American Honey

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Jessie lets her glasses slide down her nose. “Does he know you’re eighteen today and finally legal?”

  “Nope.”

  “You gonna tell him?”

  “No. Kasey’s comin’ over tomorrow. He’s gonna help me ride Hammer to impress him.”

  “Since when have you ever rode a bull?” Jessie adjusts her glasses and twirls the hammer in one hand almost hitting herself in the face. She walks a little slower to get a good look at Callan.

  “I’ve never rode a bull but it’ll get his attention.”

  She looks closer at Callan. “Damn…are all bull riders that hot?”

  I laugh. “I really have no idea.”

  “Do you really think it will impress him?”

  “Hopefully, or at least maybe turn him on.”

  Jessie considers this and then looks at the broken fence we’re now standing in front of and the ruts we’ve dug up out here. “I can’t believe he’s making you do this shit on your birthday.

  “It’s just like him. He’s an ass, always will be regardless of what the calendar says.”

  We get to fixing the fence and blaring Pistol Annies but all the while we can see Callan in the barn. He’s watching us and the more we drink that sweet tea mixed with rum, the less we’re fixing the fence and the more we’re bull riding the fence posts that have fallen down.

  That gets his attention. He even stops and leans against the side of the barn with his arms crossed over his chest. I bet he’s imagining fucking both of us right now. He wouldn’t be the first to imagine it, I know that for sure.

  I throw my arm up over my shoulder, arch my back and move as “I Feel A Sin Comin’ On” plays. Callan’s eyes are on mine like fire, I feel the heat from here.

  “Fuck, I think I have a sliver.” Jessie grabs at her crotch.

  As I’m laughing at Jessie, the barn door slams shut, we both look over to see what he’s doing.

  “Maybe it was too much.” I tease getting off the post. “We better get this done.” I motion to the fence.

  We do but it takes us the better part of the afternoon and Callan never opens the barn door again.

  We’re cleaning up as Callan’s pulling out of the driveway.

  “What’s he doing for your dad anyway?” Jessie asks when we put the hammer and nails back in the barn along with the broken post.

  “Fixing the part of the barn that was damaged in the storm this last winter. Apparently that horse, Shep, was his dad’s horse and when he got sick, he couldn’t pay to take care of it. Dad’s been boarding him for free for almost a year so I guess Callan offered to fix the barn.”

  “Noble of him.” Jessie says in an approving tone.

  We both watch the dust cloud when Jessie looks at me. “Where does he go when he leaves?”

  I shrug. “Don’t know.”

  “You know what’s better than a party on your birthday?”

  “What?”

  “Stalking.” She gives a nod to the driveway.

  Why I haven’t thought of that is beyond me. You’d think I would have.

  “I don’t know where he lives.” I grab my flannel shirt on the porch and wrap it around my waist. Jessie does the same as we walk toward her truck.

  “I do. His dad lived a mile from me. Nice guy.”

  “How’d he die?”

  “He had a stroke like a year ago and it all kind of went downhill from there.”

  Jessie grabs the bottle of rum off her tailgate and the sweet tea hiding it behind her seat.

  When we get to his dad’s ranch, there’s a for sale sign in the yard with a red “SOLD” sticker over it. It’s bare, as though most everything has been moved out.

  “I asked around.” Jessie says. “Apparently some investment company bought the land. They have until the end of the month to get Red’s stuff out of there.”

  “What happened to his mom?”

  Jessie looks at me as we get out of the truck. “You’ve lived here longer than me. How do you not know this?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.” I never really paid any attention to them but I don’t even remember them.

  “They’re mom died giving birth to Dani. I had English with her. She told me their whole life story.”

  “That sucks about their mom.”

  “Yeah,” Jessie agrees. “They’ve had tough lives.”

  The massive land dwarfs the modest white home. Wrapped around it is a covered porch that’s sagging in sections. It’s clear there’s been no one tending to the home. It’s like time has stopped here.

