Free Ghetto Cowboy by G. Neri Page A

second. When it does, I take the last three steps and then I’m up on top.
    I keep my eye on the ropes whizzing around me. I use to catch flies all the time, so I pretend they just a couple a of bugs buzzing around my head. The first time I reach for one, I almost fall off. I end up on my stomach looking down into the darkness. My mind goes blank, and I hold on like my hands is made of glue. But just as I start thinking of jumping, one of them ropes hits me in the head and I snag it, wrapping it around my arm.
    Now what? I see Harper pointing to something. I follow his finger and see a wood beam sticking out from the edge of the building. He making motions like I should tie it around that beam. The only problem is I got to crawl along the edge of this roof about fifteen feet to get to it.
    With the rain and the wind and all the noise and spooked horses and guys shouting . . . somehow I just start moving. The building creaks and squeals; pieces fall off left and right. But all of a sudden I’m there. I just have to hold on with my legs, reach down, and pull that rope tight around the beam till the tarp stops flapping about and lays down over that hole. I don’t know how to tie no knot, so I just wrap it and crisscross it till it sticks.
    I hear a cheer go up and them guys down below is all smiles. And suddenly, I don’t feel scared no more.
    I make my way backwards to the ladder. When I get there, the other rope is just lying there, like a present or something. I grab it and look down, where they waving me back. The rope seem long enough, so I just pull it down with me. The ladder don’t seem as rickety going down.
    When I get back to earth, they all treat me like I had just won one of them races. All slaps on the back and guys saying, “Way to go” and stuff. Even Harper has a different look in his eyes.
    For the first time since I got here, I feel all right.

T hey tie that rope nice and tight around a post, and looking into the barn, I can see the blue tarp has stopped the rain for now. Hopefully, it’ll clear up and they can fix it for real tomorrow.
    In the meantime, we all head back to the clubhouse to get out of the storm. When the door opens . . . man, something smells
good.
    Some of the old-time cowboys been cooking up something tasty, and we have us a big ol’ party. There must be thirty guys in here now, and the funny thing is, they all treatin’ me like I’m no different than them. We eat and drink (well, I don’t have no beer, but they brought out root beer for me) and complain about the craziness of this storm, an’ how global warming is making the weather all backwards.
    When things get good and toasty, Tex starts telling us some of his stories from the olden days, back when he was a rodeo star in Texas (that’s why they call him Tex, duh), one of the first black cowboys to make his mark on the circuit. Everyone says he was the best in his day, but he says his daddy and granddaddy was even better.
    “Back in them days, they used to roam the open country, herding cattle on the Chisholm Trail.” The guys nod, like that’s something they heard about the Old West.
    “What’s so special ’bout that?” I ask.
    Tex’s eyes get all dreamy. “That was back when you could ride for days on end without seeing a city. Just open land as far as the eye could see — no fences, no roads. They slept under the stars, bathed in the river, and when they was hungry, they just shot a rabbit and ate it!”
    “I hope they cooked it first,” I say, and they all bust up like I said something funny. I can’t really imagine living that way. Seem like my whole life, everywhere I looked was city — walls, freeways, and buildings. I hardly ever seen a open stretch of land with no cement on it.
    “That was back when the Cowboy Way meant something. Ain’t that right, Tex?” Harp asks. Tex nods in agreement.
    “What’s the Cowboy Way?” I ask.
    Harper puts down his drink and glances at everyone around him.