The True Father (19 page)

   When I arrived at the arena I was surprised to see it had received a dramatic facelift. Small plastic flags that advertised Coors beer were strung on a rope that crisscrossed above the arena from light pole to light pole and flapped in the evening breeze. The old man with the tractor and harrow drove circles inside the arena loosening, and in my case softening the dirt. The parking lot had completely filled with vehicles and people were now parking street side. Spectators walked across the parking lot toward the arena, some carried folded lawn chairs while others piled into the bleachers. The concession stand had opened and was already doing business, fans of the rodeo walking away with their hands loaded down with a mix of drinks, hot dogs, popcorn, or nachos with melted cheese and jalapenos. Speakers had been mounted on the poles and now played instrumental music, a tune that sounded like the beginning of the old Dallas TV show.

   I went to the camper that Jeremiah had set up for Paul Baldwin and found both Paul and Jeremiah inside drinking a beer, along with Jason (who I thought was drinking Mountain Dew but noticed a bulge in his bottom lip and watched him spit into the bottle), Buddy and Tate dressed in clown apparel, and Denny Rose who looked as usual in a white dress western shirt with a bolo tie and gray felt cowboy hat.

   “Hey, there's the man of the hour!” Jeremiah said.

   They all greeted me with howdys and pats on the shoulder and handshakes.

   “What is all this?” I asked. “Looks like a circus out there.”

   “Not far from it, wouldn't you say?” Buddy said.

   “You wanted a rodeo,” Jeremiah said, “so you got a rodeo.”

   “I don't know what to say.”

   “Don't say anything,” Buddy said. “Just get out there and do your best.”

   “Jason and I will be in the chute with you, if that's okay,” Jeremiah said.

   Jason grinned with the dip in his lip.

   “Perfect,” I said.

   Buddy slapped Tate on the knee. “Yeah and old Tate here says he kind of liked the clown biz so he's joining me in the arena.”

   “Damn,” I said. “Add an announcer and rock and roll music to all this and it'd almost be official.”

   “Took care of that, too,” Jeremiah said.

   Denny rounded his eyes and grinned then raised his hand and waved. “What song would you like me to play, pardner?”

   “You guys are great,” I said, shaking his hand again.

   “Hey, anything for Jettie's boy.” Denny said.

   “Well,” I said, “let's all go out there one more time for Jettie.”

   “Amen,” Buddy said.

 

 

   Unlike the other rodeos I had been to, Denny announced from inside the arena on horseback. He rode a strawberry roan gelding and carried a cordless microphone. The crowd consisted of people of all ages. Jeremiah said he didn't ever remember seeing this many people in the Spiro arena before. I studied them as closely as possible, recognizing very few, only some of the townspeople I'd met during my morning runs. But I did recognize Barney from the restaurant and his waitress Tanya. There was the preacher from the funeral and many others I had seen there as well. Eileen from the sale barn café sat close to the chutes. She chewed gum and drank a cup of beer and winked when she caught my glance. Then I saw Grandpa and Grandma, sitting in lawn chairs on the other side of the arena fence. Grandpa, no doubt wore a jumpsuit, light blue denim with short bottoms and he wore white socks up to his knees and white shoes. They both smiled and waved.

   “With this kind of turnout,” I said, “maybe you should start having rodeos in Spiro.”

   “This is no ordinary rodeo,” Jeremiah said. “It kind of has a fascination similar to a cockfight.”

   “A cockfight?”

   “Yeah, people only know about it by word of mouth. And more than that, I'm sure there's a lot of betting going on.”

   “Betting?”

   “Yeah, I'm sure there's a few greedy souls out there playing against the odds.”

   “You mean, betting that I will stay on rather than get my guts stomped out?”

   “Exactly.”

   I looked for other faces I might recognize, and that's when I saw Bella pull up in her Mustang. She walked to the far end of the arena and rested her forearms on the top fence rail. She looked great, dressed in tight Lawman jeans and a sleeveless white shirt. She didn't wear a hat and her long black hair hung down over her shoulders and occasionally caught the light breeze. This whole arrangement was overwhelming, but for me I don't think it could have been entirely complete without her.

   Denny's voice blared over the speakers. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight's special event!”

   The crowd grew quiet and listened intently.

   “Now you all know that this is not your ordinary rodeo. Tonight you're going to watch a young man pay a special tribute to his father, and hero of our community, Jettie Hodge.”

   Short applause.

   “As most of you know, family, friends, and fans of rodeo lost Jettie almost two months ago in a tragic accident. Though he will be sorely missed, his legend lives on.”

   I watched the faces of the crowd. Most were solemn, a few men removed their hats, and some of the women wiped at their eyes. That's when I saw my mother, standing at the end of the bleachers, wearing the same clothes from earlier in the day, only now she wore a pair of brown designer sunglasses.

