We leave behind memories and experiences that have widened our knowledge of the world, for which we are grateful. But there are new memories, experiences, and yes, more learning awaiting us outside that door as well. In the years that follow, I hope we shall have many happy homecomings, but this, our graduation, will remain the brightest star amongst them. Symbolic of our achievement — the path to our hopes and dreams for the future. May all your hopes and dreams come true
Chapter One
Rachel
I tried to ignore the blended aroma of sweat, dirty feet, and bleach as I paced back and forth in the girl's locker room in our high school gymnasium. Alone for the moment, I recited my valedictorian speech for the fifth time — in the past hour! I had memorized each sentence, each phrase, each hand gesture. The words were ringing in my ears. Should I replace the first sentence with a different metaphor? Was the ending punchy enough?
My heart stopped at the thought of noticing someone yawning in the crowd — what would I do at that point? Talk louder, clear my throat, make a dramatic gesture with my arms? And...oh, my God, what about Daddy!
I swallowed hard at the thought of seeing my father sitting in the front row on the bleachers, staring at me with a grin pasted on his face. There was a knot drawing up in my stomach — what if I embarrassed my father? What if I tripped over my royal blue gown going up the stairs to the podium, or my mortarboard cap fell over my face? I was starting to sweat, so I took a deep breath to calm myself, but it wasn't working.
At eighteen I was graduating at the top of my class as valedictorian and was proud of my achievements. I was also painfully aware that I was lucky; school and studying had come easy for me. There had been times I was called a nerd or a bookworm by some of my classmates and friends, who had struggled just to pass a class with the grade of a C — or lower.
So I worked on my speech for weeks, trying my best to reflect not only my high school journey but theirs, too. My words were heartfelt and carefully selected to honor our last day together at Cody High School before we moved on toward our individual goals and dreams.
I had arrived two hours early, driving the new Ford F-150 pick-up truck Daddy had bought me as a graduation present. I remember how he looked down at me with his brown eyes underneath his bushy gray brows, and said, "Rachel, I know you have plans to go off to college, but until you do, in my heart you're still a cowgirl, and every Wyoming cowgirl I know drives a good truck!"
He had offered to drive me, but I wanted to drive my new truck to graduation. I loved it, and I wanted Daddy to know how special his gift was to me. Besides, he would have made me late. I loved my father with all my heart, but pulling him from his work wasn’t easy, especially since Mama died.
For a moment or two, I felt my eyes start to flood, and my mind was distracted from my speech. I thought about my mother looking down from above with a proud smile on her face. All of a sudden my jittery nerves started to calm, and my breathing returned to normal. Then I started worrying about my appearance.
I was never the kind who carried a compact mirror around; I was lucky if I had a comb. My book bag was filled with books, spiral bound notebooks, a laptop, and headphones — not for listening to music — and maybe some Chapstick. But it was graduation day, and for the first time in my life, I was concerned about my makeup and hair.
So I unzipped my mother's leather clutch, the one I could remember her carrying to church, and opened my compact, powdered away the shine on my nose and then slipped it into the pocket of my gown. Before I hid my purse in my old gym locker, I pulled out at a tissue and checked to make sure my mascara wasn't running. I wanted my classmates and my father to remember me as an attractive young woman, instead of just a nerd who aced every test. And who was I fooling? Certainly not myself. I wanted to look especially lovely because I knew Kent Walker was going to be attending.
Kent and I used to be friends, back at the start of our senior year, when he was still attending all the classes. I missed him and heard he was busy team roping on the rodeo circuit. My heart would skip when I ran into him in the hall or saw him in the school parking lot, but we had drifted apart because I was always studying and Kent spent more and more time out of town doing the rodeo thing. I was surprised when I heard he had enough credits to graduate! I knew Kent had always been smart. He was smarter than me when he applied himself, but his attendance was a problem. I was happy for him, though what honestly excited me the most was the thought of him seeing me up at the podium giving my speech.
