CHAPTER NINE
MARK
I helped out with everything I could and finally got a really good night’s sleep Friday night, just because I was completely exhausted. I camped out at the rodeo grounds. Since Lexi wasn’t with me I didn’t need a soft bed or a nice hotel room. I was good with the paltry showers at the grounds and my bedroll….and my cowboy coffee.
At three p.m. the rodeo began with a parade that led to the Grand Entry. The Grand Entry featured personnel from the rodeo board on horseback, horsemen and women carrying sponsor flags, The rodeo queens and visiting queens and a parade of old stagecoaches that is a tradition at this rodeo. The Queen then presented the flag and the national anthem was sung by the winner or the National Anthem contest, a sixteen year old girl with a beautiful voice. Then, it was time to rodeo.
The bareback riding was first. I watched the first few rides, waiting for my friend…a guy named Will to be up. I love bulls, that’s my thing, but if I had to name another event that was even tougher and more dangerous, I’d have to say it was the bareback riding event. Riding a wild horse can get more dangerous that riding a bull specifically because of the differences in their weight. A bull can outweigh a horse by a thousand pounds in some cases. What does that mean for the rider? It means that animal that you’re riding on can move faster and jump higher. It means you say a prayer for great cowboy clowns that can get on the stick fast enough to get that pissed off animal out of the arena before he gets you. I stood up on the fence and watched when it was Will’s turn. Will and I have been entering the same rodeos since we were both busting mutton in the third grade.
I watched as Will strapped the padding onto his neck. It’s sort of like one of those neck pillows they sell for people who spend a lot of time sitting down; only this one is made specifically to keep the rider from getting whiplash…hopefully. Will doesn’t wear a vest, but he does wear arm pads. He refuses to wear a helmet too. I don’t wear one because I feel like they’re too heavy and they set me off balance. Will says he just thinks the helmets look stupid in pictures. He has no confidence issues that’s for sure. Today he drew a horse named Sugar Butt. The name was misleading. Sugar Butt was one of the toughest draws. The horse is trying to buck in the chute as Will lowers himself down onto his back. Will gets centered and then nods. The chute comes open and out comes Sugar Butt with Will attached by his legs and the hand that grips tightly onto the rigging. He has his left arm up in the air and I can see the determination on his face.
Sugar Butt is jumping and kicking outward furiously with his hind legs and running in a tight circle. Will’s body is flailing, but he’s still in the center of the horse and his left hand is still in the air. Will stayed on for the eight seconds and when the buzzer rang, he slid off like a pro and walked away with his hat still on his head. He got an eighty-five which is pretty damned good. He and I might be having a drink together in Vegas at the end of the year.
After the bareback, I watched the tie down roping and then the team roping. Saddle Broncs were next. If you talk to a saddle bronc rider, they’ll tell you it’s harder than bareback. I haven’t ever tried it, but I guess at least with bareback and bulls you can drive your legs into the animals flesh. In saddle bronc, the saddle sometimes hinders more than it helps. I enjoy watching it either way. When that was finished next came Wild Cow Milking. Most people who have never been to a rodeo laugh when they hear that one…but it’s a real thing. It’s even as dangerous as the other events. It involves a four-man team trying to corral a cow and at the same time trying to get enough milk into a bottle and rush back to a waiting judge in the fastest time possible. Each event takes between thirty seconds and two minutes. Again, I’ve never done it but it seems a lot like a foot race to me and the fastest guy wins. From there, they move on to the steer wrestling which is always fun to watch. Those guys are tough. Then team roping and barrel racing. When I was a kid, I always thought I’d end up with a barrel racer. Pretty, fit girls who love horses and rodeo as much as I do…what could possibly go wrong there? Well, right after I broke up with Taylor I dated one. She was gorgeous and great at her sport and extremely conceited. She needed me to tell her how gorgeous she was constantly and she went completely berserk if I even so much as talked to another girl. The first time she wailed on me with her tiny fists, I was amused. It lost its humor quickly. I still run into her at rodeos and she’s got her a whipped and beaten down old cowboy now. She hasn’t changed at all.
I didn’t stick around to watch the barrel racing. It was time for me to get ready for my ride.
I put on my chaps and my gloves and my vest. I put my hat back on my head and then I watched. The first guy was an old-time cowboy…already forty. He rode his bull, but the bull was terrible. I felt bad for the poor guy. He only walked away with an eighty. The second guy only went five seconds. While three and four were going, I went to the chute where my bull was…a guy I’d met before several months earlier named Hot Dog. That name is as misleading as Sugar Butt. He needs a name like Satan or Attila the Hun. He’s an evil bull…but I can do this. As I slid down onto his back and he rammed his head into the chute I looked into the stands. I tried to picture Lexi sitting there like she was at the last rodeo. Damn, I miss her. I grabbed the rope and nodded. Me and hot dog were off like a shot.
I raised my hand skyward and for the first few chaotic kicks it felt good. Usually three seconds in, I know if I’m going to ride. This one felt good. I could hear the crowd cheering and going wild and once again I looked up. No one was here for me. That one little look was going to decide my ride. Suddenly I was sliding sideways. I refocused and got back right in time for the bull to twist again. I was sliding towards the other side when the buzzer rang. I’d ridden the S.O.B.! I was grinning at first as I tried to let go of the rigging, but I realized just as I hit the dirt with my face, that my right wrist was tangled up in it. Hot Dog was still kicking and snarling and twisting. I was being dragged along for the ride. Each time his feet came off the ground, I wondered if the was going to crush my chest as he came back down. He launched up for a spin…I think he was trying to shake me loose. As he came off the ground that time, so did I. The bullfighting cowboys were there. The crowd is quiet now and that makes me even more nervous. My wrist felt like it was snapping with each thrust of the powerful animal’s body. The bull riders are doing their best, but to no avail. Rationally, I knew that only half a minute had passed, but it seemed like so much more. I flopped up and down like a rag doll as I tried to disengage myself.
