Bull Rider (12 page)

W
hat that nurse said was the first thing on my mind when we got home. “Ben’s really down. He was in a nasty mood,” I said.

“He’s not himself,” Mom said.

“The nurse said we need to keep him going till he gets a breakthrough. Mom, he feels real bad.”

“Oh,” her face fell. “I’m so sorry.”

“I was thinking, instead of going over there for Christmas, can we bring him here?”

“He’s not finished at the VA yet,” Dad said.

“But he
could
come home, just for a while.”

“The boy’s right,” Grandpa Roy said. “Ben’s in some trouble over there.”

Mom said, “Oh, Jim, we could have Christmas the way we always do. I’d love to have him here.”

Dad put his arm around her. “Call and ask, then. It won’t hurt to ask.”

So we didn’t have Christmas in a motel room or the Fisher House, where some families of the wounded can stay for free. We didn’t drive to Palo Alto with a wreath and little pumpkin pies baked in muffin tins, like Mom had planned. No, instead, Dad and Lali cut a tree up Sugar Canyon. Mom strung popcorn and cranberries for it like when we were kids, and Lali drew a bunch of ornaments on cardboard that looked like stars and goats and cows. I threw the tinsel on. Of course, there were lights and glass Christmas balls too, and candy canes and ribbon bows and pine cones covered with glitter that we’d made in Sunday school ages ago.

Three days before Christmas, Mom and Dad flew to California and brought Ben back to Reno on the plane, then drove to the ranch. It was your regular Christmas get-together, unless you counted the hospital bed in our living room next to the tree. By now Dad and Grandpa Roy had built a ramp for Ben’s wheelchair, and Grandma Jean sent a box of sweatpants she’d sewn up with handles on the right side so Ben could pull ’em up easier one-handed.

This time, when Ben came home, I wasn’t scared of how his body’d be. I knew about that. It was his mind that worried me. Turned out, all the surprises weren’t wrapped up. TBI doesn’t act the way you think. After just three weeks without seeing him, when Ben opened his mouth to talk, it was like he was almost back where he ought to be. “Hey, bro’,” he said. “Merry Christmas. I would have brought you a present but they were all out of Barbie dolls.”

“I want a Barbie,” Lali said.

“I bet you do, Lollipop, and Santa’s bringing some special stuff, just for you.”

Wow, Ben hadn’t said that much all in one breath and that easily since he was hit. How you figure it, I don’t know, but I was thankful for the miracle. We all were and everybody talked to him all at the same time.

Ben still couldn’t walk. “I’m working on it,” he said. “They’ve got a machine I pump on every day. It’s not half as fun as riding a bull, though.” Grandpa rolled Ben’s wheelchair up next to the Christmas tree. “I’ve got something to show you,” Ben said. He pulled his jacket sleeve back, and there, bright as day, was a new left arm. This one had a hand like a mannequin’s instead of a hook. He made the thumb and finger move back and forth. It didn’t look half bad.

“Pretty cool, huh? This is my permanent one. I’ve got another new one with a hook, too. I can do more with that one.”

“Can I touch it?” Lali asked.

“Sure, Lollipop, touch it,” he said.

She rubbed the back of Ben’s new hand. “It’s softer than the last one. This one’s better.” She kissed him on the cheek.

Nothing had felt as good in a long, long time as the messing around we did that afternoon. The sun set early, and we fed the animals in the dark. When I came in, Ben was watching TV. “So, Ben, what do you want for Christmas?” I asked. “Don’t matter, anyhow. I already got your present.”

“I don’t think you can get me what I want.”

“Try me,” I said.

He spoke softly. “I want to get back to my unit. I want my
legs to work. They say my brain might still do it.”

“If anybody’s brain can do it, it’s yours.”

“I just can’t focus. And I’m no good to do anything around here.” He changed the channel. “Okay, I just have to try harder.” His glared at the TV like he was getting mad. I’d seen his mood swings in the hospital, and I needed to do something.

“Look at that,” I said. “
Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street.
Remember that movie? They hauled in all those bags of mail for Santa Claus and poured ’em right on the judge’s desk. Cool, right?”

“Yeah, cool,” Ben said. “Remember when you wrote to Santa for a puppy?”

“Sure, and he brought me my dog, Red, just like I asked.”

“Good ol’ Santa,” he said. “You thought he’d forgotten till Mom told you she’d heard reindeer walking around the barn.”

