Bull Rider

by Suzanne Morgan Williams

  “I remember the blood,” Ben said, “that’s all.”

  “I left a lot of me on that courtyard in Baghdad.” Burton stopped and took a swig from a water bottle.

  “But they didn’t get all of me. Your brother stayed there and lay on my belly, holding the blood in my legs until the medevac came in. They shot me up with something for the pain, and then I don’t remember. But I know I would be gone on to the next world if it weren’t for Ben. And now, here we both are. Good enough, still in the same outfit.”

  He looked at Ben. “You got hit a couple weeks later.”

  “It was morning,” Ben said. “I remember getting my gear on and loading into a truck. We weren’t going far.” He stopped.

  “Did you save some people that day, too?” I asked. “Or did you get hit first?”

  “I don’t remember,” he said. “I just remember the sound and the smell—like rotten eggs and burning oil. Burning hair. Foul. That smell was enough to make you puke. That’s it.”

  “You pass out,” Georgia said. “A lot of the guys pass out and don’t remember.”

  They both got real quiet. I didn’t know what else to say, so I changed the subject. “So, did Darrell talk to you? You know I’ve been bull riding?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You can’t tell Mom,” I said, quietly, “but I rode Quicksand.”

  “They put you on Quicksand?” Ben’s eyes lit up.

  Georgia cocked his head and pointed his finger my way. “So is that bull as bad as his name?”

  “He’s big. Real big. I didn’t make a time.”

  “But Darrell said you rode twice, eight seconds, right?” Ben asked me.

  “True.” I blushed.

  “That’s good, Cam,” Ben said. “That’s a plain miracle for a new rider. Just go again. You’ll stick on Quicksand.”

  Georgia laughed. “That’s the way, ain’t it? You get knocked down and you just go again. Bull riders and jarheads. That’s the way.”

  There was a long silence. I looked around the room and took it in. The sun poured through the windows lighting bright squares on the floor. The walls had posters with upbeat sayings like, “If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” It was enough to make you gag. What lemonade? Ben wasn’t the youngest one here. Geez, a lot of them could pass for my age. There were some older guys, maybe twenty-eight or thirty, who were broken up pretty good too. The war seemed to be an equal-opportunity destroyer. The casualties, as the service called them, came in every color and size. What these guys had in common was the wheelchairs and walkers. The helmets and slippers. Missing body parts and scars.

  “When I’m done here, I’m going back to Iraq to kick some butt,” Georgia said.

  “You and me too,” Ben said.

  My heart skipped. I didn’t hear that right. “You’d go again?” My voice cracked. “But why?”

  “Our buddies are there,” Ben said. “We got their back.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I was glad to leave. I couldn’t say so to my family, but after seeing those guys, you stew about stuff. Things like, what was worth losing a year of your life, half your arm, and half your memories? Ben said he wanted to go back to Iraq, but okay, would a sane person do that? Was he working on half his cylinders? The military folks talked about fallen heroes, but what I saw was guys like Ben and me. Was it me with the screw loose? Was I unpatriotic?

  Dad took the truck and left early. The rest of us drove home with a pile of paperwork from the VA and a new teddy bear for Lali. I hated leaving Ben there. Mom felt the same. “I can’t stand that he’s alone there. You know, I just wish there was more family around. If Uncle Harlan hadn’t died, he could visit. He lived in Hayward.”

  “Lord, that would be worse than more of it,” Grandma Jean said. “Uncle Harlan would bore him to death and then Ben’d leave this earth with bad jokes ringing in his ears. Now, I loved my brother, but I don’t wish his corny jokes on anyone.”

  “Seems that don’t matter, since he’s already dead,” Grandpa Roy said.

  “Will you stop talking about dead people?” Mom said. “I just meant Ben’s alone here, and Salt Lick is so far away.”

  She got that right. Salt Lick was nine hours, if there wasn’t snow, and about a light-year, if you considered how different the ranch and the hospital felt. I put my baseball cap on and pulled it over my eyes so I could sleep.

