{ - | - }

He Broke The Rule
by Tyde

{ - | - }

Predictably I met him in Tulsa. Right there on 77th Street. Sound like a song? Maybe cause it is. But we weren’t 13. We were both 22. Seems a little too convenient doesn’t it? How exactly did we meet? Well it wasn’t two pairs of eyes meeting across a busy street, it wasn’t two strangers running slap bang into one another, it wasn’t even the slight inconvenience of a fender bender. We were in the queue waiting to buying a newspaper.

I noticed him from the back because he’s quite a stand out fellow. The very first thing I noticed (other than his size) was his neck. I don’t know what it is but a man’s neck is always the first thing I notice. It’s something about the slope. So then ideally I have to meet them from behind which was why he seemed perfect. It was half blocked by his thick ponytail but I could still see the curve where it went from being the neck to becoming shoulder and it shone that dark honey colour, I think they call it a sun kissed tan.

He moved his left hand up to rub at his neck, you know how I mean, people do it when they’re tired or their neck hurts. I wanted to be that hand. As crazy as it sounded I wanted to shrink myself to the size of a fairy and rub myself all over his neck. Yes when you meet me I may seem like an ordinary person, but everyone has fetishes and mine isn’t all that odd compared to some people I’ve met.

Typically the next thing I like to take in is their eyes…so you can probably guess by now that I find it hard meeting people because of my order of notice. Thinking there was no way I could catch a glimpse of his eyes without upsetting half the queue by jumping a few spots forward and embarrassing myself by twirling him around just to see if his eyes met what the back of his neck already promised. I’ve never been one to go to great lengths if it means potential, horrifying public embarrassment. I’m just not that fearless.

So I went back to making sure the coins I clutched in my hand equalled how much a paper cost. I was quite happy to stay in line and totally wipe ‘Mr Faceless Nape’ from my memory but of course something incredibly unlikely but oh so perfectly fitting for the story happened next.

A car alarm started blaring for all to hear and that’s when he turned. I was just so surprised that he turned around that I didn’t follow my own rules and instead just noticed his expression as a whole first, there was time to break down the details later. It seemed panicky. Was he about ready to leave his position in the line and be all super hero like and sprint out to stop a would be thief from robbing him of his lifesavings on wheels? No. He craned his head a little and relaxed and that is when the full impact of his eyes hit me. From past experience I’ve found that blue eyes have the most profound effect on me, but today all that was thrown out the window when I caught a glimpse of his soft brown eyes.

He wasn’t looking at me of course, that would be too much to ask but if I’d sidestepped an inch or two I could have caught him in my own bronze gaze. He bought his paper and a pack of Mentos and walked straight passed me whilst fishing in his front pocket for his car keys. I forgot about my paper (hey I could always catch the breaking news on the radio) and found him unlocking his Buick which was double parked next to the Grand Am I’d hired for a month.

He looked up from the envelope he was removing from his windscreen (no doubt a parking ticket) as I opened my door to get in. He flashed a quick apologetic look and an even briefer smile before jumping into the suburban truck and pulling out into the traffic.

I then did the craziest most impulsive thing I’ve ever done in my incredibly sensible, regimented life, I followed him. I tried to remember how they did it in the movies so the person didn’t realise that they were being followed. Turn for turn I matched him and he seemed unfazed by the attention. But when he turned into a road marked ‘No thoroughfare’ I kept going straight ahead and parked about 50m from the street entrance. I checked in my rear vision mirror but no Buick came out of the street for a few minutes. I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and took a note of the street name before heading off in search of a motel. It had been a long night’s drive and since I hadn’t slept since a small dusty town in Missouri I was an ideal candidate for driver fatigue.

