BUCKED #2
Chapter Eight
Noah
I had to admit, I was a little surprised. For the most part, I’m pretty good at waking up early. Traveling on the circuits has wired my internal clock to have me up and at ‘em around six o’clock every day, unless I’m sick. Jackson, however, was up before me. We usually keep our front door unlocked— there’s really no reason to lock it when we live in the middle of nowhere—and Jackson is well-aware of that. They probably don’t lock their doors, either. Thing is, when I’m asleep, I’m gone. I’m a hard sleeper, so the creak of my bedroom door didn’t even cause me to flinch. What did was the sensation that something was crawling on the back of my neck. Now, it’s not uncommon for feathers to slip out of my down pillow and float around on occasion. Which is exactly what my half asleep brain assumed was happening. I yanked my hand out from under my pillow and wiped it across my neck, then shifted my head so I was facing toward my window instead of the door.
Then, I felt it again. My eyes flew open, trying to adjust to the dimly lit room, and I turned instantly to see Jackson’s face hovering inches away from mine. I grunted. “Jack, what in heaven’s name are you doing in here?”
“What are you doing in your underwear?” Jackson retorted.
I rolled over so I was on my back and covered myself with the sheet before I answered. “It’s too hot to wear clothes to bed, for your information.”
“You’re weird.”
“Says the kid who’s standing over his half-naked neighbor while he’s asleep in his bed. Now…what are you doing in here?”
“Well, you said that you were gonna start my bull riding lessons today, so here I am.”
I picked up my phone from my nightstand and looked at the time. “At five-thirty in the morning?”
“Mom said that bull riders are used to getting up early, so I figured I might as well start getting used to it now.”
“Well, you’re not wrong there,” I told him, stretching and yawning. “Okay, how about you go downstairs and hit the power button on the coffee maker, and I’ll get dressed and come make us breakfast.”
“I know how to make coffee! My mom’s pretty much addicted to it.”
“That’s alright, it’s already ready. All you have to do is turn the thing on.”
“If you insist,” he said with a shrug, then turned and clomped down the stairs. I sat up and pressed the balls of my hands into my eyes hard, then ran my hands through my hair, thinking I really needed a haircut. I pulled on a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a green V-neck t-shirt before grabbing socks from a drawer. It took a minute to lace up my work boots. I threw on my John Deere baseball cap on my way out of my room. I kind of felt like a tool, wearing work boots with shorts, but hey, function over form. It gets hot fast in the summer.
I reached the foot of the steps and saw Jackson standing in the kitchen with his nose about an inch away from the coffee pot, staring at it as it dripped down. What a strange kid. “What are you doing?” I asked him.
“I love the smell of coffee, and my nose was cold. I thought I’d warm it up.”
I shook my head and laughed. “Fair enough, I guess. So, what do you want for breakfast?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. What do you have?”
“How about omelets? We’ve got more eggs than we know what to do with.”
“You don’t have to make anything that complicated,” he insisted.
“It’s fine, my mom’s always got a bunch of veggies cut up, so omelets are actually pretty quick to make. And, we have a bunch of bacon, too.”
“Bacon!” he exclaimed.
“I’ll take that as a yes. What veggies do you want? Onions, mushrooms, and peppers?”
“Yeah, and do you have cheese?”
“Sure do.” I poured myself a cup of coffee before getting to work on breakfast. As I was cooking, I told him to tell me everything he knew about bull riding, which turned out to be a surprisingly large amount of information.
“Well, I know that a qualifying ride starts right as the bull’s shoulders exit the chute, and it’s gotta be at least eight seconds. The bull gets out because of the gateman, who pulls it open with a rope, then gets out of the way. You can only have one hand on the bull at any given time, or else it’s called a slap and you get disqualified. When the eight seconds are over, you can either dismount or get bucked off, and then the clown distracts the bull so you can get away without getting hurt. Then the judges score you and the bull, and you get a score from one to a hundred. Most people land in the seventies, and getting above ninety is like, super good, so I guess that means you’re super good because my mom told me you got a ninety-one.” He said it all in one breath like he’d been waiting forever to show me how much he knew.
