Ghetto Cowboy (10 page)

Bob give me a thumbs-up, but he starting to look worried. He trades words with Harper, who seem even more worried. They stare at the tarp whipping around and shake their heads. I know they gonna change their minds, so I start climbing before they can say anything.

About halfway up, I feel the rope tugging on me. Harp is yelling something, but I can’t hear him ’cause the rain and the wind is so loud. I wave him off and keep going.

The ladder is shaking from the gusts. I hold on tight, afraid I’m just gonna slip off. The rain keep blowing in my eyes and blinding me. Them cowboy boots I’m wearing got no grip, so they keep slipping off the ladder too. Then there’s the tarp and the ropes, snapping around my head like whips. I think one of ’em might cut my head off.

What was I thinking?

I look back down. Everyone’s staring at me. But I don’t wanna wuss out.

Once I get up to the edge of the roof, I can see why Harp jumped. The hole looks like someone dropped a car through it. I look down into the void and see Boo’s stall, crushed by the missing piece of roof. Man.

What’s left up there seem real rickety. I can hear it squealing as it moves around in the wind. A big gust hits me, and I almost lose it — grab on with all my might and shut my eyes tight. When they open again, I can see the three guys holding the ladder still and Harper waving me back down.

I look away. I can see the lay of the land from up here. The whole place is a mess, like it’s been hit by a tornado or something. But the worst thing is seeing that dead horse lying there in the mud — this is the tarp they was using to cover it.

I take a deep breath and pray for the wind to die down for a second. When it does, I take the last three steps and then I’m up on top.

I keep my eye on the ropes whizzing around me. I use to catch flies all the time, so I pretend they just a couple a of bugs buzzing around my head. The first time I reach for one, I almost fall off. I end up on my stomach looking down into the darkness. My mind goes blank, and I hold on like my hands is made of glue. But just as I start thinking of jumping, one of them ropes hits me in the head and I snag it, wrapping it around my arm.

Now what? I see Harper pointing to something. I follow his finger and see a wood beam sticking out from the edge of the building. He making motions like I should tie it around that beam. The only problem is I got to crawl along the edge of this roof about fifteen feet to get to it.

With the rain and the wind and all the noise and spooked horses and guys shouting . . . somehow I just start moving. The building creaks and squeals; pieces fall off left and right. But all of a sudden I’m there. I just have to hold on with my legs, reach down, and pull that rope tight around the beam till the tarp stops flapping about and lays down over that hole. I don’t know how to tie no knot, so I just wrap it and crisscross it till it sticks.

I hear a cheer go up and them guys down below is all smiles. And suddenly, I don’t feel scared no more.

I make my way backwards to the ladder. When I get there, the other rope is just lying there, like a present or something. I grab it and look down, where they waving me back. The rope seem long enough, so I just pull it down with me. The ladder don’t seem as rickety going down.

When I get back to earth, they all treat me like I had just won one of them races. All slaps on the back and guys saying, “Way to go” and stuff. Even Harper has a different look in his eyes.

For the first time since I got here, I feel all right.

T
hey tie that rope nice and tight around a post, and looking into the barn, I can see the blue tarp has stopped the rain for now. Hopefully, it’ll clear up and they can fix it for real tomorrow.

In the meantime, we all head back to the clubhouse to get out of the storm. When the door opens . . . man, something smells
good.

Some of the old-time cowboys been cooking up something tasty, and we have us a big ol’ party. There must be thirty guys in here now, and the funny thing is, they all treatin’ me like I’m no different than them. We eat and drink (well, I don’t have no beer, but they brought out root beer for me) and complain about the craziness of this storm, an’ how global warming is making the weather all backwards.

When things get good and toasty, Tex starts telling us some of his stories from the olden days, back when he was a rodeo star in Texas (that’s why they call him Tex, duh), one of the first black cowboys to make his mark on the circuit. Everyone says he was the best in his day, but he says his daddy and granddaddy was even better.

“Back in them days, they used to roam the open country, herding cattle on the Chisholm Trail.” The guys nod, like that’s something they heard about the Old West.

“What’s so special ’bout that?” I ask.

Tex’s eyes get all dreamy. “That was back when you could ride for days on end without seeing a city. Just open land as far as the eye could see — no fences, no roads. They slept under the stars, bathed in the river, and when they was hungry, they just shot a rabbit and ate it!”