  “There’s always a bright side, look for that,” Grandma Jean said. “We all have our angels.”

  I tried to imagine good stuff. I thought of Ben standing up, dressed for bull riding in his hat, jeans, and boots. I thought of him walking. The car hummed along the highway and I fell asleep.

  It was dark when we got home. Grandpa Roy went right out to help Oscar Ruiz with the evening chores, and Grandma Jean started dinner. Dad and Mom sat down with the papers from the hospital, their bills, and the bank statement.

  “I’m not borrowing anything,” Dad said. “I’ve got the loan on this year’s alfalfa and the Angus stock to pay off. You know we can’t borrow more.”

  “Well, we could go to social services and see if there’s some relief for us, somehow,” Mom said.

  Dad just stared at her. “We’re falling short, that’s all. Since you lost your job, we’ve got to make up the income. We’ll handle it.”

  “How?” Mom asked.

  “We can still tighten our belts. That’s the good news.”

  Dad’s idea of good news was a piece different from mine.

  “I could pawn the silver,” Mom said.

  “But I like the pretty silver,” Lali piped in.

  “We can get it back, later,” Mom told her softly. “It just stays down in Winnemucca for a while.”

  “That’s your great-grandmother’s silver,” I said.

  “So? It’s mine now and I’ll pawn it if I like,” Mom snapped.

  “Stop talking about pawning stuff. We’ll get by. I’m taking care of my family,” Dad said.

  It was definitely time for some real good news around here.

  There wasn’t any good news at school, either. Killworth taught the two most boring subjects—history and algebra, along with boys’ PE—and I was still behind. He was getting deep into World War II, and algebra was getting harder. I was lost and Mom wasn’t putting up with bad grades, so I stopped Favi after class one afternoon.

  “Can you come over and we’ll study history?” I asked.

  “I’ve got a French test tomorrow. Can we do it later?” she said.

  “I can’t wait. If I don’t catch up, Killworth’ll have me doing detention, and my mom…”

  Now Favi isn’t known for being a student, but she’s smart. She just doesn’t let on to most people about her brains. And right then, I’d take any help I could get. “Can you come up tonight?” I asked.

  So she walked to our house after dinner. I recalled the times her brother Paco had come over to hang out with Ben when they were in high school and Favi’d tagged along. We always went out by the irrigation ditch to catch bugs or frogs or just to talk. Back then, she had a huge bug collection she kept between paper towels in shoe boxes. Mike and I helped her look for them, but she wouldn’t let us kill them. They had to be dead when we found them, which made it harder. Now she sat across from me at the dining room table. “What are you missing?” she asked.

  “I got behind about the time he started World War Two.”

  “So what are your questions?”

  “Don’t know, I haven’t done the reading,” I said.

  “Well, you won’t pass if you don’t read.”

  I knew that. She didn’t have to tell me. “There’s other stuff I’m doing.”

  “Well, you aren’t boarding with Mike anymore. You might try reading.”

  “I’m good,” I said. I looked out the window.

  “Mike says you aren’t the same as last year. I told him to let you get used to—everything. But, Cam, he’s dying without you to skateboard with. You should get you
r grades up, just for him.”

  “I’m doing it, aren’t I?” Now I looked at her. I tried to stare her down, but I never could win that game with Favi, so I asked her, “And how’s Paco, anyway?” Paco joined up the same time as Ben, but he didn’t go to Iraq that first year. “I heard his unit is on its way to relieve some troops in Afghanistan.”

  “He’s okay. He just called last night. They leave next week.”

  “Sorry,” I said. I opened the history book and pretended to read.

  “He’ll be okay,” Favi said. “He’s a sharpshooter. He says he’ll get off the first shot.”

  “Sure,” I said. But I knew we were both thinking about Ben.

  “So, what’s the important stuff in this chapter?” I asked.

  Favi flipped through the pages of the book. I concentrated on her hand scanning the pages. It’s weird how someone who’s so annoying some days, can turn around and be as cool to hang out with as she was. “The Korean Conflict,” she said. “Read that. I know that will be on the test.” I tried to read it while she memorized French verb tenses. I tried. But how boring do they have to be, going on about battles that happened fifty years ago and expecting me to recall the names of places in Korea?

