By Tyler Rae Watts ’25
A girl went to the grocery store to buy cereal and some almond milk. She opted for almond because there was only oat milk left in her apartment’s fridge, and it belonged to her roommate, the one that doesn’t like to share. Anyhow it didn’t matter either way because this particular girl just wanted almond milk because she preferred the taste of it. The grocery store had a tealish green tint to the dimming fluorescent lighting, and the Arctic Monkeys strummed and crooned on background speakers. When she entered, she thought to herself, “This is weird”, but nothing could deter her from this milk mission. It was the middle of October in rain-soaked Connecticut. She couldn’t understand what was happening. An eclipse was on the horizon, but she didn’t know anything about the planets or the sun or the moon. As she grabbed the shopping basket, the lights flickered and swayed from their metal suspenders.
The freezer doors rattled like the cages of frustrated zoo mammals. The girl didn’t notice this while advancing towards the alternative milk section. Then a cowboy sauntered out from the inventory room. The back doors swung behind him with a whistle of effort, to emphasize his glory. The spurs on his boots were sterling silver, like the twinkle in his eyes under the teal fluorescent glow. The whole scene is rippling and chlorinated, as though in a swimming pool.
Cowboy placed himself at the end of the alternative milk section, opposite the girl. He crossed his arms and “Hmph”ed, annoyed that she was buying almond milk and not the real stuff from a real cow. But he was so overcome by her beauty that he dropped the issue of her milk preference. Cowboy called his horse up from the hay and carrots aisle, and walking towards her, Cowboy gave the Girl his hand. She smiled a most winning smile and hoisted herself onto the saddle with his help. He followed her onto Lucky (the horse) and the rain clouds cleared as they rode off into a big, golden yolk sunset. The Girl forgot the milk but was so happy that all she could see were rainbows and tiny sterling spur stars. She laughed and felt drunk.
The horse (Lucky) took them to a parlor for some beers and ice creams. Cowboy ordered the parlor special, a PBR float, and they split it with two straws in a tall gorgeous glass. Girl would eat ice cream but didn’t drink cow’s milk; this made Cowboy laugh. Some Lightnin’ Hopkins’ blues were on the jukebox, and the Girl began to stomp her left foot with giddy soulfulness.
The pair stood up to sway their hips and Cowboy lit a cigarette. Girl had just quit smoking, had been clean three weeks, but she had to take a drag because it was a Marlboro Red from the mouth of the Captivating Cowboy. He and him alone, with his spurs and his dancing and his smoke and his sterling shined like a prize as the night stars twinkled into the scene. Bliss.
Frenzy. The wrong pair of boots marched into the parlor, and a gunfight ensued. The Girl ducked beneath their booth, but Cowboy, who had just become her Cowboy, got shot dead, leaving her lonesome. In all of the rattling, the remnants of their PBR float spilled all over the table, dripping onto the floor in bouts of corrupted foam. The Enemy peaked beneath her table and grinned into her eyes like the Devil. He turned and ran clownishly out the shop, carrying Cowboy’s corpse over his back. The blues track stopped running on the jukebox. It had all happened so fast. In the silence she began to sob, crawling out on all fours from under the messy table. She found Lucky outside the parlor, unscathed. She climbed on and they rode for a long time with their backs to the sunrise.
In the years that followed, the Girl wore Cowboy’s handkerchief as a bandana while tending to his farm of cows and corn. Every morning she and Lucky smoked Reds to honor the man they missed. Girl cursed and wished that the oat milk in her apartment would’ve been good enough. But you have to fall in love, you must.
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