WHAT THE HELL JUST happened? Yeah, I wanted her to sober up, but not get the fun sucked out of her. I wanted to talk and tell her all about Rowan. I guess her sister put her in that mood. Jesus, I can’t handle a woman’s moods. That’s why I left them all and joined the rodeo.
Multiple lightning strikes light up the sky, but at least the rain isn’t pouring down. I’m going to leave her be for the night and give her some distance. Surely the space between the hotel and the camper will be enough.
My keys rattle in the lock as I twist them quickly to escape the cold wind beating on my back. It hasn’t lessened at all, but at least I’m not soaked for a second time tonight. I take a quick hot shower and pop in a movie, settling into the couch and pull back on the recliner arm to relax. Just an hour ago, I was sucking on her tits and looking at the best sunset view of my fucking life. How did it all go so wrong that quickly?
Never mind, I know. I stopped to ask the question. The one I should have asked another woman almost eight years ago but wasn’t sober enough too. That mistake still haunts me.
Mistake? Rowan isn’t a mistake; he’s my blessing. She’s my worst fucking nightmare. His mother. I can’t even call her my ex-wife because I don’t want to be reminded that we promised God ‘til death do us part. What a fucking joke. Oh, my stupid youth. When I had balls enough to think my life would be exactly what I wanted it to be. Playing house with her seemed like it would be fun since I’d never had a place to call home. Yeah, that’s a really fucking funny joke.
My mom worked four jobs raising my sisters and me. She was never at our apartment but always made sure we had clean clothes and groceries. When my sisters started hitting sixteen, one-by-one they started to disappear too until one day, I was all alone.
It was great at first; until it got lonely at night with nothing to do in the summers. I started hanging out at the bar on the corner. The owner, Stu McGleason, knew my mom and took pity on me. He taught me how to operate the mechanical bull that the patrons rode for fun. That kept me off the streets of Dallas. At first, I only got to ride it when I was trying to fix it, making sure it works after each adjustment or repair was complete. That’s when the bug hit me.
I had found the one thing I was good at. I could ride that thing like no one’s business. People started making bets on me. Stu got a timer and clocked me just like at the rodeo. I developed a following, and before we knew it, we had bull riding competitions on the weekends. Months turned into years, and when I was twenty-one and finally old enough to be in the bar, the PBR came to town.
A lot has happened since then. Life has gone up and back down again so many times like the bulls that I ride— it’s unpredictable. I’ve lost track of the unmentionable events and can barely remember the more significant ones.
It feels like I’m thirty-six knocking on sixty. I’m divorced from a drug addict who is the mother of my child; I’m a father to a child that has to take care of his mother while I do my best to coach him through it on a daily basis over the fucking telephone. It sucks living on the road.
I’ve begged him to come live with me and be home-schooled on the road, but he stays with her. I get annoyed with his loyalty sometimes, but it’s also what I’m most proud of. He doesn’t give up on people like I do. He has a deep, abiding passion for those he loves.
Maybe someday, I’ll find that trait within myself, but right now he’s the only thing I care about. I will ride these roads and bulls until I get that World Champion title and the money that goes with it. Then I’ll hang up my spurs and be the father I’m supposed to be, with my son at my side.
I roll over and wipe the tears welling up in my eyes away. I don’t let this happen often, but these melancholy moments make me stronger. They give me focus and provide me with a renewed sense of purpose. Maybe I should reflect and show gratitude for my life every day. A crack of thunder shakes the camper as if it’s punctuating my thought. Yeah, maybe I should start to do that.
****
THE MORNING SUN SHINES through the curtains that I forgot to close, and I squint hard to block it out. It was a rough night for sleeping, but the day is dawning and getting away from me already. So it’s up and at ‘em time.
Ice-cold water from the bathroom sink stings my eyes but clears the sleep away. I pull a clean shirt over my head and lace up my running shoes to get in a quick wake-me-up run.
Everything smells clean in the valley. There’s no city pollution here. I can smell the Sweet Alyssum flowers that are blooming and the wet dirt rising off the pavement as my feet pound down on the stretch of country road I’m running on.
When I get back to the camper, Noa is out on the far corner of the restaurant lot in a grassy area stretching into her yoga poses and taking in the morning sun too. I watch her for a moment from the kitchen window and admire the sheer strength it takes to hold some of those poses.
