Harper
I’ve barely been in town twenty-four hours, and already I’m wondering if this was the greatest mistake of my life. I’d been excited in the weeks leading up to my move. Working at Star Custom Bikes withtheDerek Star is my dream come true. Derek is a big name in the custom build business. He has bike shops all over the country, but the one in Oakwood Falls is his home base. It’s the place only the best are invited to work.
Maybe I should have chosen Oakwood Falls as my place of residence, but I had this romantic idea of country roads and long rides, and finding myself in the quiet of a small town. So far, it’s been anything but quiet. It’s been incredibly judgmental. From the moment I rolled into town until the unwelcome reception I got in the grocery store this morning, it’s abundantly clear that the people of Cedarwood Valley are not interested in getting to know me.
Gripping the handlebars of my bike, I lean into the turn, finding a little freedom in the fluid movement of my wheels on the road. Riding is one way I can always find my zen. It reminds me of simpler times when I was little, and I’d hold tight to my dad while we rode for hours and hours on a Sunday, finding random cafes to have a meal in before returning home to start the week all over again. Life is always better before the stresses of adulthood come into it, and before you learn what the stares from strangers really mean. They don’t even have to say anything. It gets to a point when you’ve seen the stares so many times that you just know that they all think you’re a freak. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I fit in. No matter where I go.
As I straighten up the bike, movement to the side of me catches my attention and throws my heart up into my throat. Cows. Cows, upon cows, upon cows. And they’re all headed right for me.
“Oh, god!” I’m not sure whether I should speed up or slow down, but one thing is for sure, if I don’t get out of here quick, I’m going to get trampled!
Deciding that speed is my best option, I turn the throttle and power ahead, trying to get free of the stampeding herd before they reach me. I don’t quite make it in time.
As the cows rush around me, I zig, and I zag, I brake, and I throttle, all the while feeling like this is it. This is the moment I die. Sad, lonely, with no one left in this world to mourn me, trampled by a bunch of cows.Excellent.
Just as I’m learning to accept my fate, I check over my shoulder and catch the angry grunt of a bull, its pointy horns aimed, eyes wild and focused on its primary target—me.
“No, no, no.” I don’t want to be gored by a bull.I don’t want to be gored by a bull.
That’s the thought that keeps running around and around in my head as I try to avoid my certain fate. With the gravel slipping below me, and the stampeding cows blocking my path, I can’t get away.
Not that it stops me from trying. And it’s one last frantic movement that turns out to be my undoing. I twist and turn, narrowly missing a mooing cow, finding a small gap that looks promising. Then I hit the throttle and hold my breath, checking over my shoulder for that bull, and it’s deadly looking horns. The opposing movements cause my back tire to slip and jut to the side, sending me careening in the other direction.
With only my hands for brakes, I skid and tumble along the unfinished road. All I can think about is getting on my feet and running like mad. But the moment I stop sliding, I already know it’s too late to run. That bull has me.
Closing my eyes, I put my hands up in a futile attempt to protect myself. My last sounds are the pounding of hooves, coupled with the pounding of my heart. I’ve never missed my father more than I do right at this moment, but I suppose it won’t be long before I see him again. Goodbye, cruel world…
“Ha! Ha!” A male voice cuts through all the noise, causing hope to flare up in my veins. I open my eyes just in time to see a rope lassoing over the bull’s horns. “Whoa!”
The bull fights, but the cowboy keeps him back while at the same time I hear the voices of other men trying to get control of the cattle.
“Are you hurt?” the man who has the bull yells out, his voice gruff with an edge but somewhat familiar. I push to my feet, noting the aches and pains from my fall, but also noting that nothing seems broken, only bruised.
“Are you hurt?” he demands again, his giant brown horse moving back and forth to balance out the movement of the struggling bull. I’m so shocked that all I can do is blink at him and shake my head as I recognize him as the young guy who spoke to me in the diner yesterday. He seems so much harsher today, gone is that soft kindness he bestowed upon before. I don’t know if it’s the bull or the fact he had to save me, but he looks mighty pissed right now.
“I’m fine,” I manage finally. “I’m OK.”
“Good. Then get your bike and get off this road. You shouldn’t even be here,” he barks. “It’s private property.”
I stammer out a reply, something about not seeing signs. But it doesn’t really come out as words as much as it comes out in incoherent sounds.
“Move!” he yells, kicking his heels into the side of his horse and steering the bull in the direction of the remaining cows.
There’s a lot of whistling and calling going on between the men, and I hear something about a fence being down before I lift my bike up off the ground and make my way back home, my pride feeling just as bruised and battered as my body does.
I’ve had exactly one person be kind to me since I arrived in town, and now that person seems to hate me as well. My eyes burn. Coming here was definitely the worst decision I’ve ever made.