   Denny continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, before I turn this mic over to Trevor, we're going to hear a few words from a very special man of this community. He's been around rodeo all his life, and to this day remains one of the most respected rodeo men in the country. Without further a due, I introduce former PRCA stock contractor of the year, and brother of Jettie Hodge, the one and only Jeremiah     Hodge!”

   The crowd applauded and cheered as Jeremiah trotted across the arena and grabbed the microphone. I was anxious to hear what he had to say, but also terrified to suddenly learn that I was also expected to say a few words to the crowd.

   “Good evening, everyone,” Jeremiah said. “It's sure been an unforgettable summer. Not so much for the tragic loss of my brother, but also for the reuniting of me and my nephew, Trevor Hodge. I knew nothing about Trevor until I saw him graduate from college back in May. I learned that he's a pretty smart boy, earnin' honors and getting fancy words printed by his name in the graduation announcement.    Now anyone who knows me knows that a bunch of fancy words on paper don't amount to nothin' until a man has shown his real character. Well I'm here to tell you that this summer I've got to know a lot about this young man's character, and for what he's brought to me and our family I'll say that I'm proud to call him my nephew. And if Jettie were here today, there is no doubt in my mind that he'd be proud to call him his son.”

   Short applause.

   “I've watched him and helped him train so he could come here tonight and pay tribute to his father. He's got smarts, but most of all he's got courage, and ladies and gentlemen, those are the traits of a true cowboy.”

   The crowd applauded and Jeremiah looked at me and held up the microphone. I walked across the arena—my spurs jingled and the chaps rubbed together between my legs—and the crowd stood and enhanced their applause with whistles and cheers. I had to thank them several times before they quieted enough for me to speak.

   “I can't thank you all enough for coming out here tonight to show your support, or for the most part your love for Jettie. I've been here the better part of two months, spending time with my uncle Jeremiah, getting to know him and his wife Jodie, but most of all I've been able to learn a little about who my father was. Standing here now I can tell you that the only regret I have is not having come here before this summer and gotten to know Jettie before he died.” 

   I found my mother in the crowd.

   “But it's nothing I blame anyone for. It's just one of life's many circumstances that makes us become who we are. Well, I'm certainly not a bull rider. This summer I've met a lot of men who are, and I can only say that they are some of the most courageous men I've ever met. They carry with them a level of professionalism that can only be envied and respected by anyone who steps forward in this world to do something spectacular.

   “Many of you may be wondering why I'm doing this. Well maybe you can answer that by asking yourselves why you came here tonight. I suppose there's a few of you that figure there's a chance you'll see a city boy get his head bashed in by a bull. But I know that like me you've learned to love and respect a man who was known for his high standards. This is my way of telling him I'm proud of who he was, and you being here says the same thing.”

   More applause.

   “Now, just like any cowboy who mounts a bull, I can't guarantee how long I'll stay on. But one promise I can make, for you and for Jettie, is a guarantee, that after I get on that bull, I will come out of that chute like a jet, and ride with the pride of twenty spirited cowboys.”

   The crowd stood and cheered.

   I thanked them and waved my hat, and knew now that all I could do was turn around and head for the chute and pray for the opportunity to hear those applause again.

   After the applause died down the arena grew uncomfortably quiet. Denny rode his horse over to the chute and peeked in. I straddled the fence above Cyclone while Jeremiah and crew assembled the gear. Buddy and Tate stood next to Paul Baldwin with their feet on the bottom rail of the gate and watched the preparation, their jester faces brilliant against the western sun that cut through the corral behind us.

   I looked up and out to the crowd. “Weird silence.”

   Buddy looked behind him then nodded at Tate. “Maybe we better go occupy their minds a little.”

   Denny turned to go with them, then looked back at me. “You never did tell me what music you wanted.”

   “I have no idea. What did Jettie like?”

   Jeremiah dropped the rigging down over the bull. “He never liked music. Ruined his concentration. The cheering of the crowd gave him his energy.”

   “Then let's keep it authentic.”

   Denny grinned then nodded and rode away. 

   Buddy put on a headset microphone and talked to the crowd. Denny joined him in a canned act, where all he had to do was let Buddy do the talking while he responded from horseback. It was a mock western gunfight between Buddy and Tate that was silly, nonetheless, but had the crowd laughing, and for me it served its purpose well.

   Jeremiah motioned with his hand for me to sit down on the bull. I took a deep breath and lowered myself onto its back. The animal grunted and slammed its massive body against the rails pinning my right leg. I grimaced and tried to rise up but couldn't. Jeremiah jabbed his fist through the fence and repeatedly punched the bull's rump and Jason slapped its back in the same manner. The bull responded angrily and squirmed enough to free my leg. I let out a large breath.

   “You all right?” Jeremiah asked.

   I nodded. “Let's go.”

   He winked at Jason. “Don't even have the rope in his hands and he's already hung up.”

