The True Father (9 page)

  
   I spent most of the week helping Jeremiah prepare for the Hugo Rodeo in Hugo, Oklahoma, and occasionally a little time with Bella at the Spiro arena while she ran time trials. Our daily, alternating workout routine proved to be helpful in both settings since my physical endurance was put to a test each day. If it wasn't unloading, positioning or reloading steel barrels into the back of a pickup truck, it was sorting calves and bulls on the ranch. I don't think my body had ever been in such great shape, nor had it ever been so fatigued at the end of a workday.

   The Hugo Rodeo was an important event for Jeremiah and Bella. Jeremiah contracted to provide both bulls and roping calves and Bella needed badly to acquire more points for the futurity.

   Thursday afternoon and evening Jodie packed the camper with enough living necessities for three days, while Jeremiah, Bella and I loaded the storage compartments on the stock trailers with hay, feed, tack and medical supplies. Wednesday we had worked the stock into their own special pens for easy loading, and come Friday morning that was the last of our tasks before heading down the road to Hugo.

   Besides the gooseneck camper that was to be our home for the weekend, six other trailers were utilized to haul the stock. Jeremiah owned two of them, regular stock trailers that he pulled with pickups, and the others were owned by local ranchers or trucking companies hired for transport. Two were trailers like Jeremiah's, and the others, long and two-tiered, pulled by semi trucks. One of Jeremiah's trailers, which he said was his pride and joy, was a thirty-three-foot-long Sundowner, and unlike any piece of equipment I had ever seen before. It was white with red and silver graphic striping and tinted windows near the top. On one side, a large door opened from the top and hinged at the bottom, making a ramp for horses to go inside. And inside were stalls for five horses, with feedbags and rubber looking mats on the floors and walls. Near the front of the trailer was a single door for human beings and a small area equipped like a penthouse suite, which included a mini refrigerator filled mostly with alcoholic beverages. After touring that section, I quickly realized why it was Jeremiah's pride and joy.

   The Sundowner carried all of our personal horses. Bella's horse, a bay she called Freedom Run, was tied in the back next to Francisco. I decided to take Floyd since I'd be riding mostly for fun. And     Jodie took her own horse, Chantilly, a Palomino mare that she said reminded her of a porcelain figurine she once had from Chantilly, France.

   Once all the stock was loaded, the caravan of trucks and trailers headed south toward Poteau. From Jeremiah and Bella's efficient methods of organization and concentration, I could almost feel the excitement and adrenaline circulate through the air. Jeremiah pulled the Sundowner with a Ford diesel-powered truck with dual tires. The truck matched the trailer in color and striping and created a remarkable presence on the highway. I rode with Bella as she drove the white GMC that pulled the stock trailer of bulls and calves, and Jodie drove another Ford pickup that pulled the Coach-men camper.

   We drove through the Talihina Mountains and Bella pointed out the little town where she was raised. The mountains reminded me of the Boston Mountains in Arkansas, only a smaller range with mostly pine trees rather than oaks.

   Other than the short stop Jeremiah made to replenish his homemade liquor supply, we drove straight through to Hugo and arrived at the arena before sunset. We unloaded all the stock and moved them to their assigned pens and parked the camper and other trailers in their designated spots behind the arena. Tired from our busy day, Jeremiah and Jodie decided to retire early, but Bella and I still had enough energy to find one of Hugo's local honkytonks.

   A cowboy at the arena directed us to a joint called The Crossing, which sat near the north bank of the Red River. The Red River marked the boundaries of southern Oklahoma and northeast Texas, which caused The Crossing to pull a mixed crowd of residents from both states. The cowboy at the arena warned us that because of the mixed crowd, The Crossing got pretty rowdy at times, but Bella and I saw no reason for trouble to come our way.

   The Crossing was three times the size of The Oasis, with a large square dance floor in the center, two large bars on each end, six pool tables, several waitresses in short denim skirts, cowboy hats and white boots, and a DJ that played the latest in country music. But like The Oasis, it had a single mechanical bull near the dance floor that was already spinning and throwing wannabe cowboys onto the cushioned mats below.

   The waitress brought us a pitcher of beer and I picked up the tab while Bella poured. A clamor of hollers erupted near the mechanical bull and I immediately recognized Boyd jiggling and positioning himself on the seat.

   “You know, I just figured out who he reminds me of.”

   “Boyd?”

   “He looks like a skinny John Elway.”

   “Trevor, that is a huge insult to John Elway.”

   “It would be if we were comparing personalities, but I'm talking about looks.”

   “Still, Boyd is no charm.”

   Reminiscent of The Oasis, Boyd rode the simulated device for the full eight seconds without even a hint that he was struggling to hold on. The crowd of cowboys cheered and high-fived him as he stepped off.

   “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.

  
    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.