{ - | - }

I didn’t really imagine that this would change anything in my life. I think I was just hoping for another eye locking gaze, at most a date, but I had no idea how that could happen. I found a Days Inn 4 miles down the road and the thought finally hit me that it may not be his street he’d turned into. Maybe he was visiting a friend, a relative…or a girlfriend. How had the idea not entered my head until now? Someone with a neck and eyes like that would surely have the ladies hanging off him. Maybe he was already taken? Sealed in the bonds of marriage before we had a chance to meet.

As the what ifs were running through my mind another part of my brain was formulating a plan for a chance meeting between us. I’d only booked the motel room for one day and night, I sure had a high expectation for my simple plan! I figured I’d get the date by tonight and then once this was out of my system I’d continue on my trip. My plan was to look like a runner and just scan the street for any signs of him as I jogged by. Of course a master plan maker never thinks that their plans won’t work. I mean, look at all the villains in the James Bond movies. I didn’t think that maybe I wouldn’t be able to run the 4 miles back to that street or that he might park his truck in a garage so that I wouldn’t be able to tell which house he lived in to begin with.

As I lay down to get some shut-eye I tried to put together a life for him. Had he been in Tulsa for business? It sure wasn’t for the paper or the Mentos. What type of person would drive 20 minutes just for that when there was a general store on the corner of their street? Maybe he’d popped into town to see his stock broker, or make sure the cooks in his restaurant were keeping the kitchen up to code, or maybe he was checking that the weight machines and sauna at his exclusive gym were still functioning correctly. With a body like that he’d have to work out. Shoulders like that don’t just happen by themselves!

I drifted into a pleasant dream filled with strange roads, strange cities and strange men. I had a fairly decent kip, 6 hours, considering the fact that I woke up anxious and chomping at the bit to put my plan into action. The dusk welcomed me into it’s soft embrace as I stepped out into the early evening in the only pair of shorts I’d packed on this trip. I accompanied the shorts with an old t-shirt that had ‘This is Australia’ scrawled across it that was a souvenir from five years before at the Australian Open Tennis in Melbourne. A few attempts at stretching my muscles and then I was on my way. I turned left after leaving the motel parking lot and headed towards John Street (I know, I know, a generic name but I tell it like it is).

My enthusiastic jog very soon turned into a spirited fast walk and then when it hit 3 miles a rather half-hearted stroll. When at last the street sign came into view I nearly collapsed into a petunia bush when I remembered that I’d have to make the 4 miles back as well. My stomach grumbled in protest and I cursed myself for not bringing any form of cash with me on this ridiculous venture. To my dismay I saw something on the street sign which I hadn’t noticed first time around. Just under the John Street sign was another proclaiming ‘Through to Jonesboro Crescent’. So now I had not one but two streets to search. I prayed that he’d just be out walking his dog which I’d invented for him in his bachelor lifestyle that was also just pure imagination. I knew nothing and now my aching muscles were laughing at me cause I was putting myself through such torture when I had basically nothing to go on.

Normally if it was me on the outside of this I’d be saying the same things you’re muttering now, monumentally stupid! But I was beginning to believe that maybe I was insane just like that bag lady in Joplin, Missouri had screeched at me. Although her credibility went down after the proclamation of my apparent insanity when she added ‘Eat your own droppings and they will tell you.’ Don’t worry, I’m getting back to the story. Where was I?

Ah yes, so the first two houses had carports and both had little hatchbacks. The next house had a mini-van, well that was a definite tick off. Even if he’d found the time to get married and give his wife five kids to manage he would have had to sell the truck, it just wasn’t a family car I’m afraid. I again cursed my amateur detective skills when I realise I’d never even thought to look for a wedding ring. I mean that could have made it a ‘make or break’ situation way back in town and I wouldn’t have gone gallivanting off into the suburbs of Tulsa following the promise of his neck and those enchanting eyes. John Street wasn’t very big (which my calf muscles were thankful for) and I’d soon determined that it wasn’t here that he chose to reside.