Tucking the pages to my speech into a black binder, I placed it under my arm before I pulled the compact out of my pocket. I snapped it open and peered into it to make sure everything was in place. My auburn hair neatly parted in the middle — check. All errant locks tucked behind my ear — check. Lip gloss still moist and shiny — check. Eyes bright and ready to face my future — check.
Slipping the mirror back into my pocket, I started pacing again. We had forty-five minutes to go before the ceremony started. Already a few other seniors were milling around, waiting for Mr. Henry, our principle, to tell them to line up in the order we practiced the day before. Truth be known, I was glad for the time alone to review my speech one more time. I whispered to myself, "The door at the back…no, the door you see behind you…” I nodded, that sounded better.
I started reciting it again, feeling my confidence on the rise. This time I envisioned Daddy watching with his chest poked out — proud of me. Of course, he would be, I was the daughter of Sam Turlington, a successful rancher from Cody, Wyoming. I had grown up surrounded by cattle and horses and enjoyed being outdoors, living in the valley near Yellowstone National Park. My mother had passed away with breast cancer when I was twelve, and I had no siblings to turn to for companionship or support, so I had learned to fend for myself. I held my chin high and felt my chest swell with pride. I was graduating at the top of my class, with several college and university acceptance letters at home atop my desk.
I jumped when I heard a knocking on the metal locker room door, even though it was open. Initially, I wondered why a person would knock on an open door in a public building — oh, that’s right; I was in the girl’s locker room.
When I turned to see who it was, Kent was standing there with his hands stuck deep into the pockets of his Wrangler jeans. He had on a white t-shirt under his rumpled graduation gown. It looked like he had taken it out of the box and hadn’t bothered to have it ironed or a least hung it up to let it smooth out before putting it on. It was unzipped and hung loosely around his broad shoulders, like a flannel bathrobe. I had to bite my lip to suppress a giggle; I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. It was evident to me by the way he looked down and shuffled his feet, he wanted to attend graduation about as much as catching the plague.
“Hi, Kent,” I said, in a high-pitched squeaky voice, giving my anxiety away. Don't get me wrong, I was glad to see him, but he had caught me off guard by his unexpected visit.
"From what I heard before coming in, you were practicing your speech," Kent said in that deep, smooth-as-velvet cowboy voice. Even at eighteen, he sounded like a disc jockey. Some might say he even looked the part, with his dirty blond hair with sun-bleached ends that fell into his sparkling, green eyes. Kent was definitely cute, but a poet — not! The thought of Kent Walker reciting classical poetry sent a shiver down my spine and also made me smile to myself. Kent and poetry were not exactly words you would put in the same sentence unless the poem was about bull riding, calf roping, or barrel racing.
Feeling the heat rising in my cheeks, I said, “Yeah, just going over the final touches." Since I hadn’t seen Kent in several weeks, I was surprised to hear from some of the guys that he was graduating. So even though I was prepared to see him, I didn't expect him to come walking inside the locker room. Saying that I had a crush on Kent was a major understatement, and I had hoped to keep my feelings for him to myself — it’s nobody's business!
He sauntered over toward me with the heels of his co
wboy boots sounding on the concrete floor closing the distance between us. Then Kent looked at me with his bright eyes, and said, “You’ll be great up there. I’m sure your speech is brilliant, too, no doubt about it.”
Back in our junior year, when we were getting to know one another, I realized I had a crush on Kent. When he came around my desk or passed me in the hall, my heartbeat quickened and my breath came in small gulps. But after a month or so I began to relax and enjoy being around him. We would take rides up to the Dairy Queen, and when I was at the rodeo with Daddy, I would go hang out with Kent. One time we went kayaking on the Shoshone River just to get away and enjoy the local scenery.
In the last year, though, things between us changed. I noticed the less I saw Kent, the more I began to fantasize about being with him. I missed him, but he was busy rodeoing and I was busy studying.
