The Rancher's Wife

I often wonder what other people think during the day.

Personally, I am always in the middle of a story in my head. I even remember the first story I ever dreamed up. I was laying in my blue-quilted, wood-sided water bed. I imagined that my whole second grade was stranded on a desert island after a plane crash (this was before Survivor or Lost, but after Lord of the Flies, so I suppose it wasn’t totally original, but if I take the Swiss Family Robinson into account, then…oh never mind, it isn’t like I was plagiarizing, just playing).

I imagined my second grade crush, a freckled-face blue-eyed boy named Joel and I were intrepid explorers and the leaders of our poor, stranded second grade class. We did amazing things on that island…like invent toasters. I clearly remember inventing a toaster out of coconuts or something similar and how impressed Joel was by my ingenuity.

In reality, Joel once told the whole class that if any girl ever said that she liked him, he would “beat her up and stuff her in a garbage can.” I even remember him shaking his first in a manly attempt to impress the rest of the second grade boys.

I still loved Joel, secretly, and stuffed the Valentine he gave me (He gave one to everybody. It was the rule in second grade) under the siding of my waterbed. I used to take it out every night and gaze at it. Eventually, Joel and his family moved to Hershey, Pennsylvania (I remember it was Hershey, because he promised to send us all candy bars) to be near his grandmother who was very sick.

When I was fifteen, we moved to a new house, and I re-discovered the Valentine while dismantling my waterbed. It was like old times. I stared at it for a while and then tucked it in a box – a reminder of my school-girl crush.

When I got married and moved my stuff from my mother’s house to our house, I found the Valentine and told my husband the story. He said that he hopes some girl somewhere saved one of his Valentines, too.

Joel wasn’t my first crush.

His name was Steve, and it wasn’t so much a crush as it was a mutual attraction. Steve and his parents went to our church. His parents would invite me and my parents over after Sunday evening church every so often. Steve had brothers and sisters, but they were much older and never around. So, since there weren’t any other girls for me or boys for him, we played together.

I remember loving to go to Steve’s house. His dad was funny, and always did this trick where he pulled a quarter out of thin air. He did it every time, and I was always impressed. When I told Steve, he rolled his eyes and said that he would be more impressed if he got to keep the quarter.

Whenever we were at Steve’s, we would go down to the basement and play our favorite game – Rancher and Rancher’s Wife. Steve played the part of the Rancher. I remember him dressed up in a cowboy hat with silver guns hanging from a plastic holster around his waist. He would run around in a circle and pretend to round up cattle. Then I – playing the part of Rancher’s Wife – would yell, “Supper’s ready!” in my loudest voice. Steve would come in to our pretend house, and I would serve dinner. Then, Steve would get back up and say, “Come on out and help me.”

At this point, I would run around behind him pretending to rustle up cattle and help defend him against enemies. We did a lot of pretend shooting, and I can’t imagine what Steve's mom thought when she heard me shouting, “Supper’s ready!” eight or nine time throughout the night. Still, I remember the cool, cement floors of Steve’s basement, and the freedom and acceptance I felt in his friendship.

Over the years, things changed. We changed churches, and Steve and I ended up going to different schools. Then, when we were about fourteen, our parents decided to get together again, like old times. Only it wasn’t. Steve was a freakishly tall (and popular) basketball player who had to be forced to come to dinner with his parent’s old friends. I was an overweight teenager who was well aware of the fact.

I saw what kind of night it was going to be from Steve’s first look. Still, I tried to salvage it – with a video. I had rented a new video tape, and suggested to Steve that we watch it in the living room while our parents talked in the kitchen. I don’t know why I was so desperate for it to be a good night. Steve sat on the opposite side of the room and didn’t say a word to me the whole night. I remember turning off the light in an attempt to…I don’t know…I guess I thought maybe I looked better in the dark. Anyway, when the movie was over, Steve and his parents left.

Two weeks later, I heard from a girl at Steve’s school (my old school) how Steve was telling everyone what a horrible time he had at my house and how disgustingly fat I was. I realized then that the best memory I would ever have of Steve was playing Rancher and Rancher’s Wife.

My husband and I now go to the same church as Steve’s parents. We are friends with Steve’s older brother and his wife. One Sunday, Steve and his wife came to visit. Somehow, we got stuck standing together in the lobby waiting for Sunday School to finish, so we could go into the church service. I was friendly and introduced myself, and Steve’s wife was very sweet and nice. My husband, ever the kind person, expressed interest and welcomed them warmly to our church. I searched Steve’s eyes for a change. They were blank. He gave only a half-smile and an impatient sigh.

I thought how some things never change. I wonder if it would have been different if I had been slim and gorgeous. Maybe it would have been different if I had been slim and gorgeous back then. Who knows? All I know is that while Steve hadn’t changed and I will probably never enter his mind. I still get to enjoy the privilege of my mind’s eye – to see him in his cowboy hat, guns blazing…with me just waiting for the right moment to yell “Supper’s ready!”