“Yeah, you pretty much hit the nail on the head,” I told him. “Have you been doing your research?”
“I know the PBR website like the back of my hand,” he proudly admitted.
“I learned all I know from my dad, but there’s nothing wrong with learning what you can before lessons start. Shows you’ve got pluck. I like it,” I told him as I slid his omelet onto a plate and told him to grab some bacon, which was draining on a paper towel. He took four slices and sat down at the table.
“So, what’s your favorite part about bull riding?” he questioned.
I didn’t even have to think twice about my answer. “The adrenaline,” I said firmly. “You ever been in a situation where you were terrified for your life?” I folded my omelet and put it on a plate, then took the rest of the bacon and sat down.
“Yeah, the one time when I broke my mom’s antique vase,” he said, wide-eyed. “I thought I was a goner.”
The look on his face was priceless. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, imagine that times ten. I mean, you’re sitting on an angry bull that doesn’t want you there, and he’s trying to throw you off his back. Then, when you finally get off, he realizes it and wants to trample you so bad that someone has to distract him while you run away.”
“Awesome! Sounds intense!”
“Oh, it is.”
When we both finished eating, I picked up our plates, rinsed them off, and set them in the sink. “You wanna go outside now? It’d be neat to catch the sunrise.”
“Definitely!” Jackson exclaimed, practically dancing to the door. When I opened it, we were met with a warm, but breezy morning. I led him to my favorite tree and sank down so I was sitting with my back leaned against the trunk. Jackson danced and jumped around so much that it was making me anxious, so I patted the ground next to me and asked him to squat down.
He did, and we watched the sun break over the horizon, exploding into the sky in a show of pinks and oranges, complete with a fiery red sun slowly rising over the end of the pasture. When it had lifted a little higher into the sky, I stood up, dusted my butt off, and offered Jackson a hand. He used it to help himself spring up and took a quick lap around the tree before asking, “Alright, so what are we doing first? How am I going to practice when we don’t have any bulls?”
I balled one hand into a fist and placed it against my other palm in front of my chest, then I did a deep martial arts bow and said, “Patience, young grasshopper. You have much still to learn before your final test.”
For the first time all morning—this kid had way too much energy for six a.m.—he finally stood still, giving me a look of sheer confusion. “What do you mean, ‘final test?’ Are you saying I won’t actually be riding a bull?”
“Not right away,” I explained. Seeing him frown and look entirely bummed out, I added, “I mean, I told you how dangerous it is. How would you feel about having a few bones broken because you don’t know the theory behind it first?”
“Not so good,” he replied, rubbing his arms like he was protecting them from certain danger.
“Exactly!” I said, clapping my hands. “Now, where to begin…” I started rubbing my palms together and looking around.
“You don’t already have a plan?”
“Alright, lesson number one: you have to learn to go with the flow. You never know what to expect when it comes to riding a bull, so you can’t have a plan.”
“Hmph,” he said, “if you say so.”
“I do say so, and I broke ninety, remember?”
“Oh. Right,” he agreed, shaking his head as if to get it together. “Continue.”
I chuckled at his command. “Follow me,” I instructed, starting off toward the barn. As we walked, I told him the all-important lesson number two. “Lesson two: bull riding is a mental game more than anything; your head always has to be clear and your eyes always have to be on the prize. So to speak.”
“Got it.”
After a few more “lessons” on the mental side of things, we reached the barn. I took out four cinder blocks and put them in pairs, about ten feet from each other. I then got a thick piece of lumber from the barn and laid it across so it formed a bridge. I hopped up on one end and crossed it with my eyes closed, walking at a normal pace. Easy. I explained that balance is one of the most important physical traits you can have, and then prompted Jackson to try.
We spent easily two hours there, just crossing the beam over and over. I gave him tips and demonstrations, he asked questions and tried again and again. I had to give him props; the kid’s a great student. When he could cross the beam with his eyes open and me yelling to try and distract him, I suggested we call it quits and move onto the next thing. He wanted to keep trying so he could get as good as me—he was nothing if not persistent—but I reminded him that I’d been doing it for as long as he was alive, so it’d take him some time to get that good. I guess he realized he couldn’t argue with that, so he asked what the next task was.
