Molly Bennett
3 June 2022
A Eulogy to Cowboys
It began with a flicker, nothing more. Just a diminutive light blinking on and off barely above the horizon. It no longer arose with the hazy sun and sank with the depressive moon, but lingered through the days and nights, never faltering for a moment. I felt drawn towards it. The feeling was almost magnetic, as if I was being sluggishly dragged against my will in the direction of the unknown.
“Augustin,” my name distantly rang. “Augustin, mon chéri.”
I inhaled sharply, returning back to reality. “Hm?” I twisted my head to make half-hearted eye-contact with my mother, who had placed a worried hand on my slumped shoulder.
“You’re staring at it again, you know,” she reminded me in her soft, passive voice. This was a frequent interaction between her and I. For months now I had longingly stared out our window of warped glass, blankly wondering about the beyond. The view outside of that window had always been barren, the only sight being the singular crooked tree that had been deprived of any foliage my entire life. But for as long as I lived there, I never before felt the empty twang of loneliness that was brought on by the light. I had always felt content enough where I was, never getting the urge to venture off on an exciting adventure until it began to blink rhythmically in the distance. I just couldn’t push away the feeling that was calling me across the bitter wasteland in which my mother and I resided. I know my constant daydreaming worried her, for she would pace around me for hours, trying to distract her only son from what I began to believe was my imminent fate.
Over time, my yearning for adventure grew uncontrollable, to the point where there was not a moment when I wasn’t sitting at the window, hopelessly gazing into the horizon. Eventually, my own mother gave up on diverting my mind, just giving a dissatisfied sigh, shaking her head, and muttering soft prayers as she disappeared into the house.
Months after the light had first appeared, I decided I couldn’t take it any more. My craving for adventure whittled me down as each day passed, preventing me from carrying out my responsibilities. Every moment I wasn’t staring at it, I felt an indescribable sense of anguish that pulsed through me like bolts of serrated energy, clawing at me from the inside out.
“Maman,” I whispered faintly into my mother’s ear.
“Oui, Augustin, what is it?” She glanced up at me worriedly, setting down her embroidery. She was tranquil, sewing the finishing stitches into a floral pattern she had drawn out to obsessively replace a worn hole in one of my father’s shirts.
I met her concerned gaze hesitantly, my eyes darting away from her furrowed brows. “I can’t stay here anymore, Maman. I have to go find it.”
She inhaled sharply, as if she knew what I was going to say. She surged out of her chair to throw her trembling arms around my neck. “Oh, Augustin, you’re just like your father,” she murmured, her voice quivering slightly. I could tell she was becoming emotional.
My mother had hung on to my presence in the house for far longer than she should have. Part of me felt bad for deciding to go because I knew she didn’t want to be alone. Ever since my father passed, she had clung to me like moss to a damp wall. It had been years and I felt as though I was ready to escape, to go on an endless odyssey of trivial expeditions that would, in return, earn me no more than what I had left with. She pulled away from the embrace, tears threatening to spill. Her voice broke as she spoke to me. “Oui, you must go, I know it too.”
She sent me off somberly the next morning. She hardly spoke a word to me as she stuffed some of her homemade pastries into my horse’s saddlebags. The horse was a mellow mare, named Andrée after my paternal grandmother. I had owned her since she was a foal and she had grown up alongside me into a majestic yet gentle animal. I mounted her, taking a deep breath and nodding my head at my mother in dismissal. Then, I turned my attention to the road ahead and began my journey, not looking back once.
I still feel remorse for leaving her alone like that, unaware of when and if I would see her again.
Mere minutes into my adventure, I began to weep. I wasn’t necessarily mournful in the beginning, I just started to cry. To this day, I can’t say what the reason was, other than the fact that I was immediately overwhelmed with an inconsolable amount of emotions. Maybe it was the blinding light reflecting off of the pure, untouched ice that was nestled under Andrée’s hooves. Perhaps it was the sharp wind slicing through my vision as I continued to move forward. Or could it have been the fact that I was afraid? Frightened of what was to come, or for worse, what wasn’t.
Nevertheless, I trekked on, nothing but the empty tundra to see in any direction. Andrée grew sluggish as the wind lowered her body temperature, and I decided to make a stop by an old crooked tree to let her rest. The tree itself reminded me of my home, which again caused tears to spill from my eyes, slinking their way down my raw cheeks. I tied Andrée loosely to the trunk, allowing her some room to move around if she so chose. I draped a blanket over her back to keep up her body temperature and wrapped myself up in a large fur cloak.
“Here, Andrée, en veux-tu?” I offered her some of my bread. She gratefully accepted it and politely nibbled at her portion. “What are we doing out here, girl?” I covered my face with my trembling hands. “Merde.” I swore under my breath, already regretting my choice. There was not a soul in sight and I could feel the loneliness creeping back, slithering its way through my mind.
What was I looking for? That was the question that constantly haunted me as I sat there, nearly frozen to the ground. I could only imagine my mother back at home and how I left her there all alone with her insurmountable grief. I had pushed my own feelings away, buried deep within a casket that I never wanted to unearth.
I glanced over to the horizon, the small blinking light providing me with a sense of comfort. It relieved me to know that it was still there, waiting for me to reach it. I guess I had this strange belief that when I achieved my goal, I would know why I went, why I left my mother alone, and why it was calling to me. No matter how stupid I thought my decision was, I couldn’t convince myself to turn back and abandon the last sliver of hope I had.
