and then blurred as hot tears welled-up and trickled down the sides of her face.

"Baby, are you okay?" Curt was kneeling beside her. "It was an accident. Are you hurt? I'm so sorry."

"Geez, Curt," she whispered, then jumped as her cell phone started to ring in her back pocket. It was her mom, who said she didn't hear any guns, but wished everyone a Happy New Year and to be careful driving home.

"We will," said Lanie. "I love you, Mom..." Lanie hung up. Everyone was standing around her, looking down.

At that moment, Lanie knew what she was going to do. She was going to break up with Curt. Not this exact moment. Not this exact night. Not on New Year's. But soon. She knew she might lose some of these friends along the way. She was going to see what else was out there in that great big world. It wasn't Curt's fault she felt the way she did about life and it wasn't Bruzzone who would save her. It was that toughness that her father and Orlo Bailey had inside of them. It was that hole in her heart that her dad left when he passed. It was that independence her mom encouraged. It was that push and shove her miserably married half-brother and sister-in-law were continually giving and at that moment she aspired to never be like them. It was that "wrestling with God," that Jacob experienced in the Bible, the story that her neighbors, Diese Theodore and Lehma Bailey taught her in Sunday School and at Standish Bible Church. She reached out for Curt's hand to help her up. Her friends wiped the ice, snow, and dead grass from her back side as Lanie wiped her eyes, she let out a laugh and finished counting, "Hey, 3... 2...1... Happy New Year, everybody!"