“That’s where my puppy was hiding,” I said. Then I stopped. “You
remember
?” I asked.

Slowly, Ben’s face lit up. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

Christmas was great. It snowed overnight and Lali about busted a gut over her new bike. We gave Grandpa Roy a fancy bridle, the kind for parades and whatnot. Grandma Jean carried that yarn around in her big bag for a reason. All the while she’d been staying with us, she’d knitted up a pile of sweaters, and now she sent one for everybody. Mine didn’t even have reindeer or snowflakes on it. It
was a plain deep green. You’d actually want to wear it.

I gave Ben a phone card and some CDs. There’s not much you can really use in the hospital. He gave me a lead rope he’d braided in his occupational therapy class.

“How’d you make that?” I asked.

“Slowly,” he laughed. “The therapist helped.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No worries, bro’.”

Ben saved his present for Mom for the last. It was a little box wrapped in shiny green paper. She unwrapped it, lifted the lid, and ran her finger across whatever was inside. She brushed a tear off her cheek.

“Don’t cry, Mom,” he said. “I really want you to have it.”

Mom wiped her eyes and handed the box to Dad. He turned it face out so we could see. Right there, sitting on a square of velvet, was Ben’s Purple Heart—the medal the government gives guys who get wounded in wars. “I wouldn’t be here…I needed you there, Mom…all that time,” Ben said to her. “I don’t remember much.” He grinned. “But I want you to know…”

Mom clutched the tiny medal to her heart. Then she kissed Ben on his helmet.

Ben stayed with us for two more days and then his leave was over, and Mom and Dad flew him back. Talking to him, joking with him over Christmas, it was like waking up from a really, really bad dream.

The holiday season seemed to soften Mom up, and she gave me back my skateboard and took me off restriction. Favi was
in Mexico with her family, and Mike’s family took a vacation in Hawaii, so I spent my freedom hanging out with Lali. We piled dirt and gravel into a low ring, like a dam, behind the barn. I hooked up the hose and filled it with water.

“It’s almost done, Cammy.” Lali clapped her hands.

“Not yet. It’ll be ready tomorrow.”

It froze overnight, and the next day, we had a sheet of ice to slide around on.

And since Mom had to drop some bookkeeping jobs on account of the extra time she’d spent with Ben in Palo Alto, Dad cut back on more expenses. He sold some old equipment but he didn’t sell any stock. He probably didn’t fancy going up against Grandpa Roy again.

Grandpa Roy had let me drive the pickup and the ATVs and tractors around the ranch since I was about ten, so now I asked my folks if I couldn’t drive into town.

“Everybody knows me. I can do errands for you.” I didn’t add that I was bored. “Mike got his license a month ago. I can drive as good as Mike.”

“You know that’s so he can drive for his mother while his dad’s going back and forth to Oregon,” Dad said.

“Still, if Mike has a license, I can drive too, right?”

“Wrong,” Mom said.

“But I already know how. I could take the truck down to Hawthorne to see Grandma Jean. I miss her.”

“Grandma Jean wants us to visit. She said so,” Lali said.

Mom smiled a little. “That’s not the point.”

“Mike’s dad lets him drive their old Volvo.” I tried one last time.

“You know that’s different,” Dad said.

So that finished my idea of driving to Hawthorne. Or to town, for that matter.

Mike came home from Hawaii, we started back to school, and then the doctors did another surgery on Ben, this time on his skull. They opened it up and put a plastic piece in where the bone had been. Mom drove to Palo Alto again and stayed at the Fisher House.

Saturday, Mike and I were skating in his driveway same as before Mom and Dad grounded me. His mom stuck her head out the door. “Cam, your grandfather’s on the phone.”

“Tell him you need to stay longer,” Mike said. “We’re just getting going.”

I knocked the dirt off my feet, stepped onto their marble floor, and took the phone. “Hi, Grandpa,” I said. I peeled off my jacket and tossed it on a chair.

“Cam, Lali and I are going down to Palo Alto to be with your mom. You need to come on home in time to fix your dad’s dinner.”

“What’s wrong with Ben?” I asked.

“He’s got a fever from the operation. They can’t knock it down. I think he’ll come through okay, but your mom is too worn out to be there by herself.”

“He’s bad, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know. You just come home for dinner. Your father needs family around too.”

“I want to go to Palo Alto.”

“Not this time. We won’t be gone long. It’s done then.” And he hung up.

My stomach clenched up like I’d been punched. I handed Mrs. Gianni the phone and went to talk to Mike.