“I hope they cooked it first,” I say, and they all bust up like I said something funny. I can’t really imagine living that way. Seem like my whole life, everywhere I looked was city — walls, freeways, and buildings. I hardly ever seen a open stretch of land with no cement on it.

“That was back when the Cowboy Way meant something. Ain’t that right, Tex?” Harp asks. Tex nods in agreement.

“What’s the Cowboy Way?” I ask.

Harper puts down his drink and glances at everyone around him. The old guys smile like they know; some of the younger ones just shrug. “The Cowboy Way started because, back in the day, you couldn’t trust the law.”

“Still can’t,” Tex pipes in.

“Law was under the rule of the land barons. The sheriffs did what barons said and ignored the will of the people. So the cowboys had to take on their own brand of justice — cowboy justice. All that John Wayne stuff — you know, you can live outside the law as long as you’re honest and live by the code. Don’t steal nobody’s cattle or their women. Treat your horse like it was your best friend, because sometimes that’s all you got. Most important, trust and believe in your guys and always have their back when they need you.”

The old-timers is nodding, saying
Amen
and
You got that right.

“The Cowboy Way is, no matter what, never ever give up fighting when the chips are down. Real cowboys
never
give up,” Harp says, staring me down like he wants me to believe that.

I look around, and it’s like one big family, everyone helping out and watching out for each other. And it feels like Harp now wants me there too.

“Ain’t nothing changed,” says Jamaica Bob. “Cowboys still fighting to protect their ways in land wars where the bosses are trying to run ’em out. Only difference now is, the Chisholm Trail is a freeway today. We got to stick to our ways so that the young people have a safe place in this world, a place where the old values still count.”

He raises his bottle, and even the younger guys yell out in agreement. We all raise our bottles too, and looking around at all these cowboys makes me feel like we in the Old West still.

O
nce we back in the house, I stare out the window, thinking what would it be like to stay here and live the Cowboy Way. Hanging out with all of them, that might be all right. I could learn to ride, maybe teach other kids how to work at the stables, and I wouldn’t have to worry about school no more. I could just be a cowboy ’cause if you a cowboy, you do as you feel, not as you’re told.

“You don’t have to sleep in the closet if you don’t want to.”

I turn and see Harper staring at me. He scratches his head and says, “If you want to, you can sleep in my bed.”

“With you?” I ask.

He laughs. “Yeah, with me. I ain’t sleeping in the closet!”

I laugh. Anything is better than that closet.

That night, though, I can’t sleep. I lay there listening to Harper snore. Off in the distance I hear a gunshot, thumpin’ car music, and choppers in the air. I keep thinking about Mama and when she gonna show up and take me back so I can start summer school. But she seem farther away than ever.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but Boo musta still been on my mind ’cause I had this dream where I was riding him along the Chisholm Trail. We was heading up to Detroit, rustling cattle and all. Harp and Tex and Jamaica Bob was there too. There was no cities, no loud cars, no gunshots. Only wide-open forever, as far as I could see. We sat around a fire at night, eating beans and such and listening to a cowboy named John Coltrane play his sax (I said it was a dream). The last thing I remember was coming to the end of the trail and seeing a big city off in the distance. Harper says to me, “There it is. That’s where your mama’s at.” But I don’t remember riding off to it.

When I wake up, it’s still early. The clock says five thirty, and Harper’s dead asleep. I get up and look out the window. The rain has finally stopped, but everything feels like it’s drenched to the bone. I can see the Ritz-Carlton from here. That blue tarp, which I almost killed myself over, blew loose and is drooping down into the hole in the roof.

Dag. I think of Boo again and suddenly feel like going to see how he holding up. I find my boots and coat and sneak out without waking Harper. I shush Lightning as I walk past. He ignores me.

Outside, the stoop leads right into a lake. The whole street is flooded. The water come up to the middle of my boots as I move slowly through it, so’s not to get mud down into my socks. Nobody’s out yet, and the place seem eerie quiet.

Where there ain’t water, there’s mud, like it just washed everything from the vacant lots onto the streets. What a mess. I climb the fence over into the stables and immediately spot Boo. He musta been rolling around in muck and who knows what, ’cause his fur all ruffled up and covered in mud.

Poor Boo. He look like a Skid Row horse or something awful. But he brightens up when he sees me. I pet him on the head, and he seem okay — same ol’ Boo. Just needs a bath is all. I grab some hay and feed him. I can see some of the other horses in the corral all muddy like Boo, but they don’t seem to mind. At least it looks like no more rain. Hopefully we can get this place all cleaned up soon enough.