organizers.
Wayne frowns.
“Jackson, what are you doing here? This is closed off.”
I smile and saunter down the last few steps, even though my pulse is racing.
“Sorry,” I say. “I come here sometimes to get away from everything and think.”
Travis looks me over head to toe, then shrugs. Wayne looks annoyed, but not like he’s all that upset.
“We were just checking that the barriers are all up to code,” he says. “You remember that incident in Tulsa a few years ago. Better safe than sorry.”
A barrier failed when a bull knocked into it, and a kid on the other side broke his leg. His parents sued the Tulsa Fair and won a lot of money.
“They looked pretty solid today,” I say.
They both nod, but Wayne still looks worried. I realize again how seriously he takes this, and how badly he wants Pioneer Days Rodeo to make the leap to the big time. How much he wants ESPN and SportsCenter to care about rodeo.
If he found out I was just canoodling with the photographer and making his chances at all that worse, he might kill me.
“I’ll help you two check,” I say.
We split off the arena into thirds, and I walk my third, shaking and kicking and rattling the barrier the best I can. I’m not worried about that. I know that under his Good Old Country Boy demeanor, Wayne’s ferociously driven and detail-oriented, not the kind of guy who’d let something like this slip.
Every thirty seconds, I glance up at the stands. I can’t see a thing, but I can’t get my mind off of her, up there, watching me. It feels like tiny sparks are skipping along my nerves, and I’m all keyed up. I want to get out of there so Mae can leave, because if I’m nervous, she must be dying.
Finally we meet in the middle of the arena.
“I do believe we’re good,” Travis says, his hands on his hips, his belly just sticking out past his belt buckle.
Wayne nods.
“Thanks for indulging me,” he says. Then he looks at me. “You too, Jackson.”
“I’ve got a vested interest in not plowing through a barrier,” I say.
“You feeling good about tomorrow?” he asks.
My eyes flick up to the stands, where I know Mae’s watching us.
“Yessir,” I say.
“When’s the bull drawing?” asks Travis.
“Twelve-fifteen tomorrow,” Wayne answers before I can.
Each rider gets assigned a bull by lottery, so I can only hope for the roughest bulls. If I get a cupcake like Screaming Heat, it’s harder to win.
“You hoping for Crash?” Travis asks.
“You know it,” I say. “Go big or go home.”
Travis just shakes his head. He used to ride — most of the organizers did — so he knows what I’m hoping to get myself into.
“Good luck, son,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”
We leave the arena, and I go out last. Just before I leave, I look at the stands one more time, give Mae a thumbs up, then hit the light switch. The arena goes dark again.
* * *
P ioneer Days has a couple attractions besides the rodeo. One is the carnival, which runs all day and into the night. It’s got all the usual rides, games, and attractions: you can eat funnel cake and then spin around on the Scrambler until you puke, then try to toss rings onto a bottle and win a giant stuffed bear.
It’s got a fair, with prize-winning pies, tomatoes, chickens. All that 4H stuff.
And it’s got Wild West Town. I don’t know where they get this stuff, but it’s about two blocks of fake wooden storefronts, hitching posts, saloon doors, and all. Every day at noon they act out a gunfight. People eat it up.
The bull riding lottery is right after the gunfight. I guess they did it that way to get a crowd, but it just means that I have to stand around in a crowd of tourists while two actors point fake guns at each other.
I keep looking through the crowd for Mae, because this seems like the kind of thing she’d photograph, but maybe not. I just want to know she snuck out okay and didn’t get caught.
That’s the worst reason for her not to be
Wayne frowns.
“Jackson, what are you doing here? This is closed off.”
I smile and saunter down the last few steps, even though my pulse is racing.
“Sorry,” I say. “I come here sometimes to get away from everything and think.”
Travis looks me over head to toe, then shrugs. Wayne looks annoyed, but not like he’s all that upset.
“We were just checking that the barriers are all up to code,” he says. “You remember that incident in Tulsa a few years ago. Better safe than sorry.”
A barrier failed when a bull knocked into it, and a kid on the other side broke his leg. His parents sued the Tulsa Fair and won a lot of money.
“They looked pretty solid today,” I say.
They both nod, but Wayne still looks worried. I realize again how seriously he takes this, and how badly he wants Pioneer Days Rodeo to make the leap to the big time. How much he wants ESPN and SportsCenter to care about rodeo.
If he found out I was just canoodling with the photographer and making his chances at all that worse, he might kill me.
“I’ll help you two check,” I say.
We split off the arena into thirds, and I walk my third, shaking and kicking and rattling the barrier the best I can. I’m not worried about that. I know that under his Good Old Country Boy demeanor, Wayne’s ferociously driven and detail-oriented, not the kind of guy who’d let something like this slip.
Every thirty seconds, I glance up at the stands. I can’t see a thing, but I can’t get my mind off of her, up there, watching me. It feels like tiny sparks are skipping along my nerves, and I’m all keyed up. I want to get out of there so Mae can leave, because if I’m nervous, she must be dying.
Finally we meet in the middle of the arena.
“I do believe we’re good,” Travis says, his hands on his hips, his belly just sticking out past his belt buckle.
Wayne nods.
“Thanks for indulging me,” he says. Then he looks at me. “You too, Jackson.”
“I’ve got a vested interest in not plowing through a barrier,” I say.
“You feeling good about tomorrow?” he asks.
My eyes flick up to the stands, where I know Mae’s watching us.
“Yessir,” I say.
“When’s the bull drawing?” asks Travis.
“Twelve-fifteen tomorrow,” Wayne answers before I can.
Each rider gets assigned a bull by lottery, so I can only hope for the roughest bulls. If I get a cupcake like Screaming Heat, it’s harder to win.
“You hoping for Crash?” Travis asks.
“You know it,” I say. “Go big or go home.”
Travis just shakes his head. He used to ride — most of the organizers did — so he knows what I’m hoping to get myself into.
“Good luck, son,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”
We leave the arena, and I go out last. Just before I leave, I look at the stands one more time, give Mae a thumbs up, then hit the light switch. The arena goes dark again.
* * *
P ioneer Days has a couple attractions besides the rodeo. One is the carnival, which runs all day and into the night. It’s got all the usual rides, games, and attractions: you can eat funnel cake and then spin around on the Scrambler until you puke, then try to toss rings onto a bottle and win a giant stuffed bear.
It’s got a fair, with prize-winning pies, tomatoes, chickens. All that 4H stuff.
And it’s got Wild West Town. I don’t know where they get this stuff, but it’s about two blocks of fake wooden storefronts, hitching posts, saloon doors, and all. Every day at noon they act out a gunfight. People eat it up.
The bull riding lottery is right after the gunfight. I guess they did it that way to get a crowd, but it just means that I have to stand around in a crowd of tourists while two actors point fake guns at each other.
I keep looking through the crowd for Mae, because this seems like the kind of thing she’d photograph, but maybe not. I just want to know she snuck out okay and didn’t get caught.
That’s the worst reason for her not to be
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