How do you want to die?

When we were younger, my buddies and I did all the regular country boy things: Campin’, fishin’, huntin’, fightin’, farmers daughters, Church on Sundays, never swore around Ma, stuck up for each other, protected our sisters and drank ridiculous amounts of ice cold Busch Light, in the can, of course.

Those nights we’d spend campin’ on the back 40 of the farm were always good times. A group of buddies, all drinkin', singin' with the radio and tellin' lies. It always seemed sometime after that old yellow moon lit up the countryside, somebody would get to talkin' serious.

One night in particular, the question of how we’d like to die was brought up. Not a word spilled from a single mouth. None of us ever thought about how we’d like to die. We were 17-years old, we had a long while before any of us went off to die.

Then a future death plan was fired off.

“I want to die saving somebody. If it’s a kid in a burning house. A woman gettin' robbed by some guy with a gun. Crashin’ my car chasin' the guy who just robbed my house. I wanna go out like that, tryin' to set things straight,” mumbled Chief. (Chief was the grand mind of our crew. He came up with the crazy ideas for the crazy things we did, thus where the name came from.)

Again, silence.

“I guess I’d wanna die ridin’. Some big bitch of a bull, never been rode, and I get ‘em. Then he gets me. That’s how I wanna go,” Cowboy murmured through a mouth full of Copenhagen. (Cowboy was, well, a cowboy. Since his real name started with a C, we gave him the handle.)

“I’m gonna say in a blaze of glory too. I’d want to save somebody, somethin’, or take the place of the woman I love,” Rodeo told us. (Rodeo, like Cowby, was also a cowboy. But since we gave Cowboy the handle Cowboy, we had to give Rodeo, Rodeo, because his real name started with an R.)

“I wanna die fuckin’. Me, the whole volleyball team and Mrs. Anderson. That’s how I wanna go.” Cookie added. (Cookie was, obviously, the guy who cooked our meals on the camp fire every trip. He was also the guy who always played it off like he was getting laid every day. Which we all knew was a lie.)

“Quick,” Norm said. Which we all understood to be somewhat of a joke. Norm raced cars and by him saying ‘quick’, we all knew he meant on the track. (Norm was somewhat of a bigger fella back then. And the boy could damn near drink his weight in beer if given the chance. We gave him Norm after George Wendt's character on Cheers.)

The rest of us all said that we didn’t know how we wanted it to end. And for many years after that night, I still didn’t know how I wanted to leave. But now, I'm pretty sure I’d like to go out like this:

Quietly...in a log cabin..in the hills of Colorado, surrounded by the pine. The morning sun would just be beginning to peak its face up from behind the trees while they're dancing with echo’s of lost love. The smell of an early morning rain and crushed pine cones throughout, the soft rambling of a creek as it trickles over the stone and the cry of an Eagle above. Alone... tearless...expectant and ready...with my fingers on the keyboard...a hot cup of coffee at my side and the slow lingering of Marlboro Light smoke in my eye, knowing...

...I’m goin' home.