My Beloved Julio

So many of you have expressed an interest in knowing, so this day I will share my memories of Julio. When I’m feeling rather sassy, I may refer to Julio. If my affection for you is great, I may even call you by his name. It is an endearment, an honor, to be called “Julio” by me. In my fiction, you’ll also find references to him when I need a name for a minor character. Not “George” or “Bob” but always “Julio.”

Julio was my first love. He was but a lowly goat-roper, and I an aspiring barrel racer. I used to watch him perform, my teenaged hormones all tingly at the sight of his rippling manly muscles as he roped and wrestled those animals to the ground and then tied them down. I wanted him to do the same to me. When I rode my horse, ever faster, racing, pushing for more speed, more agility around those turns, my thoughts were on him. I gripped my pony between my legs and experienced sensations that bewildered my young mind.

My daddy hated him. My mama loved him but wanted a better life for me than she had; she wanted me to marry the wealthy Toad instead, who lived on the other side of the tracks and never touched a goat in his life. Alas, the choices we make in life, and I often wonder what joys my life would have revealed to me if I had married my beloved Julio instead of the wicked Toad.

Actually, y’all, Julio was the name of a cook in the restaurant (Judge Bean’s) where I worked as a waitress when I was in college. He was the only cook in the kitchen who spoke any English, so when the waitresses or managers needed to speak to someone in the kitchen, to give instructions or to ask a question, they always shouted through the window, “Hey Julio!” We’d all say “Hey Julio!” even if Julio wasn’t in the kitchen that day, and the cooks would always answer to it. After a while, it became a joke, just a funny thing to say, and pretty soon we were all calling each other Julio.

This strange, quirky habit stayed with me to this day, and I often greet people with a hearty “Hey Julio!” when I’m in a goofy mood. That’s it, not as interesting as a tale of star-crossed lovers, I know. Just another idiosyncrasy of being Tess.