Outlaw

 There is a point in every woman’s life when she must make a choice. Are you gonna be stuck up, or fun loving? Are you gonna be someone’s wife or just someone? Are you gonna kill this man, or let him live?

The choice is pretty obvious sometimes. I ain’t no man’s wife, I ain’t got it in me. And I sure as hell ain’t stuck up. I grew up too poor to be stuck up now. So that leaves only one question to be answered.

Am I gonna kill this man or not?

He’s whimpering, begging for his life. I reckon at this juncture, he’s figured out who I am, and what I do. The infamy is nice, makes me feel important, but it comes at a cost. With my face plastered to every post from here to Colorado, it makes everyday life more of a chore. Can’t even sleep in peace most nights.

But it makes animals like this one whimper at the sight of me. I’ve worked long and hard to get a reputation as an outlaw, now it’s time to finish what I came here for.

“Jeremiah Barlow, good to see ya again,” my lips twitch into a smile as I watch the horror dawn on his scruffy face.

“Quite frankly darlin’, I’m hurt that you’d think I’d forget what you looked like so quickly,” I pout out my lower lip, “It ain’t like there’s a whole load of other men who did what you done.”
“Liza?” he raises his eyes, squinting up at me, the mid-day Arizona sun pouring over my head into his bruised face.

“The one and only,” I fake a curtsy, all the while keeping the barrel of my gun trained steadily on his forehead.

“What the hell are you doing, girl?” he tries to rise, I cock the gun, he kneels once again.

“I thought I made that clear, Jeremiah. I’ve been looking for you for quite some time now. I gotta give you credit though, you’ve been a hard man to find.”

“What happened to you?” he asks in an awed whisper.

I glance down at my dusty attire, grinning. “Yeah, I know it’s a far stretch from that blue dress I’s wearin’ the last time I saw you riding off. But don’t you think trousers suit me better anyway? I never was much of one for tradition.”

“Can’t we talk this out, Liza? You know I didn’t mean to leave you like I did, but how’s a man supposed to stick around when there’s so many opportunities? I had to come out here.”

“Opportunities?” I feel the same old anger boiling up in my chest again, I squelch it down, I gotta keep my calm, at least for now, “Is that what you call it? All you do is ride around in that dusty old cart and sell broken China outta it. That ain’t exactly what I call an opportunity. Sounds more like another one of your damn excuses.”

He’s getting nervous now. I watch as he glances around, looking for help, but he knows as well as I do that he ain’t gonna see nothing but cactus for miles.

“No good, it’s just you and me now,” I smile again, “Just like you promised it would be. You and me until the end. Who’d have thought the end would come so soon?”

A sob escapes his throat, and for a split second, I’m that doe-eyed girl again, waiting on the doorstep back in Georgia, waiting for him to come in and make my day. I blink back tears, forcing myself to remember the way he looked as he rode off, leaving me with an empty promise that he’d be back, making me swear I’d wait for him, telling me that Robert E. Lee or Stonewall Jackson, or one of them commanders he probably never actually met needed him. I swallow around the lump in my throat and press the barrel of my gun into his forehead.

He stiffens, his eyes go wide, he stares straight ahead, not looking at me.

“Look at me, Jeremiah, look what you done,” his eyes flit up to my worn, scowling face. I know the harsh sun ain’t agreed with me. I wasn’t the prettiest girl back home, but the heat and the sand and the scowling has started to show itself in my face.

“Liza, I’m so sorry. I always meant to come back, you know I did,” he’s giving me that look that always makes my legs go weak.

I straighten my shoulders, forcing down my sympathy for him. Ain’t he the one who told me he loved me? Ain’t he the one who swore up and down that he'd come back once the war was over? And ain't the war been over?

I press my gun so hard into his forehead that I know it’ll leave a ring. That is, if there’s anything left of his head when I pull the trigger.

“Aw, common Liza,” his voice is high and squeaky.

“I ain’t Liza no more,” I growl through gritted teeth, “You left Liza standing on the doorstep, watching you ride off into the sunset. My Mama warned me off of you, ya know that? She said you’s a no good, rotten, dirty scoundrel, and she was right. You run off right at the most important time of my life, and I ain’t heard a word since.”

Jeremiah doesn’t say anything, he just sobs like a woman. His shoulders heave up and down in time with his pathetic blubbers. I know he’s trying to get in my head.

“You never got none of my letters, did ya?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch, sympathy creeping in.

He glances at me sheepishly. “I always meant to write you back, I swear it, I just ain’t never had the time!”

My finger squeezes the trigger slightly as a violent shudder of anger rips through me. “The you knew!” my voice rings out clearly, so that every lizard and bug for miles can hear us, “You knew about our baby and you still stayed away! You no good, yellow bellied, rotten piece of-”

He sobs loudly. “I’m sorry Liza! I was gonna come back, I was gonna send money but-”

“She died, Jeremiah,” the words sound soft and hollow, even to my own ears, “She died and you never even cared enough to write me back. My Mama was right.”

“Liza, can’t we talk this out? Please, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

For the first time since I met Jeremiah Barlow, it’s as if my eyes are opened. Here he is, kneeling by me, his face yellow with fear, his scrawny knees digging into the dirt. He never was no knight in shining armor, he’s always just been this liar who never planned on keeping his word. I’ve been chasing him down for years, making myself a notorious, wanted woman in the process, shedding more blood than ever flowed through my dying child’s small body, and I was lyin’ to myself the whole time. I told myself that something had happened to him. I thought I’d find him, and he’d fall into my arms with a good reason he’s been missing these years. I’ve built a man in my mind out of a girlish fantasy, fueled by the loss of my baby, driven by a need for revenge, or reconciliation, or something else that might mend my broken heart.

But he’s nothing like the man I’ve been holding to in my mind. He’s sallow, gray, and aging worse than I am. He’s quivering with fear, all because a small, haggard, leather-faced woman told him to get on his knees.

“You ain’t no more than a coward,” I mutter.

His eyes meet mine, and I see the fear I knew was there, the utter terror that I've seen in ever man's eyes that I've held a gun to, and not a hint of remorse. 

I don’t know if my mind or my body pull the trigger, but suddenly the shot rings out, blood splatters across the barren ground, and the heady scent of gunpowder mingled with rusty, burning blood fills my nostrils.

“Good riddance, Jeremiah Barlow.”

The last thing I see as I ride away is his body, laying face down on the desert floor, baking in the sun.


-J.S.