  Jessie and I end up parking down the street and then walk the half mile back up the long dirt road that leads to the ranch. It feels like we’re intruding being on the property but yet it feels like I know Callan a little better seeing this. I’ve driven past this house a million times and never noticed it. Until now.

  Callan probably has thousands of memories trapped here in the hazy air that settles around us. The setting sun shines through the back windows of the home and I wonder how many times Callan sat on that porch and watched the sunset.

  We’re just about to leave when we hear the low rumble coming up the road.

  “Oh shit!” We both say, scrambling for the bushes along the side of the house.

  “Fuck.” I start to panic. “What if he sees us? We’re trespassing.”

  “Since when have you ever given a fuck about rules? And you’re eighteen. Walk in there and surprise him. I’ll wait here.”

  “I bet you would.” I laugh, looking at the driveway. Jessie shoves my shoulder but I don’t move. “He’d have me arrested for sure.”

  We watch through the branches as Callan gets out of his truck with a 6-pack and two boxes. He looks as sexy as he always does but for once I have a good view of his face when he leaves his hat in the truck. He keeps his head down as he walks toward the house but looks around when Jessie sneezes. My hand flies over her face.

  Callan pays no mind to the sound and walks inside the house. It takes us twenty minutes of arguing before we’re spying in the kitchen window.

  It feels wrong to spy on him but like Jessie argued, what if he had his shirt off again. Or more.

  “You make a good argument, friend.”

  She sighs. “Finally, you’re being reasonable.”

  So we head for the house trying to be quiet but probably loud as fuck. When we get to the window, sadly his shirt is on and he’s sitting against the wall on the floor surrounded by boxes and holding what looks to be a photograph of a dad at a rodeo holding up a buckle with three little boys at his feet. We can’t see the photo well enough but I think it’s his dad and brothers.

  As I look around the house, Callan’s surrounded by five empty cans, the remaining one hanging in his left hand.

  Jessie steps away and sits on the ground. “I can’t watch this. I thought his shirt would be off and it’s not. There’s nothing to see her and I’m disappointed.”

  I laugh lightly but when I turn to look again. Callan’s forearm brushes over his eyes and it does feel wrong. This moment feels like we are violating his privacy but it’s like I can’t turn away, I feel like he needs someone to be there for him, anyone, maybe me.

  As we drive back to my house I don’t feel like partying on my birthday so Jessie stays in my room with me because as she puts it, no one should be alone on their birthday. She’s right and it’s nice to have her there. Someone who never judges me.

  “You know,” she says dumping rum in a glass. She’s given up on the tea and drinking it straight now. “We could leave tonight. Who would say anything?”

  “Probably no one.” Jessie and I’ve talked about leaving for two years now. We frequently look at maps and point to cities we believe can offer a better life than Amarillo. But neither of us have said, “Let’s go.” It’s true what they say, that first step is the hardest and Jessie and I are both thinking we are just waiting for the other one to make the first move.

  Jessie and I pass out in my room that
night and the next morning she leaves to make sure her mom made it to work. Kasey shows up like he promised and we head down to the arena.

  The last person I should ask for help from is Kasey. But I do.

  “So you won’t fuck me anymore but you need my help?” Kasey asks, staring at Hammer and then me. His gray eyes glare and I know there’s some resentment to him.

  “You have a girlfriend, Kasey. What you’re doing is wrong and you owe me. You know that.”

  He rolls his eyes and gives me a nod to the chute.

  My plan to impress Callan, or at least grab his attention is to ride Hammer, our bull that I saw Callan riding. Hammer is mean as hell too. No one aside from Callan has ever ridden him. That really should have been my first warning. If Callan stayed on him, surely I could, right?

  As I sit in the chute, on the bull, Kasey yells at me as he opens the gate and “Drop your riding hand and drive that shoulder! You want your weight on your inside leg.” He’s hanging over the fence shouting orders I can’t hear because my heart’s pounding so rapidly in my ears, that’s all I hear is rushing blood and the noises Hammer is making. He’s breathing fire and I feel fire, my body burning as it’s yanked and tossed around like a rag doll.

