Page 43 of Saints & Sailors

“Yes,” I said.

Bonham came and helped me climb astride the bull. He grinned up at me with a shake of his head.

“You like Atreyu?” he asked me.

“A song or two,” I admitted of the rock band.

He patted my thigh. “Well today, you become the bull.”

I caught his pun and again I laughed.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Al stood at the controls off to the side.

I braced myself, holding onto the rope used for a grip.

Closing my eyes, I said, “Sail.”

The mechanical bull jerked to life and all I could feel was that moment of almost losing my grip, of almost losing control. My body swayed here and there with the powerful movement of the bull, almost threatening to send me off of it.

I just kept telling myself to hold on, that if I could hold on as tightly as I could, that I could make it, that I could keep all of my shit together.

The music continued to play as I felt myself slip into a comfortable subconscious.

Just hold on. Just sail. Just hold on. Just sail. Just hold on. Just sail.

Soon, I couldn’t feel a thing, not my hand on the rope or the bull trying to rid itself of my body.

I was free.

I was sailing.

This euphoria, this bliss, it couldn’t be beat. Nothing could reach me and all was finally okay.

The sound of cheering brought me down to gravity.

I opened my eyes.

The bull had stopped.

Around the bar people were cheering.

I guess I beat it.

“Well done.” Al was impressed.

Mostly, my gaze was locked on Bonham.

He looked like a proud father or something as he stood back with open arms for me to come to him.

Al helped me off of the bull and I walked right into Bonham’s arms.

“I’m so fucking into you,” he told me before his mouth met mine.

Bonham’s parents let him crash in the apartment over their garage. He’d taken and turned the place into the perfect hangout pad with its setup of chairs, a sofa, an impressive music collection, record player, and endless supply of alcohol he’d stashed in his mini fridge. His parents apparently turned a blind eye to his smoking and drinking so long as they never caught him. My type of people.

Bug was lying back on the sofa, smoking a joint he’d dramatically rolled for our viewing, while Bonham and I shared a bottle of Jim Beam and a cigarette all while listening to old rock and roll.

We weren’t really dancing, but Bonham’s arms were around me and mine were around him as the music played.