Cowboy Take Me Away

It All Comes Out

I successfully got two hours of sleep last night. However it was a productive seven hours of thinking. Through my severe heartbreak, I grasped the concept that what is done, is done. There is nothing I can do about it. I can't fight for him because he won't talk to me. And I can't spend two years waiting for him and waste the whole time by being sad and depressed. 

That isn't me. 

I forgot the real DaKota Annie Jones is one tough mother fucker. When she gets knocked down, she gets right back up and does it again until she does it right. She is thick skinned and patient. She doesn't tolerate ignorance and bullshit. She runs with wolves. She's barbed wire tough. She stands up for she believes in. She stands up for those in need. She has been abused and tormented and yet she still carries a smile on her face. When someone tell her she can't, she proves them she can. She laughs in the face of danger, she even welcomes it. And when life hits hard, she pulls on her worn out cowgirl boots by the boot straps and pulls down her faded family generation cowboy hat and she faces the test of life. And she sure as hell doesn't let some boy get in her way. 

I wrote who I am in my journal, so when the feeling of suffering and heartache rolls back around, I'll just read that and go on as usual. I won't let myself fall into that pit of despair. I can't, because if I do, I know it will never let me escape. 

After washing my face and putting on mascara, I walked down the stairs, already dressed in my jeans and couple of layers of shirts and a sweatshirt. My mom's cooking filled my nose and it made my stomach growl. I can't remember the last time I had food in the last two days. 

All eyes were on me when they heard my feet land on the wooden floor. I could tell they were expecting to see a puffy-depressed-faced-girl, not a girl who was fully alive and ordinary. "Morning." I said to them as I grabbed a plate and started to dish up. 

They watch me like a parent would watch their baby try to walk by itself, scared and cautious. I take my plate and sit down in front of my brother and next to my father. "You're not taking the day off?" My dad asks me as I finish chewing my first bite of my ham and cheese omelet. 

"Why would I? I'm tired of doing that for the past six months." I say like it's not a big deal. 

"So just like that you're over it?" Caleb interjected and my eyes met his. I couldn't tell what they read, which interested me. 

"Yep." I said as I shoved a fork full of food in my mouth. I look at everyone at the table and their expressions were clear as day: they didn't believe me. Even I didn't believe myself. 

"We'll start as soon as they call." My dad broke the awkward silence. 

He was referring to the Baker's, a real nice family that just lived down the road about a mile away. They didn't have any daughters, just two sons that are around 24 and another around 21. Ryder and Walker are their names, Walker the oldest. In high school, I never really hung around them, for what reason, I don't know. They were always gone for a rodeo every weekend. I don't know how they managed to even graduate. 

******************

It wasn't too cold outside, probably around 30 degrees. I'm dressed in a sweatshirt, shirt underneath that, my brown Carharrtt jacket, and my blue wild rag. As I walked Scarlet around the road, I noticed there wasn't any ice, so that was nice for us. 

I swung my leg over Scarlet as I settled in the saddle I pulled my hat down low and started to turn her in circles. Once I let her know who's boss, I stopped turning and directing. I gave her a nice pat on the neck and dropped the reins. "Ready?" My father asked as we all waited for him to get mounted. We all nodded and then he turned his horse, Rosco, and we all followed him to the road.