  “What the fuck does that mean, Kasey?!” I yell, frantic and so scared I realize right then it’s the worst idea of my life to get on a bull. But I’m too committed now, I’m sitting on this beast and stopping this freight train isn’t even an option now.

  “Put your weight on your inside leg when he spins!”

  “Kasey!” I know I’m in trouble when Hammer spins and twists the other direction of the way my weight is shifted and I feel myself slipping from his heaving body.

  “Throw your arm over your head! Don’t cross it over your body!”

  I’m airborne…I see the ground coming fast at my side and then I see Hammer spin again, his eyes locked on me and head down. It’s going to hurt. His natural instinct is to hook me. That website was right. This is the most dangerous eight seconds of your life. I’m on the ground at least, all of the air in my lungs knocked out of me and I’m pretty sure I’ve dislocated something or broken something, if I could breathe I’d be able to assess the situation a bit more but now I’m staring at this tank on four legs about to plow right over me. Yeah, definitely not the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had.

  Just as Hammer’s about to charge toward me, I hear to my left, “Hey, hey, hey, hey!” As Callan runs toward me, his arms flailing as he tries to direct Hammer to him. Hammer goes and charges him but loses interest quickly and charges the other direction.

  It’s enough time that Callan is able to run to me and scoops me up from the dirt. He’s got me in his arms and on the other side of the fence when he sets me on a crate. Immediately my side hurts from hitting the ground and I look over at the house to see my dad looking out.

  “Alanna, what was that noise?”

  “Nothing!” I yell back, clutching my side in pain.

  Callan’s eyes are wide as he looks to me and then Kasey. There is tension in his stare, his voice, and the white knuckles. He turns, facing me, leaving Kasey glaring at him in disbelief. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “Just because you’re a pro, don’t mean shit to me.” Kasey doesn’t stand a chance against Callan. As he speaks, Kasey understands this.

  I can tell Callan wants to beat the shit out of him for allowing this but I’m in pain and he knows that tending to me is paramount at this point. Any minute my dad’s gonna walk out here and find me and then what? Callan’s the bull rider. He’s gonna think he did this and that’s the last thing he wants my dad to think.

  Despite not wanting to cause a scene, Callan’s in Kasey’s face. This is their second interaction now and it’s not any friendlier.

  Callan gives Kasey a shove. “Get lost, man.”

  “You’re not her dad, man.” Kasey says, not backing down. “She can fuck whoever she wants.”

  Callan turns raising an eyebrow at Kasey. “What was that?”

  “I said—” Kasey tries to step forward, ready for a fight, Callan grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him against his chest.

  His knuckles are white, eyes dark under his hat. “You could have killed her letting her get on that bull. You had no fucking business allowing her to do that. Now you listen to me you little fucker.” Callan lets go of Kasey’s shirt and shoves him back against the side of the barn. “I said get lost, and I meant it. Go home.”

  Callan didn’t wait for Kasey to say anymore and reaches for me again.

  “Come with me.” I can tell by the way he’s watching me, his scowl a little meaner that he hates what I’ve done. His disappointed eyes tell me so. Mine don’t stay locked with his and instead, I stare at my dirt caked feet wondering what just happened.

  “No.” I say, avoiding him.

  “Get up, Alanna.”

  “Why?” I’m trying to act like I don’t care. Only I do.

  “Because I have some things to say to you and I’m not doing it while you’re sitting on a crate in the fucking dirt with a bull you just attempted to kill yourself on. Now get up.”

  I look at his extended hand, and then his face, and there’s what I’ve been looking for. It’s in the fragile bloodshot eyes and the set frown. He’s tortured by this.

  I get up from the crate and start to walk toward the house not caring what my dad’s gonna say about this.

  He grabs me, there’s warning and a bitter cold creeping over my bones when he touches me. “Don’t walk away from me.”

  It’s then that I can’t tell if he’s telling or begging. I’m okay with both.