As I turned into Jonesboro Crescent I remembered my running guise and started up into a trot much to the horror of my legs. I found myself in a cul-de-sac that held just four houses. Someone was looking out for me because there was his Buick parked out on the street right in front of number 3. I then realised my skills of deduction would have led me off the track had his Buick been elsewhere, such as in the garage. In the driveway was parked a mini-van, a Mustang convertible and an ’86 Corolla, the year known because I’d had one just like it, but this one was in pristine condition, a real classic and the owner obviously took great care of it. It was my guess he still lived at home, or was visiting at any rate.

There was a scattering of tow-haired children playing in the street. It was a typical Wonder Years American style scene. I jogged my way around the children trying to look as if I took this path, and indeed ran, every day. As I was re-entering John Street (and panting like an overgrown puppy) I heard a front door open and a young man’s voice call out ‘Jen bring the kids in, Mom’s got dinner on the table’ but I didn’t turn around. It could have been my biggest breakthrough yet but I chickened out. I reasoned with myself. I couldn’t tell which direction it had come from, my hearing can be really unhelpful like that, so I just continued the struggle back to my motel where the promise of a relaxing shower and vibrating bed awaited me.

On my way in I spoke to the desk clerk and booked my room for a further two nights. With my natural born reluctance to take the bull by the horns I’d need the extra few days just to gather the courage to somehow rig up a non-illegal way of watching his every move without being arrested for stalking. I hear it’s punishable by death in Hollywood. Yes, I’m kidding. But for tonight I’m gonna take myself to a country bar and have me a few drinks and then watch some genuine boot scooting. The once again helpful desk clerk told me the best country bar in the area is called The Other Side and it was just two minutes away! Well I didn’t have the spurs or the ten gallon hat but I had a pair of boots I bought in Chicago (you know the most northern southern state hehe) and a big belt buckle I’d got ten years ago but never found the right place to wear. I decided pigtails were too cliched (have you guessed by now that cliches aren’t exactly my favourite thing in the world?) and left my hair to flow. After a good many years growing it, it finally flowed just past my shoulder blades although if you straightened it all out it would reach my bum.

The beer was flowing and the bourbon was straight up and tasty. I flushed when I saw the banner above the bar, it was singles night. That desk clerk must have thought I was desperate.

{ - | - }

They started off with traditional line dancing accompanied by a cover band doing songs by Garth Brooks, Clint Black, Alabama, George Strait, Tim McGrath, Lonestar, SheDaisy, Brooks and Dunn and the Dixie Chicks. It was a country music fans dream and I must say that I was quite enjoying it. It’s that knee-slapping enthusiastic dancing that you like to see. It reminds you that not everyone out there in the world is a depressed ball of sorrow. I felt like I was slap-bang in the middle of Nashville.

I’d been cooling my heels for about half an hour when one of those old fashioned callers jumps up to take a hold of the microphone and announce it was time for everybody to really kick up their heels and it was cattle herding time. Apparently that was his way of introducing the barn-dancing segment of the evening. You know when you read books and the character sinks down low in their seat to avoid being noticed? I have two words for you: Doesn’t work. A gaggle of girls dressed up to the nines in their boots, hats and big skirts grabbed me by both hands and dragged me up to the dance floor all the while ignoring my protests. They were three sisters from Oklahoma City that loved to frequent the country bars in their state. Their genuine love of all things kitsch was evident when they introduced themselves: Betty-Jo, Lurlene and Savannah Tafferty. They winked as they said their names so I told them my name was Lily and accompanied that with my own wink.

We assembled in the usual fashion that I’d learnt in primary school. Girls in a circle on the outside and boys in a circle on the inside. Would you believe that they started off with the heel and toe polka? As sure as eggs there I was transporting myself back to a time when I tried to arrange it so I didn’t have to dance with Brad, Dane or Stewart, three particular icky boys that no one wished to dance with in school. I stood facing a nice looking bloke with brown eyes but from the angle I was at, a quite disappointing neck. We heel and toed it before he flung me onto the next partner, a blond plump 30 year old with a moustache that paid homage to Walker, Texas Ranger. I’d made my way round half the circle when the music stopped and I found myself in front of a large hulk of a man who just happened to be the person I’d been chasing the moment I arrived in Tulsa.

