The True Father

by Steven Anderson Law

  “He's such a showboat,” Bella said. “And stupid, too. If he got hurt, that could ruin his chances at Hugo.”

  “He's riding in Hugo?”

  “He always does.”

  “Maybe he's just practicing?”

  “Well, I wish him luck.”

  In the midst of all his buddies, he looked our way as if he almost knew, telepathically, that we were talking about him.

  “Don't look now,” I said, “but I think he's coming over here.”

  “Great,” Bella said sarcastically.

  He came to our table with the grandiloquence of a gamecock. And as he smiled at us, I knew I was right about the John Elway resemblance.

  “Howdy, Bella,” he said, placing his hands on his hips.

  “Hi, Boyd.”

  “Did you see me ride?”

  “Yes, congratulations.”

  He looked at me as though my very presence, even in silence, was interfering with whatever plan he had in his head.

  “Does Jettie's boy ride?”

  “Ride what?” I quickly asked.

  He grunted and raised one corner of his mouth, then looked again at Bella. “Now, Bella, haven't you shown this city boy what a bull is yet?”

  Before Bella could respond, and assuming where he was trying to go with his question, I quickly answered for her. “I just wanted to be sure you were talking about a real bull or that gyrating piece of luggage out there.”

  His half smile drooped and his eyes lit up as though powered by some kind of flammable liquid.

  “I take it you don't think much of our mechanical friend out there?”

  “I never said that. I was just giving you back a piece of your own insult.”

  He revealed all of his teeth this time, and a laugh to go along with them. The cowboy hat and the atmosphere didn't make his persona any different than that of other egomaniacs I had known. It didn't matter whether it was sports, drama, accounting, or any other profession, someone somewhere competed for something and they each had similar ways of going about. In Boyd's case he had little confidence in his own talents and tried to rely more on competing psychologically as an edge over his opponent. And in this case it wasn't about who was better on the bull, real or mechanical, it was about impressing Bella. The bull was only a tool and he was sure he had me there, but I supposed I knew Bella better than he did and decided to have a little fun.

  “You got yourself a real smart mouth, city boy,” Boyd said.

  “At least I use my brain before operating it.”

  “Guy's,” Bella said, “there's no need for this.”

  “Maybe we should just step outside and talk about this,” he said.

  “Step outside?” I said, “And I suppose that means you would want to fight—maybe?”

  “No, it'd be more like me givin' you an ass kickin'.”

  Though I knew it was wrong, I couldn't help but feel the desire to take this cowboy up on his game. Especially since my body felt firm and in shape, and the adrenaline that had enhanced the viscosity of my blood gave me an urge to do something physical. But the last time I hit another human being, and saw the blood rush from the kid's nose, I swore I'd never do it again. I was only ten, and the kid was antagonizing me just as Boyd was doing now. Though in many ways he had gotten what he deserved, I felt an immediate sense of remorse and sorrow for the kid, and it has stuck with me since that day. So I had made a personal pact to deal with disputes in a different manner, and even in Boyd's regard, I knew there had to be a better way to settle whatever differences we had.

  “Well, I couldn't stand the humiliation of you kicking my ass, so why don't we try something a little more civil?”

  “Guys,” Bella said, “stop it!”

  “Alright,” he said. He removed one hand from his hip and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “How about the bull?”

  Just as I looked at the bull, a short, chubby cowboy flew backwards, his straw cowboy hat adrift, and he fell headfirst into the mat.

  “Trevor, don't,” Bella said.

  Though the object and its nature were completely foreign to me, it did offer the physical qualities that could at least appease my hormonal yearning. But Boyd had a tremendous edge. I would have to stay on for eight seconds and at the same level of gyration that Boyd had mastered. The odds were that I'd most likely lose, but for some strange reason I really didn't care. My loss would only be in competition with Boyd, and not likely that Bella would care regardless the outcome.

  “Okay, let's do it.”