Next, we moved to practicing how to fall safely. The trick is to land on parts of your body that have a lot of natural padding, like your butt or thighs. We’d been at it about two hours when Princess Laci came strolling across the pasture like she owned it. Hell, in those frayed denim shorts, she almost could.
I had to admit, those shorts, a red tank top, and white sneakers were a damn sight better than the crap she showed up in at the airport. Though, I wasn’t sure how smart white sneakers were, considering all the dirt and other fun things her feet might find around the ranch.
“Hey, brat,” she greeted Jackson. “It’s almost noon, so your mom sent me over to find you for lunch. She’s making your favorite!”
“Tacos and iced tea?” he asked, hopefully.
“Yeah, tacos and iced tea!” Jackson let out a little cheer at Laci’s confirmation, then she turned to me. “I’ve been told to invite you, too,” she said with what seemed like forced politeness. “Sara says that part of your payment for teaching Jack how to ride bulls is going to be daily lunch over at her house.”
“Part of it?” I asked. “You mean there’s more?” I meant it to be sincere, I actually wasn’t expecting any type of payment, but Laci rolled her eyes, apparently taking it as sarcasm.
“Mmhm,” she nodded. It seemed like, for some reason, she felt the need to bite her tongue and be civil because I could see it all over her face that she had more to say. Instead, she just asked, “Coming?”
“I could never pass up tacos!” I responded, following Laci as Jackson ran far ahead of us. Seeing the kid so happy made me pretty happy, too, and since I was in such a good mood, I tried to strike up a conversation with Princess Laci. Now’s as good a time as ever to apologize like I promised Jackson. “So, Sara’s a pretty good cook,” I offered. “Dinner the other night was amazing. I’m pretty excited to try the tacos.”
Laci didn’t look at me, instead opting to stare at the ground, apparently trying to avoid the rocks and surprises the horses might have left behind. Smart move in white shoes. She did respond as she walked, though. “Yeah, Mexican food is her specialty. Even more so than Southern food, weirdly enough.”
“Well, if you think about it, Mexican food is Southern food; it’s just more southern than you’re thinking.” I thought it was clever.
“Yeah, I suppose it is,” she said with a hint of a laugh.
What do ya know? Maybe Princess Laci isn’t such a stickler, after all. “Hey, listen,” I started before pausing. I caught her steal a glance at me over her shoulder as I trailed just slightly behind her. “I just wanted to say sorry if I’ve come across as an ass.”
She actually looked at me and paused for a second until I caught up. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Really?” I stammered, a little caught off guard. “I mean, hey, it’s alright. We just got off on the wrong foot.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything else. It’s not like we were the best of buddies after one apology, but it was a start. At least, we could maybe exist in the same room without me feeling like she wanted to rip my throat out.
When we approached Sara’s house, Jackson was already standing there, holding the door open with his left hand while he bent into a low bow. He offered Laci his other hand like he was some kind of gallant gentleman helping Victorian royalty out of their carriage. “M’lady,” he said.
Laci took his hand and mimed holding a skirt out before daintily tiptoeing into the house. “Thank you, good sir,” she said in a snooty, British accent. After Laci had passed him, he jumped in front of me, stuck his tongue out, laughed, and then ran inside. One thing’s for sure, he may be wise at times, but he’s still a kid.
In the kitchen, Sara stood at the table, fanning out taco shells while Jackson rattled on about our morning’s events. She reacted at all the appropriate times, then told him to wash up before the food got cold. He bounced over to the sink and began to scrub his hands. Laci sat down at the table, pouring herself a glass of tea. “Smells awesome, Aunt Sara,” she noted as she took a sip and set her glass down.
“That’s because it is awesome,” Sara told her, winking at Jackson who had joined them at the table. Sara cocked her head toward me. “Well, are you gonna wash up and join us or stand there like a bump on a log?”
“I dunno. I had more of a graceful willow tree in mind, actually,” I spouted back, swaying my arms above my head like willow branches in the breeze.
Jackson howled with laughter. Sara shook her head and said, “Alright, Mr. Comedian, wash your hands.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the sink and started spooning beef into a tortilla.
