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I’m hovering above him now, with mere seconds before he is going to shoot out into the arena. This is it, the final moment. My nose is full of the animal’s war scent, and it’s a bit different than the last one. The announcer’s revving up, and with them my heartbeat. He’s just about to shout out my name when the bull suddenly bucks and cries out. They were right, I’ve got a real live one here. He’s young and green, and angry. When they drop me on him, that’s when I see it. There’s a small dart in his back haunch. It’s like a tranquilizer dart, but I’ll be damned if there’s tranquilizer in that.
The bull takes off, faster than any animal I’ve ridden before. I’m almost bucked off in the first second out, but then I realize how hopped up this animal must be, and my senses luck on to him as best as they can. I try to join our minds together, and give him some peace in his frantic, frightened flight, but he’s too wild. Too young, too drugged up.
No, this animal is beyond real. This animal has been sabotaged. Or more accurately, I have. It’s all I can do to keep ahold of him as his 2200 pounds go haywire. The crowd’s sounds are not helping either. This animal is terrified. I can just imagine the looks on the kids’ faces, at first excited, and then scared for me. It’s hard for me to admit, but I’m also scared for me. I don’t know if I can survive this ride.
I anticipate the bull’s shift to the right and the left, his jump, his buck. My legs are his legs. But it takes every ounce of my energy and sensitivity and strength. It’s taking more than I have to spare. I know that the bull is going to win, he always does, but this time he wins before I even know it. I’m thrown to the ground before it’s possible for me to react, to protect my head, or myself in any way, to roll out of his path. I’m down and I’m dizzy.
Twenty-Five
Chastity
I get to the rodeo late. I’m walking so gingerly now, but still glad I can walk. Still, everything takes longer than I think it will. I pay for my ticket and the girl in the box office says to me, “You know it’s almost over, right?” in an almost indecipherable drawl.
“I know,” I say. “Has Kanen ridden yet?”
“I don’t know,” she answers, then leans back and yells. “Has the Wrecker ridden?”
“I think he just went down,” says the disembodied voice beside her. “There’s something wrong.”
I panic, grab the ticket, and damn my feet, I run to the stands. There he is, looking so small on the ground. It’s a different bull this time. He’s a darker brown, and he looks angry—circling and running at Kanen, the dust flying, making it hard to see. The bull’s hooves seem to be dangerously close to Kanen’s head, and I can’t tell but I don’t think he’s conscious! How can he stay out of the bull’s way if he’s out like a light? I look around frantically. Where are the damn clowns? Aren’t they supposed to be distracting the bull from Kanen?
Then I see one, and he’s not even looking at the field. I push through the throng of screaming people, all yelling, seemingly for blood. Are they excited that Kanen’s in danger? Monsters! I try to make my way through them to the clowns, ready to scream at them to protect my man.
Finally one makes it on the field, his brightly colored clothes temporarily distracting the giant creature who seems crazed.
The crowd roars and I look back at Kanen. His body is stirring on the ground. He seems to be trying to move his leg with his hands.
“Kanen,” I yell, but my voice is swallowed in the din of the audience, as they hoot and holler their excitement at what is looking to be my tragedy. I’m stuck and can’t move, two inches away from a man’s plaid shirt, trying to look past him.
“That bull’s gon’ get him,” says the man in front of me.
“Yup, he’s gonna die,” says his friend.
“He is NOT going to die!” I cry out. But they’re not impressed.
“What are you, his little girlfriend or something?” asks the second man.
“What’s it to you?”
“Well you better say goodbye, because I think the Wrecker got wrecked today,” he laughs to himself, and his friend joins in. I’m furious.
“You just be quiet,” I say to the man, silently willing Kanen to get up off the ground as the bull charges him one more time. It’s close, it’s so close, I want to cry but my body is electric, trying my best to keep Kanen alive through sheer force of will.
The clown does a little dance which makes the bull turn his head but only for a second before he turns back to Kanen. Amazingly I hear someone yell, “Get that featherhead!” And I wonder if it means what I think it does. I try to locate the source of such a thing, and then I see him. The man who was in the restaurant that day.
Did Kanen hear that racist comment? He looks angry—his teeth are gritted but perhaps in pain. He’s pulled his useless leg closer to his body, and at the last second he rolls out of the charge. I’m not sure if the bull missed him completely though. He seems to be writhing on the ground. I see the rodeo clown once more, and then another. The second pulls Kanen out of the arena as the crowd roars again, making the bull crazy. Finally Kanen is safe, and despite my pain I tumble through the bodies, forcing my way down to his side.
“Kanen,” I say. “It’s me. Are you all right?” I kick myself. There’s a trainer at his side. Of course he’s not all right. He’s not all right at all.
His leg seems twisted, and there’s blood on his forehead, along with a smear of dirt.
“Give him room, lady,” snaps the trainer. He and another man bring him back through the doors to the staging area.
I’m taken aback. I don’t think I should just be “lady.” I’ve been at his house for the last week. He knows my body better than anyone on this earth.
“He knows me,” I say. “He’s... he’s...” I don’t know how to finish this. My boyfriend? No. My husband, definitely no. “Mine!” I finally yell. “He’s mine.”
Kanen opens his eyes. “Canada, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice rough as gravel.