  Boyd offered the biggest smile yet.

  Bella fumed. “Trevor! What the hell are you doing?”

  “Be at the bull in five minutes,” Boyd said, then walked away.

  “You're an idiot,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He'll kick your ass on that thing.”

  “Who cares?”

  I almost sensed a hint of disappointment in her stare. “And you could get hurt.”

  “Oh, thank you. Like Boyd, now you've insulted me.”

  “Insulted you?”

  “Yeah, little city boy don't know what he's doing.”

  “Those things are dangerous, Trevor.”

  “Bella, this is a bar. That is a device to entertain. And you even said that it is nothing like the real thing.”

  “Trevor, before you get on that thing you have to go up to the operator and sign a disclaimer, which in a roundabout way says that they won't be held responsible if you break your fucking neck!”

  As I watched another cowboy get thrown, hold his shoulder and grimace as he stood up, I knew there was a lot of substance to what Bella was saying. But Boyd and his buddies looked up at me, grinning and laughing at what I'm sure was their predetermined outcome. Whether Bella was right or not, I had already put myself on the spot, and no matter where you're from, it's better to lose than to be a coward.

  Seventeen

  I didn't need to read the disclaimer; I already knew the basis as to what it said, which, quite frankly meant that they made money off this dangerous mechanism, and if you wanted to risk paralysis or death then that was your business. So I signed the document and paid the operator ten bucks for the privilege of risking my life, or death, whichever way I chose to look at it.

  Bella still thought I was an idiot, but there was obviously a bit of stubborn redneck in my blood because I wasn't about to back down from this boy now no matter what she said. And I bargained with Boyd a little, asking for a practice ride since he definitely had a huge edge when it came to experience. By the way he gloated I sensed this fed his ego, and he agreed to my request without much hesitation. But I still lacked the knowledge of technique and no one seemed eager to come forward and offer any advice. All Bella knew was what she had overheard Jettie say, but his past comments always pertained to real bulls and a particular move that animal was famous for doing. Depending on the operator, the mechanical bull could do about anything, so the only advice Bella could offer was to sit straight, don't lean backward, use my raised arm for balance, and keep my butt in the center of gravity. At this point, “gravity” was a word I really didn't care to hear.

  I borrowed a buckskin glove for my left hand from a cardboard box near the operator's booth, then positioned myself on the bull. For a moment I began to believe that Bella was right because I felt like an absolute idiot. Straddling this thing was more than just awkward or uncomfortable, I was the proverbial fish out of water. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath, looked at Bella, and suddenly noticed that every single eyeball in the joint looked my way. The damn music even stopped playing. But I couldn't stop now, and I had to realize that this was my practice ride, so I took a second breath then nodded to the operator.

  The back of the bull raised and I felt as if I was going to slide all the way forward and on to the mat, but then it jerked hard and spun left and the next I knew I was face-first on the vinyl mat below. All I heard was laughter, and when I looked up, the entire crowd looked at
me as if I was some sort of pathetic imbecile. For a short moment I wondered if they weren't right. But Bella didn't laugh; she just covered her eyes and eventually peeked out at me and shook her head. I quickly decided that it didn't matter what people thought, that this was just a game, and that I had to crawl back up on the device and give it my best shot.

  I found my hat, put it back on, and crawled back up on the bull. To my left Boyd stood smiling, his arms crossed, and no doubt anxiously waiting for me to humiliate myself again.

  “You can quit now if you want,” he said.

  “Not a chance,” I said.

  Bella came up to me. “Trevor, you don't have to do this.”

  “I'm doing it!”

  She stepped back slowly and I tried to recollect what I could have done different. It happened so fast that I couldn't remember a thing about posture or balance, just the fact that the thing felt like a Tilt-A-Whirl at the midway carnival, that went up and down besides going around. The up and down part didn't seem so bad, it was when it spun that caught me off guard. So I kept in my mind the image of a Tilt-A-Whirl, thinking that if I just concentrated on the spinning, that I could handle the bucking part.

