The Move
The frustration of living in a rural community about 45 minutes outside of Houston had finally boiled over for Mike as he sat on his balcony talking to his younger brother, who lived back home in Ohio and was in college. “I don’t know, Jeremy, I fuckin’ hate living out here in the Boondocks. Texas!? I never thought I’d ever actually see cattle and cowboy boots and lifted trucks, but here it is. That is reality. It catches me off guard sometimes. I’ll be in the grocery store and some giant redneck will walk by wearing a Garth Brooks T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and Wrangler jeans with an overly sized belt buckle, and I just say to myself, ‘dude, you’re in Texas?!’”
The prospects of moving to Houston and starting over seemed lucrative when trying to escape the skeletons that had shaped him in college and his earlier years. Mike figured that moving to an area where he knew absolutely nobody, and immersing himself into a completely different culture than anything he had ever experienced would be the perfect opportunity to discover himself. A true effort at self-discovery for a year or two was what Mike sought, but that was four years ago. He had now lived in the rural outer bands of the Houston area for much longer than he anticipated and it was stressing him out. Although his apartment was on a wealthy and isolated golf course community, the arrangement of living that far from the city had really made the adjustment hard to endure after being a former social butterfly in a city atmosphere. The nearest freeway was over 20 minutes away. There were literally two prisons and many cattle ranches in between. Although he enjoyed taking pictures of the soothing big puffy cumulus clouds that hung high in the blue Texas sky, the weekends and limited choice of entertainment were just too simple to keep him happy. He’d often find himself singing the lyrics to Sam Cooke’s anthem while driving home, “another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody…”
Mike continued his conversation with Jeremy after walking out onto his balcony overlooking the 17th green of the golf course. “So I was out apartment hunting inside the Loop and I found a few places that would keep me happy here in Houston, and keep my head screwed on straight.”
Jeremy liked to bust balls and took the opportunity to chime in on Mike’s errant choice of wording, “that’s good, because we were getting worried about you. You know, 26 and still single, people begin to ask questions.”
“Shut up. Seriously, I’m so fucking lonely for people who are like me. I go jogging outside the neighborhood and into the ranch area behind the property line and I’m starting to differentiate friendly cows and asshole cows. I feel so isolated, bro… When they ‘moo’, I think they recognize to me,” Mike joked.
“Well just remember what you went down there for and who you want to become.” Jeremy always had a way to redirect the focus into something meaningful.
“Yeah, I’m trying to find a place around the Galleria area so I can do a little wife-shopping on weekends. Maybe then Grandma and Aunt Sybil will get off my back about when it’s ‘my turn.’ You know you really screwed me over by getting married before me while you are still in college. It’s probably a good thing, though, because otherwise we’d be reading about you in the paper and I’d have to spend the rest of my life denying you’re my brother. ‘Jeremy…?… no relation.”
“Well, you’ll know when you’ve found the right one.”
“Yeah, but unlike you, I don’t want to find mine at the Red Dot Sale at a Target.”
“I’m telling you, the places you meet quality women are not at the bars. All the girls your age who are still going to bars to meet dudes and who are not married are either crazy or divorced. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what the girls probably say about you, too.” Once again, Jeremy made a profound statement that made complete sense. Reflecting on that statement, Mike realized that just about all the women he had dated in Houston he had met at bars or clubs. None of which lasted longer than a few weeks in his orbit.
Still reflecting on his living situation he noted that the drive back to his place at 3 am on the weekends sucked. The circle of friends Mike had were all teachers with him at his high school he worked at, and they would take turns driving on the weekends to get into the city. Because of the distance they would only go into the city about once a week and spend the other nights at local watering holes out in their part of town, which Mike referred to as ‘redneck dives.’
Despite his frustration with the single scene in the rural community it was safe to say that Mike had overstayed his welcome at one of his favorite places out there, The Boat. Over the course of a one month span that previous summer Mike had brought home no less than five ladies from there. His motto had become “the most important part of the evening is the last five minutes,” which had given him quite the reputation with his coworkers, and had also gotten him black-listed by the barmaids who worked there. Mike realized that he had begun to resort to his previous lifestyle and values, which he was trying to get away from. Living in the outskirts of town had treated him well in some respects, but he would fantasize about what would happen with his lifestyle if he moved into the city where there were more people he could relate to, and more things to do.
After a short pause in the conversation Mike finally responded, “so you’re telling me I don’t want to have to tell my kids someday that, ‘I met your mom after grinding on her while listening to some Nelly. She really knew how to shake her ass.’?” They both laughed, but Mike knew Jeremy was correct in his assessment of Mike’s lifestyle choices. He needed to leverage his move to the city as more than just a shooting gallery to hook up with women and more so to grow into someone he could be proud of.
A Dollar Out of Fifteen Cents 