I glanced at the clock over the door and realized we only had thirty minutes before it was time to line up for the ceremony, so I smiled, and said, “Thanks, Kent. Fingers crossed that I don’t trip over my gown.” When he grinned my breath hitched, and I couldn’t help but drool over his sexy looks — his sharp, chiseled jaw, and his teeth so white behind those kissable lips. I figured Kent was purposely trying to distract me.
“Can we go for a quick walk? I promise I’ll have you back here in ten minutes,” Kent said. I blinked a few times in silence and surprise, but there was no point in thinking about it.
“Okay, but we have to hurry,” I said, as I blew the golden tassel dangling from my cap out of my face.
Chapter Two
Kent
As we stepped outside the side door of the gym, I let my breath out slowly, excited that Rachel had agreed to go on a walk with me. I tried to watch her out of the corner of my eye without appearing to stare as we kept in step with each other. The gentle evening breeze caused her gown to billow, and she giggled as she placed one hand on that stupid hat with the square board to keep it from blowing off her frigging head.
Rachel was nothing like the other girls in school who fell all over guys like me who were rodeo champions. In fact, she was like nobody else I knew — at all — in appearance or attitude! Rachel was petite and sweet, with beautiful, soft auburn hair that fell like a picture frame around her face. Her bright, brown eyes drove me crazy, to say the least. I heard someone say once that Rachel had a button nose, and I guess I agree with that observation — whatever! To me her nose was cute. But one thing I was fucking sure of was everything about Rachel Turlington blew my mind. And I figured she knew that was how I felt about her.
Rachel had that black folder with her speech inside tucked under her arm as we walked together. In fairness, I hadn’t exactly told her that I had a speech of my own I had prepared for the occasion. So she was oblivious to the fact that I was trying to gather the balls to make my own graduation presentation. I could see she was nervous about getting up on stage, so I allowed her to gab about nothing important for a while. I figured she would eventually have to stop for a breather, and that’s when I would make my speech.
When we stepped off the sidewalk into the parking lot, she was still rambling on and on about her frigging speech. “…and I don’t want it to sound too preachy…” Then she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her face flushed with excitement, and her small hands were waving dramatically in the air like a choir director. “...but I don’t want it to sound too friendly or be full of high school lingo, either,” she continued and continued. My only contribution was to nod my head up and down like a bobber on a fishing line.
I didn’t mind hearing her talk; in fact, I loved it. Rachel was the only person I knew who had the unique capability of not boring me, even though she was way smarter and spoke about stuff I had no clue about. The truth was, just to see her happy and excited like that made me happy and excited, too.
No matter what, she kept talking, and I still hadn't found the courage to butt in. When she turned to face me, still holding on to her hat, I stopped walking and bent over laughing when Rachel said, “… I don't want to sound like a know-it-all. Or like I'm flipping off the teachers by mentioning controversial issues that I don't agree with…” Then her hand flew up to her mouth, and she blushed like she was horrified at her remark about flipping off a stupid teacher. So she asked, "What are you laughing about, Kent?"
All of a sudden we heard the screech of tires. We had walked right in front of a truck pulling into the gym parking lot. Then someone rolled down the window on the driver's side and hollered, "Watch what the hell you're doing!" I grabbed Rachel's hand and pulled her out of the way. We had been off in a world of our own. Back up on the sidewalk as if nothing had happened, she went on talking about her father, graduation, her speech — the girl wouldn’t shut up and give me a chance to get a word in edgewise.
About a week before, I was lying in bed thinking and had decided that on our graduation day I would confess my true feelings to Rachel. Sure, I wasn’t exactly her type — I was no bookworm. In fact, I didn't even want to go to college. But I had grown up on a ranch just like she had and learned the business from my father. So I figured if being a rancher was good enough for her father, it had to be good enough for me too, right?
I was even willing to go so far as to promise Rachel a comfortable life; she knew me enough to know I was a hard worker and she could trust me. The truth was, the girls I'd dated — ya, I had fucked a few rodeo queens in the back of my pick-up truck — they couldn't hold a candle to Rachel. I knew in my heart she would make the perfect wife and partner, and I wanted her for my own.