  I raised my arm again and this time decided not to look into the crowd. Tilt-A-Whirl. Tilt-A-Whirl. I kept repeating it in my mind.

  I nodded to the operator and this time the bull bucked and spun at the same time. Amazingly, I stayed on, but then again, I was not on a mechanical bull, I was in a Tilt-A-Whirl car and the crowd around me was nothing more than a mass of laughing and screaming carnival patrons. I kept spinning and jerking back and forth, my stomach feeling the fuzzy impacts. I became a part of the device, as if my buttocks were somehow fastened to the seat, but still very maneuverable. Then came a buzzer, and the feel of the car slowing. The applauding crowd slowly brought me back to the real scene.

  When the bull stopped I stared dizzily at the crowd around me who still cheered and applauded noisily. I focused my eyes on Bella as she shook her head and eventually smiled. Then I found Boyd, who sneered like he'd just lost at a high-stakes poker game, then shouted out above the crowd.

  “Do it again! At the highest level!”

  The operator, an older man in a black felt hat and western shirt with an image of fire flames printed on the shoulders, shook his head at Boyd. “That was the highest level.”

  “Bullshit!” Boyd yelled, then ran to the booth. He looked down at the control panel then raised his head and glared at me again. Then he pointed his finger at me. “This ain't over, jackass!”

  “Why not? You made the terms.”

  After a long stare he stomped away, shoving chairs and other cowboys before finding his own chair and guzzling down a beer. Several of his friends joined him and tried to cool him down, but he cursed at them and continued to glare at me.

  “I don't believe what I just saw,” Bella said as I hopped down from the bull. “How'd you do it?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  She grabbed my hand and led me away toward our table. Though the challenge may have not been necessary, there was a cool satisfaction having triumphed over Boyd, but from the way Bella smiled and held my hand, the reward of getting the girl was that much better.

  We enjoyed our beers while I tried to explain to Bella about the Tilt-A-Whirl. I'm not sure she really understood, in fact, she was more likely to believe that I was some sort of a natural—a genetic quality passed down from my father.

  “I wonder how I'd handle a real bull?”

  “You're not seriously considering it, are you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Trevor, don't let that ride make your head swell. I told you that a real bull is much different, and if you don't believe me, just ask Jeremiah.”

  “Forget it. It was just an idea.”

  Though I may have eased her mind, I certainly wasn't going to forget it. Like the desire to come here and experience the life, I now felt as if I needed to advance to a new level of learning. If I was going to see matters from Jettie's point of view, then actually feeling the challenge and fear of bull riding may be necessary. But suddenly I realized that it was more than that. Something about the point of competition and feel of the ride stimulated me. Similar to how the town of Spiro once lured me, I was now facing a different fascination, and this one had horns.

  Eighteen

  The grand entry was exactly that. I had never seen so many horses and cowboy hats in one place at one time. Nearly everyone who participated in the rodeo, and then some, rode their horse in what seemed an infinitive single file line that began in the livestock area, ran through the main entrance of the arena, along the inside of the fence completely around the oval, and back into the livestock area. All the riders waved and smiled at the crowd like prom queens on parade floats, while music suitable for marching played over the loud speaker and the rodeo announcer introduced certain VIP's.

  Jeremiah rode in the lead, Jodie behind him, then me riding Floyd, and Bella behind me. Except Bella, who had her own attire, we all wore red denim shirts with “Hodge Farms” embroidered in white l letters on the back. And as we entered the arena, the announcer called out: “Jeremiah Hodge and wife Jodie of Hodge Farms, part of the stock contracting team for the Hugo Rodeo.” Then, the big surprise, “Trevor Hodge, the son of the legendary bull rider, Jettie Hodge.” I'm sure my face turned a nice pink blush when the crowd applauded. How the hell did the announcer know? Jodie turned around and winked at me, and suddenly I knew.