  “I’m switching to algebra,” I said.

  “I can’t help with you that. I got a C on the last test.”

  “I’ll work it out myself.” I opened the book and pushed my chair away from the table. I set my mind to the equations and I was glad when Favi went home. I studied better without thinking about her and Paco and Ben.

  I figured I’d ask Darrell about the algebra, but the Internet was down, so the next day after school I rode out to find Darrell at the bull ring. He was sitting in the back of his truck, drinking coffee out of a thermos. Steam rose from the plastic cup and a few snowflakes were settling on the brim of his hat.

  “Hey, squirt, how’s Ben?” he asked.

  “He’s looking good,” I lied.

  “You bringing the snow with you?”

  “Naw, I haven’t learned that trick yet. But I’m working on it.” I grinned. “Can you help me with my algebra?”

  Darrell jumped off the truck. “Sure. But you help me with this bull first. You can handle the gate.”

  Even though it was a Tuesday, when the guys met up to practice, it was just Darrell and John, a bullfighter guy from Imlay, who were there on account of the snow. And the bulls didn’t look in the best of spirits. They moved close to each other, heads down, getting ready for the storm. I’d never manned the gate. “Okay,” I said. “Pick him out.”

  Darrell picked the little spotted one and waved his hat, moving him into the chute. I tossed the bull rope across the chute and Darrell fixed it on the steer. He was into some serious practice here, in the snow, with just me and John to work the bulls.

  We moved the steer into the chute and Darrell climbed the rails. “Let him loose when I’m ready and watch him when I come off.” He dropped onto Spotty and nodded his head.

  I swung the gate back. Now, professional rings, they have chutes for the left-handed bulls and different chutes for the right-handed ones. Bulls have a favorite direction they turn out of the chute. You can load ’em according to their habit, the gate swings open in the right direction, and that way nobody gets squashed in the process. But the Salt Lick chute was right-handed and Spotty, that day, favored left. The steer stepped back toward the rails and then he and Darrell turned out almost on top of me, forcing me to take a couple of hops up the fence. Spotty made a jump himself and then he bucked hard. Darrell was solid on his back. It was a good ride, and it only ended when Darrell kicked his leg across the steer’s back and let himself drop off. He hit the ground on both feet and then Spotty turned square at him, head down. Oh man, that was my signal. I jumped into the ring, ran along Spotty’s side, and threw my hat at his rump. He spun around for me, but I was already on the run. Darrell, too. We vaulted up the rails and landed safe on the other side of the fence. John, the bullfighter, was still working the steer. He jumped in front of Spotty for fun, I’m guessing. “Hang your hat on his horn!” Darrell yelled.

  John stretched out to toss his hat like a ring on a merry-go-round, and just as he did it, Spotty caught him with a horn and pulled straight up his leg. The loud zip noise told me there was damage. John jumped away, leaving his hat to get stomped. His pants were ripped clean open from his calf to his butt. A big red welt was rising up along his pale leg. Darrell and I busted up laughing.

  “So how long was that?” Darrell asked.

  “I don’t know. Was I the timer, too? I figure it was a good long ride, though.”

  “The longer the better. I’m riding right through the winter, and when spring comes round, I’m riding Ugly. I can just feel the money in my wallet.”

  “I bet you’ll do it,” I said.

  “Too bad you’re not old enough, squirt. You’re a natural, like your brother. If you put yourself to practicing every day, you could try too.”

  “You’re the only one around here stupid enough to do it.” And since I’d called him stupid, I followed up by asking a favor. “Can we do my algebra now?”

  “Climb in the truck, we’ll take a look.”

  We put Spotty back in his pen, John took off, muttering about the price of jeans, and Darrell and me sat in his truck, out of the wind. I did problems and he chimed in when I missed a sign or factored wrong. The snow began falling hard and the sky turned slate gray, so I took my horse and rode home. Her hooves squeaked on the fresh snow.