“Let’s go, Andrée.” I tugged on her rope, but she was still lethargic from her short nap. “Let’s go,” I repeated, a bit more sternly. I yanked her rope a bit harder, which seemed to jolt her awake. I patted her on her neck, getting close to her ear. “I know, I’m tired too. We’ll just go a bit further today, then we’ll stop for the night, I promise.” My words seemed to provide her with some comfort because she perked up and allowed me to trot along.
My journey repeated in the same cycle for three grueling weeks, both Andrée and I feeling the full brunt of the gale. Each day, Andrée awoke less enthusiastic than the day before, her ears drooping lower and lower. After the second week, she began to drag her hooves, scraping them on the rough ice as she carried me further. She whined through the nights, sleeping less and less as time progressed. Her constant whinnies kept me awake, both with worry and with anger as I quickly realized she was slowing me down. When the sun dawned on the third week, I could hardly get her to move. She lay on the ground and writhed in some unknown agony. She had no visible wounds, and after closely checking her, I was nearly sure she was healthy. I suspected she was slowly being eroded by the weight of the journey, as I began to feel it too. A tiny, spider-like feeling crawling around in my mind. The poison from its fangs sunk into my thoughts, infecting them with its deadly venom. But still, I pressed on.
The wind grew more powerful as we walked, but I began to be able to see the end of our journey. The light grew brighter as we moved closer, and I could tell the trip would last only a few more days. I suddenly felt a surge of hope in my chest that instantly lifted my mood and extinguished any flames of doubt that had been festering in my mind. Andrée, on the other hand, was not doing as well as I seemed to be. She still dragged her hooves in an uninterested, apathetic manner. Her eyelids drooped low, and I could see that she was struggling to stay awake. “C’mon Andrée,” I encouraged her. “Just a little longer, you can make it.”
When the sun set that evening, we were both exhausted. Another hollow tree stood alone, and I decided to stop there for the night. Andrée flopped on the ground, completely drained, and fell immediately asleep. At least she was sleeping.
I rummaged through her saddlebags and found that I was running low on food. I ate very little that night, in fear of running out of sustenance to keep me moving. I laid down on the hard, frozen ground and stared up at the splatter of stars. I thought about my father and what he would think if he saw me there, doing just what he would’ve done. My mind drifted to my mother who was probably terrified that her son would suffer the same fate as her husband. Her reckless boys, their destiny calling to them from miles away, chasing after something intangible. Would I too, come back a withered, hollow soul and fade away like my father once had? It seemed then that only time could tell.
When the sun dawned the next morning, I dragged myself up, feeling heavier than I had when I drifted off. Not physically, but I still felt as though an enormous weight had been transferred from elsewhere onto my own shoulders. I patted Andrée on the back and tried to wake her up. She was still. “Andrée,” I chuckled, smiling at her laziness. “Come on Andrée, get up.” Still, she did not move. I started to feel the first embers of nerves sparking within me. “Andrée?” I tugged on her reins, attempting to jolt her awake. I shook her. “Andrée! Wake up.” Her head remained limp. The flame of anxiety lit, and I could feel the heat of panic burning in my chest as I began to shout. “Andrée! S’il vous plaît! Please!” Frantically, I kneeled beside her and listened carefully. She was not breathing. Not a single breath of air escaped her lungs, her chest did not rise and fall, it lay dormant and motionless. I let go of her reins and pulled my knees to my chest, sobs echoing around me. I was truly alone.
It wasn’t until mid-day when I was finally able to pull the pieces of myself back together to form a makeshift puzzle. The foundation was weakened insurmountably, but it would do. I covered Andrée in her blanket and it broke me to have to leave her there, but the ground was far too frozen for me to bury her. I broke a scraggly branch off the tree and laid it next to her, hoping it would remind her that I would never forget what she had done for me. Worn out, I picked up my bag and pressed forward. Every step I took felt like a stab to the chest, like a new slice had been taken from my soul. I knew then that it wasn’t the cold that was making me weary, it was something else. I understood Andrée’s pain and considered giving up on multiple occasions. Was it really worth it?
On my first night alone, I did not sleep. I stared into the light and wept, cursing it for taking Andrée away from me. I screamed at it, calling out as if it could hear me. But I suppose I was like a fallen tree in an empty forest. If there was no one there to hear me, had I even spoken at all?
I started walking before the sun had risen, yearning to reach my destination. It was so close to me, yet I felt no satisfaction. Still, I did not care. All I wanted was to be there, to be able to know the unknown, to live a satisfying life.
It was right there in front of me, mere steps away. I was giddy with anticipation. I stepped forward. Jolts of pain seared through me as I felt more of myself become severed and lost, my individuality being crushed before my very eyes. But it was too late. I was too close to my destination to turn back and I took two more steps forward, ignoring the excruciating pain I was in. I refused to give up. I knew it would take me only one more step. I gazed at the magnificent sight before me, a gigantic flickering light enveloping everything I could see. Trembling, I squeezed my eyes closed and stepped into it.
When I fluttered my eyelids open, I saw nothing. I frantically turned my head in every direction, but there was nothing. It was the same frozen, blank, hollow wasteland that I had come from. The same dead trees littering the ground, their roots grasping each other. The same wind zipping through the air. I turned to look at what I had come for and fell to my knees, weeping in defeat.
The light had gone out.
Fin.