The Cowboy

Darel, my grandfather, sat on the tattered brown couch with a Marlboro Red cigarette on one hand and a Coors beer in the other. He was a stout man with an autumn red beard, stubbly black and grey hair and a belly that jiggled when he laughed. Darel had long since forgotten what it felt like to have joints that moved freely without pain and discomfort. His aches were his constant companions, not his friends at all, but always with him. However, he never complained a bit about them at this age. He was a wise man who told stories that transported you to another time and place. He relived his life through the scars on his face and the calluses on his hands. The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journeys in …show more content…
But one could say that he could be tough; however, when he was with his family it was not like that at all, he might not kiss and hug them every single day, but when he does, it is what we considered the most sincere action that someone could ask for. When he gave hugs, you felt warm and loved, his hard sand paper skin became soft. In his last few hearty years of life Darel begin to transform from a rugged outdoors men to a soft, timid insecure child. A dark devilish smock covered him each and everyday eliminating him from continuing work. He lived with a fear that lied un-awakened in the dark recesses of his soul, only to be awoke by the illusions in his head. He begin living with paranoia that soared through his body, tearing at his muscles, invading his brain. He came to thrive off of this feeling for the next several months, anticipating and conjuring the next vision he would have. Darel eventually succumbed to the perils of life and lost his war on the battlefield. He was laid to rest in the soft soil Mother Earth birthed and was blanketed by a warm covering of lush green grass. His memory never forgotten, his smile passed along to his children and falling gently down the family tree to their children and so