Note the fiberglass sculpture of a Barfly lady. It is modern. A rancher is upright in its presence, slack waisted, trembling in his legs, one palm on his hip and the other loose in the air beside him. Three months ago, he was thrown on his ranch. He is here because the nearest facilities to treat his fractures and avulsions are here.
“Daddy! What are you doing out of your chair?” asked his daughter, returning from the restroom.
“I’m standing for a lady.”
It was her mother that died that day, three months ago. The impact broke the artery to her mother’s heart. They were already headed for El Paso that day for her regular treatments when the simplest mistake caused the old rancher to slide his truck down an arroyo. He was thrown and could see his wife in the car as it came to rest. She was awake. She looked to him. The old rancher is a tough son of a bitch but laid helpless as she dropped her head and died.
That tough son of a bitch stood staring at that sculpture as his daughter cradled his loose palm in her’s.