Back on the Bull That Threw You
The steer bucked against the gate as they waited for the buzzer to sound.
An air horn squealed over the PA.
The steer broke out of his chute, dragging the meerkat behind.
First line.
The boy dug the heels of his boots into the dirt.
Second line. Timer starts.
The air horn sounded again as the steer's shoulders hit the dirt.
Megan.
Megan shot him down.
Megan shot him down, because she liked some else.
Megan shot him down, because she liked someone else "her own age".
That's was the only rolling through the meerkat's head as he ran with his steer, and ultimately
flipped it onto it's back, stopping the time at an eleven-point-five-seven-nine. The announcer boomed out across the rodeo's stadium, singing his praises as he got up, picking up his black felt hat and dusted it off, setting it back on his head.
He couldn't really be angry with her. She just didn't like him in that way. He was jealous of the guy she was crushing on, though. Lucky bastard. The only saving grace was that it was probably not that queer looking Dalmatian.
He walked up into the stands, an annoying ring in his ears, accompanied by jarring slaps on the back. Apparently, he'd slipped out of a few tenths of a second, and gotten first place in his event.
One of his best friends was there, the one who'd started him off on his rodeo trail. He was a bobcat, by the name of Cory. He was a good guy, kind of goofy. So was his horse, Chuckie.
If you knew anything about horses, you'd know that horses are fairly high-strung animals. Chuckie would fall asleep in the chutes, and Cory would have to nudge him back into wakefulness.
Cory, that night, placed best all around. The meerkat has hit first in his event, and to celebrate, the pair went off to a local country-western bar to watch their shared favorite country singer. He played almost exclusively in bars with his band. His tunes were true and real, nothing glamorized, nothing sugar coated.
They danced with their share of cute girls as the band played, got kisses and phone numbers. It was a good night, over all. The meerkat was still hurting, but he didn't want that to ruin a fun time, even after they'd decided it was time to roll out.
On the way home, they'd hit a fast food joint, and got some supper. Honey butter chicken biscuits and sweet tea. Stuff of the gods, it was. While they were eating, they jokingly discussed their lack of a love life. It put a smile on their mutual faces. They talked there for an hour, hats no longer on, replaced by something more casual, for both, a fitted cap, Cory's with "SOX" emblazoned on the front, the meerkat's with the bill bent up.
They laughed and talked until the early hours of the morning. Neither of them had to work in the morning, and it was rare, now, that they got to see each other.
Cory had often said that they were a lot alike. It seemed to be true. Neither of them would really meet the standards of being your average cowboy. The meerkat was a punk rocker with piercings. Cory was a boy down from Chicago. Neither of which really screamed "cowboy", but they managed, and did a damn good job.
Morning was winding up, so they both decided at pack it in, and head home. It was still almost an hour's drive, which they spent listening to music. The meerkat introduced his friend to a new band, or, new to the bobcat, which led to conversations about welding classmates, namely a little weasel called Schmitty, and his recently revealed secret to women.
Booze and hot tubs.
The two laughed hard over that one, so much so that the meerkat hit the rumble strip on the side of the road, and swerved back into his lane harshly.
He cursed loudly, which caused his passenger to laugh all the harder, which earned the bobcat a bruise on his shoulder as he opened the car door to step out onto his driveway.
Again, it was a good night, and the boy hit the sack not too long after dropping his buddy off, and getting home himself. He needed a good rest. The day that he'd has was exhausting in more than one way, and the next, he had to hop back up on the bull that threw him.
Maybe he'd find the right girl in that arena... A sweet little cowgirl, maybe; someone who wouldn't be so biased by age. There was always the chance, right? With his performance tonight, he'd obviously gained some attention... That, and he'd already caught sight of a little Collie gal... A goat roper, a barrel racer and a girl that could run her horse through the poles flawlessly. If nothing else, she'd serve as a nice distraction, for a while. She seemed sweet enough, though...
He'd feel bad if he used her just to make himself stop hurting. He knew it'd go away. Who knew, maybe something would grow with them. They talked, now and then, and they seemed to get along fairly well. Her cousin, the little vixen from his german team showed cows, which was really the only reason they knew each other.
The Collie and meerkat traveled in different social circles, but it seemed like there was something there.
As always... Here's to Hoping.