The tents at the Houston Rodeo looked like shops from an old western film. People wandered from station to station trying the best ribs in town and gnawing on massive turkey legs. My cowboy and I walked arm-in-arm, watching midway-goers play games and fall off the mechanical bull. It smelled of fried beans and pork.
This tall guy, boyish, strong and walking proudly in his cowboy hat and crocodile-skin boots, had his southern charm turned up for our second date.
We came across an older, petite Latino lady whose walker had collapsed, leaving her stunned, eyes wide and lying on the ground. Two men attempted, without success, to lift her by her arms. Chance – my cowboy – stepped in without hesitation, wrapping one arm around the alarmed woman and lifting her to her feet while straightening her walker.
“You alright m’am?”
She nodded slowly, no words coming – perhaps just as stunned and overwhelmed as I was.
Welcome to Texas, pardner.
***
When I realized STU has a sister school in Houston, only a 10-minute drive from Rice University where my older sister was doing her masters, signing up for a student exchange was a no-brainer.
Maria is four years older than I, so we never had the chance to attend school together. When I began high school, she was already studying music in Halifax. This would be our only shot.
We come from a family deeply rooted in Catholicism. Maria wasn’t into it, but most of the family was involved in some way. I worked as a youth minister for two years in Saint John, not that I agreed with all the teachings.
When my friends learned I was headed to Texas, I tended to get puzzled looks.
“Why go to the United States when that’s hardly any different from Canada?”
“Are you afraid of the crazy Republicans you’ll meet down there?”
After ending a tumultuous relationship, I didn’t care where I was heading; leaving Canada could not have come at a better time.
***
My first attempt at socializing ended up as a bizarre night in the student lounge: first watching a vampire western about a warrior priest, then watching my new “friends” dance choreographed routines to Korean boy band videos.
But a few weeks later, I met friends who changed my whole Texas experience.
Elle came alive when she stepped on the dance floor. The Texas native studied psychology, but anyone who saw her dance knew her true passion.
From Belfast, Emma was also doing a year-long exchange. Her gentle femininity, Irish accent and ability to find common ground with anyone made her easy to be around.
Our favourite place to go was The Wild West, a country bar with two-step and line dancing. I felt so much more at home when I found friends who liked to dance, hear live music and drink, especially after my run in with K-Pop.
Emma and I, both on exchange, did everything together. Our favourite activity was having a beer and listening to the hipsters play live music in the park behind our residence. I would climb a tree and Emma would laugh, commenting on how Canadian I was.
We developed the nonsense term “hashtag exchange” and would say it to each another if the other ever decided to choose responsibility over fun.
This may be why I ended up way over my head in Spanish class.
***
At UST, I started from scratch. I made new friends and enjoyed life without the worry of other people’s expectations. No one questioned when I didn’t attend chapel on Sunday. I never wasted time on any commitments I didn’t enjoy.
I was in my second year of university when I started at UST but felt like a freshman.
***
I went on a retreat with campus Catholics to Victoria, Texas. Our host explained how the beautifully furnished camp-like venue was in great shape because a dying man donated a third of his earnings to the church, trying to buy his way to Heaven.
That’s when I became friends with Sister Damien Marie, the not quite middle-aged chair of environmental science, who was well loved by UST students.
Sister and I climbed a tree believed to be at least 1,000 years old. I was able to climb a bit higher since she was wearing her full brown habit.
The next week she invited me to her office for a homemade cappuccino. She explained she no longer got coffee on campus since they served Starbucks products.
Confused, I asked her what was wrong with Starbucks.
“They support gay marriage,” she said.
I told her, “my sister’s a lesbian.”
***
But that’s not what I remember most about Houston and my exchange there: not the charming cowboy, not the K-Pop solid gold dancers, not the faith more ancient and beautiful than that tree yet sometimes uncomfortable to be in.
What I’ve hung on to are memories of Emma, Elle and me running though the fountain because it was hot out, or dancing to wobble baby at the Wild West, or waking up at five in the morning just to watch the sunrise.
What I’ve hung onto is “hashtag exchange.” I still say, “yes” to fun, at least as much as I can.
I still say, “yes” to myself.