Out of the blue, Rachel gasped, then gripped my arm, trying to look at my watch with wide eyes. "What time is it? Look, the parking lot is almost full."
It was now or never, so I swallowed hard, and said, "Oh, we have fifteen minutes." Then I took a breath, and continued. “Rachel, I have something important to tell you. I —”
She looked up at me, bright-eyed, as if she hadn't heard a word I said, and asked, "What are your plans after graduation, Kent?”
I shook my head. “I dunno. Hit the town with the guys, I guess.” Then I cleared my throat, and reached over and took her hand. Rachel laughed, so I jerked my head around to see what she thought was funny.
“Not tonight, silly. I mean, your long-term plans, after we graduate, you know.” I clenched my jaw. This was my moment, my opportunity to tell her exactly what my plans were and how much I wanted her to be a part of them. But she kept right on with her monolog. “I’m planning on going to New York City,” she said.
My feet froze on the spot. Rachel stopped, too, and turned to face me. Her hair was blowing in the breeze and falling across her face. “What are you going to New York for?” I whispered.
Unaware that the breath was rushing out of me, she smiled, and said, “I got accepted into a few colleges around the country, but I haven’t decided which one I want to go to yet. But either way, the plan is that I’ll defer my admission by a year and go to New York City, instead—just to see the Big Apple. Unlike you, I've never been out of the state — not even to Montana.”
I felt a wave of nausea welling up inside like someone had just punched me in the gut. “You’re going to college away from Cody? Why not go to the community college here?”
“Yes, as I said, I will go off to college, but only after I've spent some time in New York City. I want to live a little. You know, go to the theater, the opera, and visit all the museums,” she said while nodding cheerily, expecting me to match that sweet smile on her face.
I could feel the back of my neck burning as my rage started to flare up inside me. What the fuck was Rachel talking about? Didn't she realize we were meant for each other? I guess not, since I had just learned she was planning to move out of the state!
Rachel must have noticed I was glaring at her, my anger building up to a heady ball of fire, because her smile slowly began to droop and she let go of my hand. Then I turned toward her, and I couldn't help myself when my hands shot out
from my sides. I grabbed her by the waist. I pulled her to my chest so fast I thought I heard a thud. Then before I lost my nerve, I did something I had only fantasized about in my room.
Rachel gasped when I lowered my lips to hers. Then her hand flew up to her hat. The black notebook fell wide open on the ground. She tasted sweet, and her lips were soft when I parted them with my tongue — without any fucking resistance!
Rachel was clinging to my chest, bunching up my t-shirt with her fists. We were both breathing hard as I moved my hands along the length of her body. Rachel moaned as she was pressing herself against me, melting into my arms. Then I pulled away from her with a jerk, and Rachel gasped. “Kent…” her voice was soft, and I could see that she was in a daze by the faraway look in her eyes.
My mind was whirling with anger and desire, as I started backing away. Rachel’s shoulders were heaving, as she reached down to gather the pages of her speech that were beginning to blow away. I felt how her lip gloss was sticky on my lips and wondered what was becoming of us.
The last thing I remember about our fucking graduation was turning from her and running back to my truck. I pumped my fist in the air and yelled out loud, "Fuck graduation! Fuck this town! Fuck every mother-fucking thing!” At the moment I wanted to put as much distance between Cody, Wyoming and me as possible — and I eventually did.
Chapter Three
Eight Years Later
Rachel
The summer sun was slipping behind the mountains, bathing the evening in a warm glow, and the fireflies were just beginning to put on their show. Nights like this were my favorite times of the year. After I had finished my chores and dinner was over, it was time to relax. Daddy was sitting on the swing with one foot propped on the seat, while I was brushing Georgie-B's tail. Daddy never bothered naming any of our horses; he always left their names up to me. Georgie's registered name was Georgie-Be-Mine. He was a champion barrel racer back when Daddy was still able to compete.
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