Misty

The dust of Fort Worth hung heavy in the air as I drove toward the Cowtown Coliseum, my mind racing with a mix of anticipation and old frustration. When I first met Misty, she was exactly the way she is now—strikingly beautiful and as mean as a hornet's nest. Back then, she was riding out of Texas with her brothers, a tough-as-nails blonde bombshell who refused to let anyone get close. We share a complicated history; before she moved away, we shared a few deeply intimate moments, but our clashing, stubborn attitudes ultimately got in the way and pushed us apart. When she put the word out last week for me to meet her here because she needed to talk, it hit me completely out of nowhere. I don't know why she didn't just reach out to me directly, but that is classic Misty—proud, guarded, and never doing things the easy way. Sitting in the bustling arena, watching the energy crackle around the chutes, my heart beats a little faster wondering what on earth she has to tell me after all this time.