  I got to the barn and put Pepper in her stall, then started toward the house. I heard Grandpa Roy way before I got to the back door. “You can’t sell livestock,” he said. “Those cattle are the heart of this ranch.”

  “No, Dad,” my father said, “Land is the heart of the ranch. I’ll buy more stock.”

  I slipped in the back door. They didn’t notice me. Grandpa’s face was red, and he paced as he talked. “You don’t need to do it. The bills can wait. We’ll see how the spring calves look.” I listened from the hall. As few times as Grandpa Roy got stirred up, I’d learned to stay out of the way.

  Dad was heating up himself. “The fall calves were good. We have enough. I’m selling them and paying off this ridiculous motel bill from Washington, DC. It wasn’t the Ritz, either, and did you see how much it cost? And come to find out the military would have put us up those first six days.” He threw an envelope on the counter in front of Grandpa. “And if we don’t pay the credit cards off now, there’s the interest—eighteen percent interest. You know we pay as we go. You taught me that. I’m not carrying credit through the spring. I’m selling some of the fall calves, and that’s it.”

  “That’s not it. I still own this ranch.”

  Now that was bad. Grandpa owned the title, but it was our family ranch. We all worked. He was pulling rank on Dad, and I could see it didn’t set well. Dad got in the last word. “Paying off the bills is the one thing about this wretched situation that I can do.” Then he took his coat and left. Grandpa took his own coat and went out the other door.

  “Men,” Grandma Jean said from the kitchen. “You’d think they could talk this out instead of yelling. I’ll bake a cake. Chocolate. They’ll set down at the same table for that.” She started laying out flour and eggs and butter like they had power to heal.

  “So what bills does Dad have that he’s selling the calves?” I asked her.

  “It’s not so much the one’s he’s got as the ones he sees coming. He’s still paying on the trip back east, and the ranch bills are behind without your mom’s paycheck. And who knows what more expense there’ll be for Ben later on. He doesn’t have any money of his own, you know. He’s been sending his extra cash home for the ranch.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “It’s not right. Parents shouldn’t have to choose what to do for an injured child. Ben deserves everything we can do for him.”

  I must have looked stricken. Grandma Jean cracked an egg and said, “Don’t worry, Cam. Thi
s ranch takes care of itself. And don’t forget the angels.” She smiled and whipped the eggs into a froth.

  “Too bad angels don’t make money,” I said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It seemed like I’d done nothing but work—on the ranch or on my lessons—all week. It snowed ten inches and froze solid. Since it was November, there wasn’t much chance of it thawing soon. Grandpa and I took a run out to the salt lick to crack the ice on the water troughs and drop loads of hay. The fall calves were dusted with snow, their eyelashes white with the frost. Dad hadn’t said anything more about selling them, and Grandpa didn’t say either. Grandpa had a soft spot for the little ones we’d doctored and branded with our O’Mara Circle M. So did I. I can’t tell you what it’s like to hear a cow moo, and then bawl, and yelp, and you turn to see her drop a calf in a willow break. She gets to muttering and licking at it right away, and you feel like an intruder. It’s like God himself gave you a peek at how the world should be. That’s how I wanted to feel.

  But instead, we went back to Palo Alto.

  “Why do you have to leave again?” Mike asked over the phone.

  “They’re making me,” I said.

  “Can’t Ben come here?”

  “No,” I said. That much I knew. Ben could not come home yet.

  “Ask if you can stay. We’ll skateboard again. You can use my old one.”

  “I’ll try.”

  But I had to get past Mom.

  “I don’t want to go,” I said.

  “Of course you want to go,” Mom corrected me.

  “It’s creepy down there and boring.”

  “What’s boring about seeing your brother?”

  I wasn’t telling her. “I’m fine seeing Ben. But it’s too cold to swim and there’s nothing to do.”

  Mom sighed. “Okay, take your skateboard. That will entertain you.”

  All right! My skateboard. “Do you mean that?” I asked.

  “Yes, take it. Dad and I will be tied up with the doctors, and it will keep you happy.”