  I let him take me over to the barn and he locks the back door so no one can come inside. They won’t either, but it’s still needed.

  Callan’s pissed as he stomps around the barn and grabs a bucket with water and rag from the stable next to the spigot.

  “What the fuck were you thinking? You had no business being on Hammer,” he yells slamming the bucket down and sitting in front of me, “…and Kasey had no business letting you!”

  “I’m sorry.” I say, trying to ease his anger a little. I understand why he’s mad but I was trying to impress him and it seems I can’t do that at all when it comes to Callan. Everything I do around him hangs me up even more.

  Callan softens at my words and sees through me when I start to cry. It’s the adrenaline wearing off as I shake and wonder what the hell I was thinking. I hear Kasey’s truck speeding down the driveway, it catches Callan’s eyes for a moment, the anger flashing again. He blinks it away and looks at me. “Take off your shirt.”

  I do, gingerly, and lay back on the hay bale. I’m scared I’ve broken some ribs.

  “Do they look broken? I’m having a hard time breathing without shooting pain.”

  Callan gently touches my ribs with his fingertips and I jump a little at the touch, my skin pebbling as he does it. “I don’t think so. Probably just bruised.”

  “Have you broken your ribs before?”

  “So many times I lost count after twenty.” His eyes are low and focuses on what he’s doing, never meeting mine.

  I’m trying to calm him and myself down, and it’s working, I’m relaxing and he’s caring less about going after Kasey for allowing this.

  “I once drew this bull, Red Dragon. He was a mean fucker. Every time I got on this bull he drew blood. It sort of became an obsession with me. I had to draw him. Wanted to just so I could have another chance at him.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yeah, eventually I stayed on him at the World Finals. He broke four of my ribs in the first round but I acted like he didn’t get me and got back on him that final night.”

  “Are you saying I should get back on?” I give Callan this look that I’m totally lost as to what he’s talking about.

  He laughs. “Fuck no! That wasn’t the point of the story.”

  “Okay, what was then?”

  “Staying on f
or eight seconds isn’t always the thrill.”

  His words give my heart a tug, a hope.

  Chapter Nine

  Why?

  There’s comfort around me as we sit in the barn Wednesday night, slow drinking, clear liquor as the sun fades into a scattered bright pink sunset. It’s dancing over the field, a last sliver hanging on, giving every last piece of light it has to give until it’s swallowed by the flat barren land.

  “When did he die?” Callan asks, handing me a beer and dipping the white rag in his hand in a bucket of warm water.

  “What are you talking about?” I’m lying on a hay bale, my shirt off leaving me in my jean shorts and bra. The sight isn’t fazing Callan one bit, he’s only helping me out so my dad doesn’t know. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

  “Jackson. Your boyfriend. When did he die?”

  There’s that pain. It’s like a blinding hot dagger to my heart hearing his name. No one ever mentions it anymore and hasn’t in years. They’ve forgotten, or pretend to have forgotten, but I haven’t. I never can.

  “Four years ago.” I say, barely able to speak the words.

  Callan nods squinting into the sun as he presses the cool rag to my bare ribs wiping the mud away to reveal the blood that’s buried there and the bruises forming.

  “He died in a car accident?” His voice is soft. He’s not pushing, he’s just asking.

  My eyes burn as I look out to the corn field, beyond that, a dry dusty land with nothing to offer me but pastures and hay fields. It’s one color, just like my mind. I didn’t see that sun, I saw the way it blinded me, not shined down on me.

  It’s off my chest, Callan knows a little more than most, even Jessie, but it will never leave my heart.

  It’s taken me four years to even think about that day. I never thought I would when I saw him buried that day, right next to my heart. There’s a missing piece of me in that grave today. A piece that should stay there forever, where it belongs.

  “You don’t owe anything to Kasey, Alanna. You think you do but you didn’t get in that car with him. You didn’t take that corner at a hundred. Jackson did.”

  Callan’s way more perceptive than I’ve been giving him credit for. He was still around when Jackson died. At least I think he was, he had to be to remember that.