The Country Mailman

Tune in every week to read about the adventures of Buck Buchanan, fictional country mailman, delivering mail out of Starz, Texas. He takes his job seriously and knows that customers count on him to deliver every piece of mail entitled to them. He is all about customer service. With a willing ear and a helping hand, Buck Buchanan goes the extra mile.

* * *

Walking in the half-summer, half-autumn weather can’t be beat in West Texas. I survey the cotton fields just beginning to show signs of white cotton underneath the green leaves and even though I have to look closely, the crops appear promising.

After the brisk, fifteen-minute morning walk to get blood pumping in my veins, I unlocked the SUV – ready to continue on the mail route. I don’t mind parking at the coffee shop with a car load of mail since Edna has a keen eye for unusual activity. At this time of the morning, she rarely has customers and takes a few minutes to drink coffee before the noon rush.

I heard the crunch of gravel behind me, looked in the rear view mirror and thought Jenny Robins would ask for her mail or see if I had her packages. Every three months she practically stalks me until she receives the new DVD’s from Jazzercise and the new work-out clothes and goodies she gives away in class. Instead, she drove her white jeep adjacent to my window and gave me a smile that could warm the coldest heart. Jenny is a pretty girl, always has been. The weight crept up on her, though. I noticed at one time, she had a hard time fitting in the chair at the coffee shop and a harder time, breathing. I suspect she bordered on three hundred pounds. Not long after, she went to the hospital in an ambulance and came home with a baby.

Now, I’m not one to disbelieve, especially when it comes to women and their bodies, however, when my wife told me Jenny had no clue she was even pregnant, I did feel my eyebrow raise automatically. But my wife and Jenny’s mother are good friends and since it isn’t any of my business, I didn’t comment. That experience changed Jenny. She had to have lost over a hundred pounds. Now, she has curves in all the right places, looks healthy and if she weighs more than a hundred and twenty pounds, I’d be surprised.

The round, black, magnetic sign on the door of her jeep that says, Jazzercise, is the reason – or rather, the method. I’m sure there is more than one reason Jenny decided to change her life. Now, she teaches Jazzercise in the activities building of the church several times a day and several days a week.

“I’ve got new music for this afternoon, Buck. Are you coming?”

I nodded. “Looks like I’ll be finished in time. I’ll be there, but Nancy Carson didn’t like it last time when I got behind her. She looked real nervous and by the time class ended, she’d edged around behind me.”

Jenny nodded. “Women generally prefer men to exercise in front of them.” She shrugged. “You don’t mind being in the front row, do you Buck?”

“Only when you do new steps. You know how long it takes me to learn.”

She smiled, nearly laughing. “That’s what makes it fun when you come. You make people laugh.”

I shrugged, almost frowning, and then remembered the jokes about Jenny when she weighed over two hundred pounds. Being surrounded by a room full of women dressed in tight fitting exercise garb isn’t anything to frown about, even if they do find my exercise steps amusing.

*  *  *

After greeting the regulars heartily, I noticed a few women I didn’t recognize. They were on the back row in the activities center which isn’t surprising. Most new Jazzercisers prefer to stay incognito until they’ve learned the steps.

Izzie Isham and I stood on the front row as Jenny started the new routine. Shaney Cook moved between the first and second row. No matter what the choreography, she is a free spirit who usually holds her hands in the air and sways whenever she feels the urge. I suspect she does the same in church on Sunday mornings. Occasionally she sings to a tune no one else hears.

At eighteen, Izzie looks professional, no matter what new song Jenny throws at us. She is interested in being an instructor and can dance nearly as good as anyone I’ve seen. I moved and watched Jenny, trying to mirror her dance steps. Even though she tells us what to expect through that little microphone she wears, I’m never ready. Half the time I can’t understand what she says – Babe, my wife, thinks I’m going deaf because I keep the television loud. She doesn’t understand that when the volume is up, I don’t hear the phone ring. And when I can’t hear it, I don’t have to get up to answer it.

I did the hip thrust, though, fully comfortable with that move. I was so comfortable with it, I did it several times even though Jenny had moved on to something else. Then I sauntered, when I should have sashayed, but what the heck, I was moving. Halfway through the new routine, I was just about to give up when Izzie saw me stop. She moved into my arms and we started two-stepping around the room and in a minute Jenny had everyone with a partner and we were all dancing in a circle to the sound of George Strait crooning the way that only he can do.

All of it is exercise and since Jenny keeps it fun, I enjoy my Jazzercise sessions. It keeps my heart beating fast and my muscles moving. I don’t advertise that I attend. I’d just as soon be the only man in the room as I learn a lot from the conversations: the best place in Lubbock to get a Brazilian wax, the cleanest tattoo parlor that does permanent eyelid lining and the advantages of a hot stone massage versus deep tissue.

These are not men conversations, totally opposite of the talk I hear in the domino hall. It’s healthy to experience both, keeps a person in tune and since everyone in Starz is a mail customer, I like to keep in touch.

Jenny Robins keeps in touch with her Jazzercise customers. I’ve seen her take Mrs. Hatchet all the way to her house after she locked her keys in the car on a Jazzercise day – twenty miles. During icy, winter weather, Jenny picks up the older ladies who exercise and brings them to town for the hour-long session. And she still looks after Jackie Singleton, even though the lady broke her leg last year. It wasn’t Jenny’s fault that Jackie tripped over Shasta Crow’s feet during the cardio workout and ended up with a cast. Thankfully, the melee didn’t affect Shasta any since she landed on heavy padding, furnished by inhaling those packages of banana crème cookies and candy bars I see stuffed in her work-out bag. Being our Jazzercise instructor, Jenny takes our well-being personally, and always shares with Shasta the value of fruit and vegetables in lieu of processed foods. But, as she very well knows, a person has to make a solo commitment to change and until Shasta decides to come to Jazzercise more than once every two weeks, I suspect the shape of her body won’t change. I don’t begrudge her the cookies and the candy bars, either. I have my own stash at the house.