As I walked her to the Chevy that Sunday morning, ahead of our road trip to Cody, I caught the scent of her perfume. Turning the car’s ignition, I glanced at my watch. Seven-thirty. Facing Ann, I smiled, “Can’t wait for Mom and Pop Starr to meet you.” Though I lacked a real plan, my outing—on this day, with this girl—exceeded all I might have hoped for. The Cody church pastor and his wife, Mom and Pop, friends. . . everybody, gave welcome. Wide smiles. Spirited chatting. Pastor Wiggins asked me to share at the evening service. Our return trip to Billings would set the course for something special. After the service we waved our goodbyes and I turned the Chevy toward Montana. Crossing the state line, we moved along in silence. Bridger, Montana lay ahead. At a place where roads converge – Highways 72 and 310 – I slowed, and we eased to the stop sign. A fine place for a kiss maybe, I thought. It was our first. The miles and minutes between the kiss and her town—between Bridger and Billings—swept by barely noticed. How will I ask her? Is tonight the best time to ask her? Take a breath. Think. I cared little for thinking. What if we could just be here? Like this, forever? I eyed the lighted instrument panel past the steering wheel. My heart skipped a beat and a trace of moisture came to my palms. Oh boy. One—two—three miles. They crawled by, while my vision darted back and forth between the panel gauge and an unlit horizon out ahead. The landscape yielded an occasional pinprick of light—ranch homes flanking our path, far off the highway. I really liked Montana. Her wildness, the grand, expansive spaces. But now . . . I willed myself to resist ungracious thoughts of Big Sky Country. Terms like secluded, deserted, forsaken. Even Primitive. Gee, I caught myself moaning, even Oklahoma has a gas station every now and then. Unfair comparisons, I knew, efforts to excuse myself of my own negligence. Well. I might want to think about that tomorrow. Oh boy.

©2019 Jerry Lout