Post Eighteen - Decisions and Memories - Estacado Heart (c) 2013 J. Scott Vernon DRAFT

Post Eighteen - Decisions and Memories - Estacado Heart     (c) 2013 J. Scott Vernon DRAFT

Returning from Texas, Tucker felt relief. Mace felt proud. His son would still have a chance to play ball at a high level and get a good education. His conversation with the coach helped feel good about the trip. He knew the down side would be seeing his son move half way across the country and not being able to attend all of his games. He committed to seeing several each year and certainly attend any championship games the Aggies would play. He called the General and thanked him for helping Tucker get into A&M. 

While at A&M, Tucker visited with Dr. Turner and several students in the Animal Science Department. He also visited with Dr. Williams in the College of Veterinary Medicine and Biomedical Sciences. Both were enlightening. The vibe in the Kleburg Building was a bit western. Lots of starched jeans, cowboy hats shaped like taco shells and an abundance of pretty Texas women. The Vet School didn't look like what he expected, not that he expected much, he'd never set foot on a vet school campus before. Dr. Williams, an old school vet with a flat-top haircut, big hands and a scratchy, bourbon voice seemed nice enough. He was a large animal vet who owned his own set of cows he ran just north of Bastrop, Texas. He reminded Tucker of Dr. Vosberg back home. A bit gruff and very knowledgeable. Tucker liked him and enjoyed visiting with him as he took him and Mace on a tour. He told him getting into Vet School would not be easy, but if Tucker did well in his undergraduate program, it was possible. 

As they walked around, Tucker noticed lots of girls and a few guys who looked pale. The girls didn't look like the ones in Kleburg. They were plain. Smart. He asked Dr. Williams what most of the students wanted to do when they graduated, "large animals or small animals?" Dr. Williams, with a slight grunt, said, "pets. Big money stuff. Most want to return to Dallas or Houston where they came from and save the puppies and kittens while getting rich at the same time." "Really?" asked Tucker. "Yep. The rest are horse girls with visions of saving Secretariat or working on a cutting horse ranch," said Dr. Williams,  "not many want to preg check cows and push uterine prolapses back in."  Tucker couldn't imagine Dr. Williams preg checking cows with his big hands and massive forearms. And, he couldn't imagine himself in the Vet School at A&M. In his mind, he saw himself in Kleburg with the girls who looked like they knew their way around a branding iron and a good time. He would major in Animal Science. Dr. Turner would support his admission if he posted good grades in his final semester of high school and could enroll in the late summer session. What Tucker didn't know was that Dr. Turner played on the '58 Aggie baseball team and already had a phone conversation with Coach Chandler and the General. Again, Agggies take care of Aggies - including potential Aggies with a .378 batting average and a rifle arm.

The rest of Tucker's senior year was a blur. He was ready to move on. His summer would be abbreviated by his move to Texas in early August. He wanted to make the best of his final days in the Central Valley. Graduation was bittersweet and all the guys on the Tigers varsity team would be going separate ways. But not before one big blowout party at the Harter's Slough. There would be no Sober Grad night for this bunch of jocks and the girls who tied their futures to the prospect of life as a big league wife or girlfriend. They had collateral no teenage boy could refuse. Teenage love is expressed in many ways - sometimes in the bed of a '78 GMC at midnight on a ditch bank with Kieth Whitley singing "When You Say Nothing At All" on the radio.

The party at the Slough was supposed to be a secret among the seniors. Instead, half the town showed up. Cars and trucks were everywhere. Someone had started a big bonfire with old pallets stolen from behind the Simplot fertilizer plant on the edge of town. Music of all kinds was competing for attention. Some punks were playing DEVO from a boombox. George Jones could be heard wailing from Casey Tipton's speakers he put on the cab of his truck. Springsteen was lamenting his "Glory Days" at full blast from Kimberly Coffman's black '78 Pontiac Trans Am. With the t-tops removed from her car, the Boss was winning the battle of the bands. 

Budweiser flowed like water over the Niagara Falls. Bartles and James wine coolers were a hit with the girls. Some of the country boys favored Southern Comfort and Jack Daniels from pint bottles. A few goth-like kids showed up wearing black leather jackets with spikes and wandered around in a haze. Who knew what they enjoyed? The smell of weed was in the air. Everybody assumed it was supplied by Marty Van Logan and Lance Silva. They graduated a couple of years before, never left town, worked at the tire plant and still partied with the high school kids. Their arrested development was not lost on Tucker. He was happy to be leaving these guys behind.

He wasn't as excited about moving away from Lori Bettencourt. They had gone to school together since 5th grade and she lived down the road from him on her family's dairy. They were like brother and sister, now. It hadn't always been that way. As freshmen they helped each other navigate the growing pains of their adolescent bodies. At first it was awkward, accidental. Lori had broken up with Tommy Taylor, a junior with a habit of lying.  Lori ran to Tucker's house.

She sought comfort with Tucker and would cry on his shoulder. Tucker was a good listener and didn't mind Lori's drama-filled exaggeration. He didn't really have feelings for her but noticed that her body had changed from a plump, soft girl in eight grade to a curvy, taller more athletic looking girl over the summer. Her olive skin was soft, flawless. She did not suffer the pimpled complection of her peers. She had played softball on a traveling team and the innings on the field had a positive effect on her body. Her hormones did the rest. 

Her breast had grown like juicy peaches seemingly overnight. Perky with cleavage that peaked from beneath her tight tank top her breasts drew Tucker's eyes. Her bra was white and sheer. Her face had thinned and her legs had responded to the running she did while playing - tan and muscular.  He saw her differently than ever before. His mind wandered as she slaughtered Tommy with her words, her tears pouring down her cheeks. Not knowing for sure what to do, Tucker reached out and pulled her close. Her face buried in his chest. She sobbed and wrapped her arms tightly around Tucker's waist. He could not stop his body's response. Lori felt his urge, her tears subsided. Tommy didn't seem so special anymore. Her attention span had shifted quickly. She looked up. Their eyes met and together they would make the tack room at Tucker's barn their special place as they fumbled their way into teenage bliss and freshman year.