and takes out a pair of cowboy boots. They’re light tan with turquoise and red throughout.
“They were my mom’s,” he says, with an unspoken question.
“I would be honored,” I answer, and relief spreads across his face. I take off my Hunters and throw them back into the garage and put on his mother’s boots.
Jason backs out of my driveway and onto the road without stopping for the nonexistent traffic. He puts the truck in drive and reaches out to me. He pulls me to him by the wrist and I yelp in pain.
“We need to take better care of you,” he says, without a hint of guilt.
“I’m in awe of the care I’m receiving.” I rub my wrists. “Perhaps something softer than a belt would help.”
* * *
Jason pulls off the road onto a dirt lane just east of the Harrison Farm. We drive a half mile before I can see anything but pastures, fence, and fields. As we hit the peak of a hill there are lights in the distance. It looks like a football field lit up for Friday night about five acres away. Jason pulls next to a line of trucks and hops out.
“What is a jackpot?” I ask, remembering for the first time since Jason arrived at my house where we’re supposed to be going.
“This one is like a one-event rodeo, in someone’s backyard. They’re not all the same.” Jason grabs the cooler between us and jumps out of the truck. “Let’s go take these cowboys’ money.” I follow him and try to take in the sights. There’s one field surrounded by fence and lit by huge, mobile lighting rigs. It has a chute at one end and people lining the fence on all sides. Jason greets Possum, who smiles warmly at me.
“Hey, Charlotte.”
“Hi, Possum. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good. You thinking of switching from swimming to bulldogging?”
“Bulldogging?” I say, hoping this arena has nothing to do with dogs.
“Steer wrestling,” Possum says. “Who’s hazing for you tonight?” He turns his questions to Jason.
“Ollie is supposed to be out here.”
“He just pulled in about fifteen minutes ago. Good luck,” Possum says, and I see Jason hand him fifty dollars.
Jason deposits me halfway along the fence and takes out a beer. He opens it and hands it to me. The air is still and the night is warm. I left my jacket in the truck and I’m glad I did. The crude benches of the Cowtown Rodeo seem like a VMA production compared to this jackpot. It is literally in someone’s backyard. He opens a beer for himself and practically downs it.
“Should you be drinking before…” I pause. Before what? What the hell is he doing? “Before wrestling steer?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Weren’t you offered a football scholarship at Oklahoma? What’s wrong with football?” I ask, a little hysterical at the thought of him again wrestling a steer.
“Football’s not physical enough. I like it rough.” My breath turns shallow; I’m almost panting. Jason notes the change and leans in. “Now steer wrestling, that’s physical.”
We see the other cowboys lining up and Jason leaves me alone on the fence.
Ollie and Jason have known each other their entire lives. Who hasn’t around here? They stand to the side talking and I can hear their laughter but not their words. Eventually, they walk farther from me and I can’t see their faces anymore. The people lining the fence are in groups of two or three and all seem completely unaffected by the approaching competition. I, on the other hand, can barely keep it together. Why does he have to wrestle steer? I try to calm myself. This is what he does. It’s who he is. Take it or leave it. I remember my mother saying this was a horrible life and I’m beginning to understand why. God, I wish she was here.
* * *
The first competitor comes out of the chute and dives off his horse. It happens so fast. I can barely keep up with my vision. On the horse. Off the horse. On the steer. On the ground. Done. I hear a guy a few feet down say he clocked him at 7.5.
“They were my mom’s,” he says, with an unspoken question.
“I would be honored,” I answer, and relief spreads across his face. I take off my Hunters and throw them back into the garage and put on his mother’s boots.
Jason backs out of my driveway and onto the road without stopping for the nonexistent traffic. He puts the truck in drive and reaches out to me. He pulls me to him by the wrist and I yelp in pain.
“We need to take better care of you,” he says, without a hint of guilt.
“I’m in awe of the care I’m receiving.” I rub my wrists. “Perhaps something softer than a belt would help.”
* * *
Jason pulls off the road onto a dirt lane just east of the Harrison Farm. We drive a half mile before I can see anything but pastures, fence, and fields. As we hit the peak of a hill there are lights in the distance. It looks like a football field lit up for Friday night about five acres away. Jason pulls next to a line of trucks and hops out.
“What is a jackpot?” I ask, remembering for the first time since Jason arrived at my house where we’re supposed to be going.
“This one is like a one-event rodeo, in someone’s backyard. They’re not all the same.” Jason grabs the cooler between us and jumps out of the truck. “Let’s go take these cowboys’ money.” I follow him and try to take in the sights. There’s one field surrounded by fence and lit by huge, mobile lighting rigs. It has a chute at one end and people lining the fence on all sides. Jason greets Possum, who smiles warmly at me.
“Hey, Charlotte.”
“Hi, Possum. How’s it going?”
“Pretty good. You thinking of switching from swimming to bulldogging?”
“Bulldogging?” I say, hoping this arena has nothing to do with dogs.
“Steer wrestling,” Possum says. “Who’s hazing for you tonight?” He turns his questions to Jason.
“Ollie is supposed to be out here.”
“He just pulled in about fifteen minutes ago. Good luck,” Possum says, and I see Jason hand him fifty dollars.
Jason deposits me halfway along the fence and takes out a beer. He opens it and hands it to me. The air is still and the night is warm. I left my jacket in the truck and I’m glad I did. The crude benches of the Cowtown Rodeo seem like a VMA production compared to this jackpot. It is literally in someone’s backyard. He opens a beer for himself and practically downs it.
“Should you be drinking before…” I pause. Before what? What the hell is he doing? “Before wrestling steer?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Weren’t you offered a football scholarship at Oklahoma? What’s wrong with football?” I ask, a little hysterical at the thought of him again wrestling a steer.
“Football’s not physical enough. I like it rough.” My breath turns shallow; I’m almost panting. Jason notes the change and leans in. “Now steer wrestling, that’s physical.”
We see the other cowboys lining up and Jason leaves me alone on the fence.
Ollie and Jason have known each other their entire lives. Who hasn’t around here? They stand to the side talking and I can hear their laughter but not their words. Eventually, they walk farther from me and I can’t see their faces anymore. The people lining the fence are in groups of two or three and all seem completely unaffected by the approaching competition. I, on the other hand, can barely keep it together. Why does he have to wrestle steer? I try to calm myself. This is what he does. It’s who he is. Take it or leave it. I remember my mother saying this was a horrible life and I’m beginning to understand why. God, I wish she was here.
* * *
The first competitor comes out of the chute and dives off his horse. It happens so fast. I can barely keep up with my vision. On the horse. Off the horse. On the steer. On the ground. Done. I hear a guy a few feet down say he clocked him at 7.5.
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