“I’m going home,” I said. “Ben’s really bad. They’re going to Palo Alto.”

Mike shook his head. “What’s up?”

“He’s got a fever from the surgery,” I said. “Grandpa and Lali are going. Dad’s not.”

“Can’t be that bad, then,” Mike said. “Stay and we’ll work it off on the skateboards.”

“No, I’m going.” I jumped on my bike and took off. I pedaled fast and could just see the ranch road in front of me when Darrell passed in his pickup. He threw it in reverse and lowered the window. “Hey, Cam, I’m going over to get on a bull. Want to come?”

I looked toward my house. My muscles burned from biking hard. I didn’t want to think about Ben anymore. There was still some time before dinner. “Yeah,” I said, and I lifted my bike and board into the back of his truck. I climbed in next to him, and we turned toward the bull ring.

“Haven’t seen you for a while,” Darrell said.

“I’ve been around.”

“You’ll like this little Brahma we’ve got. He’s one nasty bull.” He pulled the truck up next to the bull ring and we got out. The arena smelled almost sweet. I listened to the gravel under my tennis shoes. It sounded sweet too. We climbed the platform and I breathed deep. My shoulders relaxed. Right then, nothing mattered but getting on this new bull. Andy Echevarria was fixing to ride. I leaned over
the holding pen to slap the bull into the chute. He mooed at me, and I heard tires crunching through the gravel. I turned and Mike’s dad waved me over. Mike jumped out of the passenger side of the Volvo.

“We were on our way to your house but I saw you when we drove by.” He handed me my jacket. “You left your coat.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I thought you were going home.”

“I was.” I jumped off the platform, level with him.

Mike just looked at me. “We were skating.”

“I had to go.”

“Why would you leave and come over here when we can finally skate together?” he asked. And he stared some more.

“’Cause Ben might die,” I said. “He’s got an infection from the surgery. Don’t you get it?”

“You’re up next, O’Mara,” Darrell called down to me.

“I get that you’re going to ride a bull and your mom will take your skateboard again.”

“Big deal,” I said. When he didn’t answer, I kept talking. “The trouble with you, Mike, is you never lost anything.”

He narrowed his eyes and glared at me. “You better choose your friends. Now.”

“I gotta go,” I said. I climbed back up on the platform. I heard a car door slam. Mike had never been on a bull. He didn’t get it. I lowered myself onto the tight little Brahma and pulled hard on Darrell’s bull rope. What Mike didn’t get was, starting right then, I didn’t have to think.

Mike stopped talking to me at school. Everybody asked about it. “What’s up with you two?”

“Nothing,” I said. Nothing Mike couldn’t fix by letting me do what I wanted. Bull ride. Skateboard. Whatever. I didn’t need my friends telling me what to do. I had parents for that. Mike could rot. I had enough to fret about.

With Ben sick again, I skated alone at the Grange to let off steam. At night, I walked over to the Ruizes’ and played video games with Favi. Dad scrubbed the kitchen till it shined. And then he did crossword puzzles. And we waited. This time Grandpa did the calling, and he said they had Ben on some “big gun” antibiotics. “The doctors say he’ll pull through fine.” I didn’t trust it. My family had lied to me before, so I didn’t feel any relieved.

After a few days, the phone rang, and it was Ben himself. He sounded good. “I’m sending Mom and Grandpa back to you pretty soon,” he said.

“Great.” I carried the phone with me out toward the barn. “I heard you were pretty bad off.”

“Yeah, well, that’s so. But they got the fever stopped.” We shot the breeze for a while, and just before we hung up, Ben said, “Hey, remember that kid I saw in the hospital when you were here? The one who looked familiar? He showed up in my room to visit me after Mom left last night. He just came and sat down.”

“Maybe it’s the fever messing with your mind,” I said. “What would that kid be doing coming to see you?”

“No, he was here. He didn’t talk, though.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, it was.” He stopped. “Hey, the nurse is coming in with meds. I gotta go.”

“Take care of your pretty new head,” I said.

“Prettier than yours, bro’.”

Now that sounded like Ben.

In February, they brought Ben home again, this time for a ten-day “visit.” He was moving better and had a walker that the VA hospital had fixed up special so he could hang on to it with his artificial arm. He could use the walker to stand up and even take some steps. His speech was still pretty good, and his head looked almost normal after they patched him up. His hair was still growing in, but he didn’t have to wear the dumb blue helmet anymore.