Rob and I had one main thing in common: country music. We ran into each other at the Rawhide or Thunder Bay every month or so, we would talk a little and dance a dance, me leading. He wasn't the best c&w dancer I've known, but he loved country dancing and country music and the cowboy life. That's a lot, really -- to have something you love, and live it as far as you can. More than a lot of us do in this life.
He could be harsh about urban cowboy wannabes -- not that he was the Marlboro Man himself. And I was as wannabe as you can get -- but I could dance, and I was his friend, so it was ok. That was one thing about Rob -- he could be real harsh on the net, but if you were his friend, you were his friend, and that was that.
I went out two-stepping the evening of the day Rob died. I knew he'd been ill, but didn't know yet that he had died. I kept sort of looking for him, then rembering that he wouldn't be there because he was sick. I have a feeling I'm going to be looking for him, and then remembering, for a long time to come.
I'm listening to KSAN as I type this -- seems appropriate. And now, in Rob's memory, a medly of country-western songs, great dance tunes all:
Dwight Yoakum's in the corner
trying to catch my eye
Lyle Lovett's right beside
me with his hand upon my thigh.
...
Hey Dwight, Hey Lyle,
Boys, you don't have to fight.
Hot dog! I feel lucky tonight.
--
Don't call him a cowboy
until you've seen him ride.
--
My heros have always been cowboys.
--
I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart
I want to learn how to rope and to ride.
>From Billings down to Laramie
the cowboys take good care of me.
--
And who's this cowboy
who's sleeping beside me?
He's real cute but
how'd I get his shirt on?
I had too much tequila last night.
--
When I die I may not go to heaven.
I don't know if they let cowboys in.
If they don't, just let me go to Texas,
'cause Texas is as close as I've been.
Rest in peace, Rob.
I still don't really believe he's gone.