   Jason grinned, the snuff in his lower lip slightly exposed. 

   Jeremiah helped me tie on my glove while Jason put the finishing touches on the flank strap. The bull continued to squirm and grunt and blow heavily through his nose. I held a piece of the leather string in my teeth, drawing it tight around my wrist while Jeremiah secured it with a knot. 

   “How's it going?” Someone asked from behind me. I turned my head to find Boyd in a straw cowboy hat and dark sunglasses looking through the fence.

   He climbed up two rails then swung a leg over and straddled the fence. He removed his sunglasses and put them in a shirt pocket and glanced down at the rigging.

   “You need some help with that?”

   I looked at Jeremiah, whose return stare, I'm sure, was almost as staggering as mine. I nodded and he handed Boyd the flat, plaited rope.

   I put my hand under the handle and Boyd wrapped the rope around several times.

   “How's that feel?” he asked.

   I shook my head. “Tighter.”

   I opened up my hand and he pulled the rope loose then wrapped it again. It was better this time.

   “So what's he gonna do?” he asked.

   “I think he's gonna spin.”

   “What makes you so sure?”

   “Well, if he don't, then I can sure be better prepared for the sunfish.”

   He grinned and patted me on the shoulder. “That's using your head, cowboy.”

   I glanced out into the arena and saw Jason fall to the ground. Buddy blew at his finger like blowing smoke from a gun and the crowd laughed. Denny looked back at me and I nodded, then he asked the crowd for a round of applause for Buddy Wells and company. They did, and then he asked them if they were ready for some good old-fashioned bull riding. This made them stand and cheer louder.

Paul climbed down into the arena and stood at the end of the gate. Buddy and Jason positioned themselves and faced me. The crowd grew quiet again and I looked down upon the bull, watched it raise and lower its head and snort into the dust. I thought back to my first ride on the mechanical bull, and how I made myself believe it was just a Tilt-A-Whirl ride, and then to Big Banana, and Bloody Mary, and how I had learned their moves. But these reflections didn't provide me with the strength I longed for. I searched for it in the crowd, from the people of Spiro, Jodie, my grandparents, but could only see their own confidence—a gift for me, I presumed, or maybe just their desire to be fulfilled by a spectacle that I had sold them on. Then I saw my mom, who could relay nothing but fear. Not so much for the physical dangers that lay ahead of me, but for all that the ride represented: a possible finale to years of unanswered dreams.

   The look from Bella was neither of fear or confidence, but possibly one of uncertainty, not knowing where to turn, wondering what answers the outcome of the ride might bring to her as well. This was the feeling I understood most.

   All I had left were the images of my summer in Oklahoma, of the family I've come to know and the father that never had his chance. From my images of him—the tiny house, old pickup, hats, boots, and belt buckles—I found the strength to look at Paul and give him the nod.

   Unlike his trademark name, Cyclone went straight out of the chute bucking high. I had prepared for a spin left but its backside went right, only slightly, causing me to overestimate my balance and slide off on the right side. My hat fell off and I hung there, my left leg stretched over the bull's back and my hand caught in the rigging, but the bull sunfished to the left and the force pulled me back over to an almost upright position. 

   During the near fall all I could hear was Cyclone's hooves pounding into the dirt, when now my critical gift of luck had brought on a roar of applause that helped me realize I was still in the game. But my benefit was Cyclone's loss, and what he couldn't accomplish with a toss he tried with a swift spin. But I sat there, upright and perfect, free hand above me, spurs jabbing into the flanks, all in a spinning blur. 

   The noise of the crowd suddenly muffled, as if something inside my head had turned them down, shut them out, and all I could hear was the sound of a whining, whistling wind. Though the spinning seemed to grow faster, my body felt locked and no more troubled, and the blistery air became more like a soft, pleasant whisper but still very surreal. I wasn't sure what I was experiencing, whether it was just something in my head or whether the spirit of Jettie Hodge was casting itself around me. Whatever the case, there was no other desire within me other than to simply let it happen.

   The sound of the cheering crowd faded back in and then came the whistle. I let go of the handle and fell to my hands and feet and eventually to my side. I turned my head and watched Cyclone continue to buck, the rigging on the dusty ground below its feet, and Buddy and Tate scrambling to lure it out of the arena. But it stopped less than twenty feet away and turned its head toward me. I rose slowly to my feet as it lowered its head and blew into the dirt. I didn't move.

   Buddy came around and yelled but the bull gave him only a short glance then looked back at me. Buddy yelled again and waved his arms but the bull stood firm. I don't know why it stared in such a way, but it appeared to be in a state of defeat. One that seemed somewhat in wonder, or possibly out of respect. For whatever reason, it had stared enough, and along with Buddy's waving arms turned and trotted through the gate and out of the arena. Now I felt I could breath, and let out a long relieving breath, then turned to face the cheering crowd.