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We meet Jesse one at a time. I came home from high school in the afternoon and he was there. The house was quiet and the door locked. I kicked at the bottom of the door while it swung open. Cowboy Jesse was in our house and he was missing his appointment with Dr. Freud.

I knew this day was going to be different. I didn't give Jesse my name. The names of five ranch hands would confuse him. My mom was getting him a clean shirt from my step fathers closet. When he pulled his dirty shirt off over his head, his dark face became lost, under the milk cotton making his head appear gold with light. Healing, in the middle of his chest was a fresh scar. Round-- the size of my finger. A gun shot. Jesse was a real cowboy --he had been in a gunfight.

Roy Rogers, my favorite cowboy, had been in a lot of gunfights. TV shows filmed cowboys pulling their guns from holsters and making a clean shot into the bad guy's heart. I knew cowboys could shoot. and never miss. Without bleeding, the guy wearing the black hat died quickly. Roy Rogers ended each episode by getting out his guitar and singing, "Happy Trails To You". I lived in the west but I knew this was no cowboy show. 

Jesse was proud of his bullet hole. The clean familiar shirt when over his face.

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