Somehow, by the grace of God, I got loose. The crowd was cheering again…until the bull suddenly lowered his head. My wrist was in excruciating pain, but I had to get out of there. I took off for the fence and when I looked over my shoulder I saw the worst part of the bull, coming right at me. His head was down and he was pounding the ground with his front foot. His horns were aimed for me and before I made it to the fence, in spite of the bullfighter’s best efforts, he caught me with those big horns and threw me and then he stomped on my side. I was in blinding pain so I’m not sure exactly what the bullfighter’s did next but somehow, they distracted him and got him out of the arena before he had a chance to finish me off. I was dizzy and I could feel sweat…or maybe it was blood, trickling down the sides of my face. I turned onto my stomach and in push-up position; I pushed myself up out of the dirt. Then, I walked over to the center of the arena and picked up my dirty hat. The crowd was on their feet for me, so I raised my hat and limped out of there. As soon as I got out of the arena, they were rushing me towards the locker rooms where the trainers were. Someone handed me a little flask of whiskey and I took a long pull from it.
The locker room was bright with fluorescent lights. There were already several injured cowboys and one of the bullfighters in there. The small medical staff rushed towards me and start shining lights in my eyes and asking me stupid questions like “How many fingers do you see,” and “Who’s the president of the United States.” I think I answered correctly, but
I was still a little dazed and confused, so I hoped I didn’t say anything too stupid.
I glanced to my left…but mistake. One of the doctors was draining fluid from a guy’s elbow with a big ass needle. I’d rather get stepped on by that bull again. While I was distracted by that sight, the doctor touched my wrist. I cried out.
“Can you bend it?”
“If I want to feel like I’m dying.”
“It’s already turning purple. We need to get an x-ray but I’m pretty certain it’s broken.”
“My fingers and my forearm are numb.”
“We need to get you to the hospital right away.”
“What did I score?”
The doctor sighed. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He looked at one of the volunteers and said, “Can you find out his score?” The kid nodded and took off. “Now, after he comes back with that score, you need to go to the hospital.” I didn’t argue with him. I hurt too badly. I did refuse to get on a gurney. My legs weren’t broken.
The young volunteer came back quickly. When he did, he was smiling. “Eighty-six, sir.” I laughed. My face hurt. He called me “sir” how the hell old did I look?
“Thank you,” I told him.
“You’re welcome. I’m honored,” the kid said. It was nice to know that someone “honored” time with me. I thanked the doctor and the nurses and then I walked…or maybe stumbled and limped, to the ambulance. They took me to the nearest ER.
*******
I was given a bag of ice at the ER and put in a room to wait. I kept looking at my phone, thinking about calling someone…but who would I call? My dad wouldn’t give a shit. Lexi probably wouldn’t either and poor Lydia would just get caught in the middle again. I stuck the phone back in my pocket and continued to drown in my own misery the way I did everything else…alone.
A pleasant lady in pink scrubs came in and said, “Well, what do we have here, a real cowboy?” I laughed.
“I like to think of myself that way,” I said.
She pushed the wheelchair next to the bed and said, “Saddle up cowboy. Let’s go get that wrist x-rayed.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair.”
“I’m sure you don’t, tough guy, but it’s the rules.”
Reluctantly, I got in the wheelchair and she chatted all the way down the hall. She didn’t really seem to expect any answers or comments from me and I was grateful because I wasn’t in a talkative mood. My wrist was manipulated in several painful ways as they took pictures of it and finally when I thought I was going to die they stopped and pink lady took me back to my room. After I got back on the bed she said,
“You need something for pain. Give me a minute and I’ll take care of that for you, sweetie.”
She was gone about five minutes but as promised, she came back with a pain pill. I didn’t even ask her what it was, I just took it. I was glad I did when the doctor finally came in. It seemed that everyone here was prone to manipulation of your broken bones. When he finished with his torture, he snapped a photo up on the little lighted board on the wall and as he pointed he said,
“You see this?”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Mm hmm.”
“And this one?”
“Yep.”
“The first one is a break and the other two are fractures.” I nodded. “We’ll need to set that bone and cast the wrist. We’ll leave it casted for a few weeks and then x-ray it again. If that bone is not mending, you may need surgery. In the case of this type of break, that’s pretty likely. It will have to be set with pins…”
“Wait a second. How long is the recovery time after a surgery like that?”
“As in when can you return to normal activity?” I nodded. “Hopefully eight weeks….”
“Eight weeks? No…no…no! I have another rodeo in two. Hell, a cast isn’t even an option. I can’t ride a bull with a cast on…”
He was looking at me like I was an idiot. Maybe I am. “That bone won’t heal without some treatment. It’s a good break. Those fractures are pretty nasty too.”
“You don’t understand…I can’t stop now. I’m number three in the U.S. I have to stay in the top fifteen to go to the national finals.”
His eyes looked sympathetic but his voice was all business as he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m not a miracle worker. If this bone isn’t set correctly, it won’t heal correctly. You may never be able to use it correctly again if that happens.”
“So if I don’t need surgery, how long will it take to heal in a cast?”
“Everyone heals differently. But average is ten to twelve weeks.” I wondered if he knew that he was issuing me a prison sentence. I was devastated. I felt like I was going to throw up. My head was pounding and although the doctor was still talking I couldn’t hear or process anything that he was saying. This is my life…my whole life. I have nothing else…Dear God, what am I going to do?
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