Truth be told I tripped over my boots and almost fell head first into his stomach. He righted me with his strong arms and smiled down at me (had I noticed before how tall he was? At least 6”3). ‘You okay?’ It was at that moment that I realised yelling or not his voice sounded the same. He was the one who had called out earlier that evening to the girl and the rest of the kids on the street. Well at least now I knew he was single. Unless he came along to these nights to break people’s hearts.

‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just not used to the boots’ He smiled at me, a lot warmer than the one earlier in the city and I smiled back.

‘You’re Australian aren’t you?’ his question threw me off balance.

‘Ah, yeah. I take it you’re from around here?’ I almost didn’t get an answer as the caller fired up again and lead us in another dance called the Tennessee Two Step.

‘Yep, just down the road actually’. Gee, he was making it easy for me. Talking for just five minutes and I’d found out that he did live in Jonesboro Crescent and that he knew his way around the Tennessee Two Step, something I hadn’t really envisaged for him.

After a few more dances that I’d never heard of but seemed to get the gist of the caller announced that the compulsory dancing was finished and that the pikers could return to their seats. The Tafferty sisters kept on raging and gave me the thumbs up. My legs were killing me and I didn’t know how to let go of this man.

He saved the day by asking if I wanted to take a seat and that’s when I noticed that he had little beads of sweat forming on the sides of his forehead. He kept a hold of one of my hands and I watched his neck with delight as he walked in front of me and found us a table on the edge of the dance floor but still near to the bar.

He had on one of those gas attendant/mechanic type shirts. You know the type, short sleeves, cut just below the waist and has an embroidered patch on it that says the name of the garage or their name on it. His said Old Navy which I was pretty sure wasn’t his name. I had a feeling I knew it already. His boots were snakeskin and his jeans were the luckiest black denim I have ever had the fortune of meeting. He got us some bourbons and we settled down to watch the band and the Tafferty sisters work their way around the room leaving no man unturned.

‘How long you in town?’ His voice carried above the music and the clatter of glasses.

‘Couple of days. On my way to Texas’ Oh yeah, I’m a travel extraordinaire, let me dazzle you.

‘You doing a boot scootin’ tour?’ His fingers brushed mine as he put his empty glass back on the table. I laughed.

‘Not quite. I’m getting my kicks on Route 66 as the old saying goes.’ The band took a break and the Tafferty sisters whizzed past me giving me a wink.

‘Bit of a beaten up road now isn’t it?’ He seems genuinely interested. Is this the way it was supposed to go? I planned it all out and it’s really this easy?

‘Yeah, but I wanted to absorb the culture and you can’t do that on the big interstates, the mystery is gone.’ He nodded seeming to understand.

‘Speaking of mystery we’ve danced and drank together and I still don’t know your name’ How could I escape those eyes? He was intense, extremely intense. ‘It’s Morgana.’ His eyes lit up and I wanted to wander around in his mind for just a while.

‘As in the enchantress half sister of Arthur?’

I held a breath ‘You know the legend?’ My heart burned in my chest. I needed a drink to put out the fire. I took a sip of the bourbon and felt it slide down my throat towards the flames. I’m surprised he couldn’t hear the hiss when the liquid hit the fire causing it to go out.

‘Among other things. I’m Joe by the way.’ He pushed a few stray hairs behind his ear like he was dismissing his name to the world with a simple flick of the fingers. I smile at him cause now he’s revealed all. ‘I know.’

He seems surprised at this admission. ‘How?’

‘I just knew.’ I laced my fingers through his and took another sip of my bourbon, content with the fact that this man would change my life. You know what? I never did find out why he went into town that day. Did he do it merely to break my rule?

Stories will be told.

{ - | - }

THE END

{ - | - }