  Bella came up beside me and whispered. “Smile and wave. Those applause are for you.”

  Though I felt very silly, I did as she instructed. But I wasn't sure I agreed with her. These people didn't even know me, they knew Jettie, and they applauded for him. As I looked across the crowd, I noticed people smile and wave back at me. One man gave me thumbs up then clapped over his head. Two young boys held up their autographed photo of Jettie and waved at me. And one attractive young woman held up a white poster with colorful letters that read, “We miss you Jettie.” And around the arena there was more of the same.

  We had marched almost half the circumference of the arena when something didn't feel right. I started to squirm and realized my saddle was loose, and the next I knew the saddle started to slide and I found myself on the arena floor, my elbows and butt pressed into the soft red dirt. Laughter erupted from the crowd, and the announcer took advantage of the incident as well.

  “Well folks,” he said, “we forgot to introduce Trevor Hodge as our official dirt tester for tonight's rodeo.”

  The crowd seemed very amused by his quick wit, but I saw no humor in it at all.

  Jeremiah and Jodie had stopped and looked back at me. Bella dismounted to help.

  “Are you okay,” she said, laughing at me.

  “I don't see anything funny.”

  We pulled the horse aside while the parade continued around us. Jodie stayed on her horse while Jeremiah dismounted to help put the saddle back on.

  “I wonder how that happened,” I said. “I'm sure I had the cinch on right.”

  “You did,” Jeremiah said. “I inspected it after you saddled him.”

  I glanced toward the end of the arena where grand entry riders were entering and exiting, and saw Boyd and several other cowboys riding in, pointing and laughing at me.

  “I think I know,” I said, thinking back to before the grand entry. After I had saddled Floyd, the way Jeremiah had taught me, I left him tied to the back of the trailer while Jeremiah and I went to the concession stand to get something to eat. When we came back, I noticed Boyd and two of his buddies walking away, snickering, but the idea of them tampering with my saddle never occurred to me—until now.

  Jeremiah and Bella followed my gaze.

  “What a childish prank,” Bella said.

  “You think Boyd did this?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Don't worry about it,” I said. “We're even now.”

  After we made sure the saddle was secure, we remounted and worked ou
r way back into the march. The crowd applauded and the announcer asked me if the dirt tested positive. I played along and raised my thumb.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “let's have a round of applause for our official dirt tester!”

  The crowd went along with the joke and I couldn't wait to get the hell out of the arena.

  After we put our horses away, Jeremiah and Jodie went to their special VIP seating. I stayed with Bella to help her prepare for her event. She wrapped a royal blue fabric above the horse's feet that she said gave its legs more support.

  “You're not really gonna stand for that, are you?” she asked.

  “I humiliated him a little last night, so I suppose we're even now.”

  “You won fair and square. He had no right to do that.”

  “But if I retaliate then he'll think he's getting to me and the game goes on and on. Ignoring him will probably piss him off more than if I got him back.”

  “You obviously don't know cowboys very well.”

  “How's that?”

  “If you don't respond, then you're a wimp.”

  “Then I guess I'm a wimp.”

  She looked at me as though I had confessed to some closet shortcoming.

  “Remember who just saw you fall,” she said. “Everyone in Hugo! And before long the whole town will know that Boyd got the best of you.”

  “You can't be serious. That's childish!”

  “Maybe so, but it's also reality.”

  I quickly realized that she was serious, and that I probably should take her word for whatever consequences I might be facing.

  “All right, so what should I do?”

  “I'm not saying I have the answer, I'm just saying that you have to do something or you'll never live it down.”

  The thought of concentrating on such foolishness made me angry. And it made me think about how a similar group of cowboys dared Jettie, which turned out to be fatal in his case. This was more than just a sport or profession, it was a way of life, and the effects of it all occurred inside and outside the arena.