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Texhoma,
population roughly a thousand was our destination. Even though the night before
Brad and I stayed at the home of a pastor, we were weary of sleeping in the RV
and a quaint little place called Home Town Inn was located in the town. The
prices were so affordable, I got us one of the two, top of the line suites
located at the end of the single story ‘L’ shaped place.
     Bill said to get the room
for a couple nights and I did. I actually took that as welcoming news. We were
staying put and could rest. He told me we were in town because there was
someone I needed to find. Find and recruit. I hadn’t a clue what that meant,
but we had to head out as soon as we checked in. Because of where we were going
to find this individual, Brad had to stay behind.
    Both Brad and I believed it was
some sort of spiritual thing or reasoning, perhaps things would be said that
Brad couldn’t hear, then I realized why Brad had to hang back.
    He wasn’t of legal drinking age.
    I stood outside the bar and grill
that looked like something out of horror movie. A few cars were parked out
front, but there were more motorcycles than automobiles.
    “A bar?” I asked Bill. “I’m
pulling my RV into a bar parking lot.”
    “He’s in here.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “He’s always here. Yes, I’m
sure.”
    “What am I going to say? Do? Just
walk up to him?”
    “I’ll tell you. Just go inside.”
    Admittedly, I was irritated. I
didn’t like blindly following instructions and the whole entire mission was
done blindly.
    I half expected to walk into the
bar and have all noise stop, but it didn’t. It was clean with red and blue
spotlights added to give atmosphere. There were maybe ten patrons inside. Some
played pool, some darts. A lone guitar player was off in the corner, doing his
thing with a tiny PA system.
    The actual bar potion took up a
good length of the left side of the establishment.
    “There, at the far end,” Bill
said. “That’s him. Go sit next to him.”
    Every seat around the man was
empty, and somehow I knew I’d get a look because I took the one next to him
instead of the many empty. He was a good looking man, actually very good
looking. Sandy blonde hair, kept short with a hint of a wave. His face had a
little growth. He wore a black tee shirt, jeans and an open short sleeve blue
checkered shirt. Probably forty, maybe older, it was hard to tell.
    The second I slid onto the stool
next to him, he looked at me.
    There it was. That look. He
wanted to question my choice in seating, I knew it.,
    The barmaid wasn’t any better, in
fact, she looked fearful for me.
    “Hon, you sure you won’t be more
comfortable at the other end?” She asked. “You get a good view of Sam our
singer.”
    “No I’m good here.”
    “Okay then, what can I get you.”
    “Bourbon and soda,” I said.
    Bill whispered in my ear. “Once
she gives you the drink, strike up a conversation. Tell him you are here
because of him.”
    The barmaid set down my drink,
told me the cost and I pushed the money forward and told her to keep the
change. She stayed close by, I suppose to see what I was up to.
    “So.” I said.
    Checkered shirt man looked at me.
    “This is gonna sound really odd,”
I said, taking a big old gulp of my drink for courage. “But I came to find
you.”
    “Really.” He spoke in a smoky
voice. “You aren’t from around here.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Prostitution is illegal.”
    “Oh my God, I’m not a hooker.”
    “Well, if you’re here to try to
pick me up. Don’t bother.” He lifted his drink and downed it, then signaled to
the bartender for another. “I’m taken.”
    “In a sense, he is,” Bill said.
“He’s a priest. Father Craig Thomas.”
    I wanted to blurt out, ‘he’s a
priest?’, I just didn’t see it, he wasn’t dressed like one, nor was he behaving
like I’d expect a priest to behave.
    Bill continued, I guess he sensed
my disbelief. “He’s on a church ordered sabbatical.”
    Craig