As expected, the food was amazing. Definitely some of the best tacos I’d ever had. The conversation was pretty good, too. I cracked a bunch of jokes to hoots and hollers from Jackson. I think a smile even crossed Laci’s face once or twice. When we’d eaten till we were full, Jackson and I went back outside. Wanting to show Laci his newfound skill for walking a makeshift balance beam, Jackson begged her to come out with us. She sat in the shade of the barn and watched him cross between the cinder blocks, and she nearly lost her head when he threw himself off the side to show her his safe falling.
He landed on his upper thigh, then stood up and threw his arms in the air like a gymnast who just stuck the landing. “Tada!”
“Geez, Jackson! Don’t do that to me!” she scolded. “I thought you were about to bust your face open or something!”
“Sorry,” he tittered, “but I had to show you that Noah taught me how to fall safely.”
She shot me a “you’re-lucky-he’s-okay” kind of look, then hopped to her feet and announced she was thirsty. “I’m parched, so I’m gonna go get some lemonade. Want some?”
“Heck yeah, I do!”
“And, you?” she asked, turning to me.
“Heck yeah, I do!” I exclaimed, mimicking Jackson.
When she returned, Jackson and I were in the middle of climbing a tree, and she scoffed and shifted her weight. “You’re just trying to get him to hurt himself, aren’t you?” She stood there impatiently, holding a tray with three lemonades and some cookies on it.
“No,” I balked, hanging sideways from a branch like an ape. “This is an important lesson in bull riding. He’s gotta get used to dangerous stuff if he wants to have any hope of making it. That’s lesson five, Jack,” I added, throwing him a wink.
“Ten-four!” he shouted, letting me know he’d made a mental note of it.
“Well, if you’re having fun, I guess I’ll just enjoy all of this fresh-squeezed, ice cold lemonade and these warm, gooey cookies myself,” she said with a smirk, setting the tray down on the grass and sitting cross-legged beside it. She took a sip from one cup, then picked up a cookie and licked it. Classy, I thought, seems like something I’d do.
As she started to reach for the second glass of lemonade, Jackson and I simultaneously called out, “No!” and scrambled down the tree as quickly as we could. I snatched up my lemonade and started to thirstily slurp it down. Jackson went straight for the cookies, stuffing two in his mouth at the same time.
“Y’know,” he mumbled thickly through the food in his mouth, “I could get used to this. I like having you around, Laci, and I’m having fun learning bull riding lessons from you, Noah.”
“I like being around you, too, twerp,” she smiled, ruffling his hair.
“Eh, I guess you’re alright,” I told him, nudging his cheek with my fist. For a minute there, it actually felt strangely like we were some kind of weird family, Princess Laci and I the estranged parents of a hyperactive young boy—never mind the fact that he was somewhat of an old soul and was probably wiser than both of us combined. The moment was broken, however, when Laci decided it was time for her to go inside where it was air-conditioned. Princess.
The rest of the day passed with me pulling random “lessons” out of my ass and Jackson clinging to my every word. It was as satisfying as things could get. When the day was over and I walked him back to his house, Sara gave me the payment Laci had mentioned—though I didn’t know it at that exact moment. She came out, hugged me around the neck, and thanked me for giving him something to do. “He’s been a little mopey ever since I came back, but he’s absolutely on top of the world with you teaching him like this, even though it’s only his first day,” she told me. I told her it was no problem and turned to walk home, intending to hop in the shower. Instead, I found myself helping Dad in the stables. It was nearly ten that night when I finally got to head in the house for that shower I now desperately needed.
As I undid my belt and dropped my shorts, I heard my phone plunk to the floor. Reaching in the pocket to get it out, I also found a piece of paper wrapped around a fifty-dollar bill. I unfolded it and read:
Really, it means so much.
Smiling, I tucked the money into my wallet and set it on my dresser, then whipped my shirt into the hamper and grabbed a pair of boxers, which I carried with me as I streaked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I let the water wash over me and rinse away the sweat and grime of the day.
I could get used to this, too, I thought. When I’d finished washing off and dried my body, I slid my boxers on and crawled into bed. With a satisfied sigh, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.