She’s a curious mix of mind and soul that I want to know, but now we have a barrier between us. It’s always been there, but now the transparency is gone. It’s been replaced by heated words and an obvious ethical restraint that I never thought of. We aren’t going to be like we were over the last two weeks. Might as well get used to it.
I’m freshly showered and dressed when she walks into the trailer. The smell of bread toasting is heavy in the air. It’s one of my favorite smells in the world. “Good morning,” I greet her, determined not to let last night be awkward between us. “I’m ready to leave. Did you want to ride up front or stay back here?”
“I think I’ll stay back here this morning. I can drive after we stop for lunch if you want?”
“No one drives Colossus but me, but thanks for the offer. I appreciate it.” She narrows her eyes, and I swallow my toast along with the dread that forms in my throat.
“What the hell does that mean? A woman can’t handle your big, manly truck with your backwater noisemakers in the muffler? I don’t need a penis to drive a truck. It’s just a truck— another vehicle with a steering wheel, an engine, and four wheels.”
“Whoa, Doc. What the fuck?”
“Don’t curse at me. I deserve better than that.
“Jesus Christ, Noa. That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Where is this coming from? Last night gave me whiplash from your moods changes so quickly. Is this what your family does to you? I heard you talking to your sister. No wonder you left.”
“Leave my family out of your macho issues. I can drive your stupid truck; the same as I can reconstruct a knee and repair a herniated disk in your back. I’m not ignorant.” She tightens the ponytail holder in her hair like she’s bracing for a fight.
“Damn it, Noa. I never said you were. You’re the most intelligent woman I know. Where is this coming from?” Her eyes sear into mine. Tears are forming and threaten to fall like when my older sister gets really mad. Noa swipes at one of the tears as it dares to roll down her cheek.
“Don’t curse at me. Be a better man than that.” She drops her yoga mat onto the floor by the table and uses her heels to push off her tennis shoes, kicking them to sit next to the mat.
“Be a better man?” I place my plate in the sink and run some water over it to keep the smeared butter from sticking. I’ll clean it later. Right now, I need to leave before I say something I’m going to regret. I grab my coffee mug and open the door, turning to face her before I leave. “I don’t have you on my insurance. That’s why you can’t drive the truck. I never meant any disrespect to your skills as a female driver.” I click the lock and slam the door, effectively ending the argument for now.
Maybe she’s tired or hung-over. Maybe she’s hungry, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’s been mentally abused. Hell, we’ve all got issues we need to work through.
I know she’s running from her family and experiencing life on her own for the first time. It seems awfully late in the game for her to finally be adulting, but Hollywood families are dysfunctional and controlling. I’ve seen the Kardashians; that family is crazy.
Be a better man? If only she knew I strive for that every day. I’m a work in progress, but hell, I thought everyone was.
I reset the GPS for our final destination, pull out of the lot and drive— numb to the world from our morning fight.
The beautiful drive through the Wyoming foothills clears my mind. A sense of guilt overwhelms me as I think back over the words we said to each other this morning. I still don’t know how it all went so wrong, but I feel the need to apologize. It’s obvious that whatever was on her mind was grinding her words and actions, but did I do enough to try to listen?
The answer screaming in my brain is no. I just wanted to hurry up and get past it to the happy part where we’re laughing again. The first lesson learned is Noa has been hurt. Lesson number two is she cannot handle her alcohol. The third and final lesson for today is she doesn’t like cursing, so I’m going to have to mind my words.
I fiddle with the radio buttons, trying to find some good music that will take my mind off her. It seems the radio stations only want to play commercials; fucking car insurance commercials that only remind me of our fight.
Maybe some Eminem. I slide in my Recovery CD and punch track 11 for ‘Cinderella Man.’ The song ends, and I push the repeat button; letting it play a few times before I worry that I’m going to warp the disc on that one song. I hit eject and play the radio again, shaking my head at the stupid shit I worry about.
I finally find a good station outside of Rapid City, but every commercial still seems to be car insurance. Maybe I’m overthinking this, but it seems like fate is talking to me and I need to listen.
I pull out my phone and dial the 800 number for my insurance company. After a short wait for customer service, I connect with an agent and get Noa added to my policy. It’s only for a few short weeks I explain, and thankfully, they don’t ask me any questions that I don’t know the answers to. She’s added. Just like that.
I hope she’s prepared for the monstrous rush of adrenaline she’s gonna feel when driving Colossus. I can’t wait to see her face light up when I hand her the keys. That alone makes me smile for the next eighty miles anticipating our lunch stop.