Page 2 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

“Griff,” I say as I take his hand with a smile. “Nice to meet you, and yeah, I’d be happy to.”

“I need to get in position, though, so I guess I’ll see you out there?”

My name is called, and I wave back in acknowledgement. “Yep. It’s my turn to get out there, too. Good luck.”

We head in our opposite directions, and I enter the practice ring, switching out one of the other bullfighters. Something about limiting our time in the ring for injury and insurance purposes since we’re students and not part of the rodeo team, but whatever. It’s easy money, and sometimes it’s kind of fun.

Jamieson can ride a bull so well, he makes it look effortless. Some of the older riders give him lip or talk down to him, but they’re just afraid of losing their top-dog status. He has a unique form of bull riding, and while it seems awkward, it sure works for him.

When it’s his turn, I pay more attention to how the bull behaves in the chute, but it’s not a bull I’m overly familiar with, and I have no gut feelings about it either. I smile, though, when I recall how Jamieson’s face fell when I told him to hang on before a friendly smile graced his handsome face again and he laughed.

If I’m honest with myself, I probably noticed him more than the other bull riders because he was attractive in a way that I liked. A smile on his face all the time and an air of confidence, but not cocky. He just gave off vibes of an all-around good guy, and I liked that.

The gate opens, and the bull exits the chute, bucking and spinning with Jamieson on top in his unique form. The entire time, I’m watching every muscle twitch and head shake of the bull and filing it away for later.

When the buzzer sounds, I ready myself to distract the bull if he needs it. Jamieson usually dismounts in a controlled manner. I remember that about him, too, because it’s hard to pull off when unpredictable animals are beneath you and again, he makes it look like my grandmother could do it.

But something is off today, and he’s still on the bull, his calm exterior crumbling as panic grips him while he fights to free his hand from the rope. The other bullfighter in the ring stands slack-jawed and I’ll allow myself to feel anger for his inaction later.

“Hey! Hey bully! Over here!”

In the fraction of time it takes the bull to swing its head towards me, Jamieson has the tension release from his bull rope and dismounts. With the bull too close for comfort, he heads straight towards me.

Jamieson stumbles through the sand past me and I step behind him to push the bull’s head away. Pothole notices the open gate at the end of the arena at the same time he registers the rider is off his back. With one snotty bull snort, he turns and jogs down the chute out of the ring.

That was a little too close.

“Hey, you okay?” I call to Jamieson, who climbed up the railing to safety behind me.

“Um, yeah. I got my hand stuck and…” he drops to the ground and stares at me. “You distracted that bull just long enough for me to get free.”

I shrug. It’s my job after all, but I also know some luck was involved and we’re both lucky to escape unharmed.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Jamieson shakes his head as he walks backward to the exit. “True, but you saved my ass and I’m buying you a beer after this.” He points a finger at me. “I’ll find you, Griff, but you’re not leaving here without me!”

“Okay!”

He disappears behind the gate and I shake my head with a smile before refocusing on the next bull rider.

Maybe being involved with rodeo isn’t so bad after all.

“So, where are you from?”

Jamieson tops up my glass of draft beer from the pitcher before grabbing another chicken wing from the platter. He waited for me like he said he would and now we’re in a pub a few blocks from campus.

“A shitty town you’ve probably never heard of. Fox Grove, Alberta.”

The town is so small, the guy who operates the garbage truck also notarizes your government documents. He can also marry you if you’re not picky about the time of day for your ceremony. It’s a spit of a town, consisting entirely of mobile homes notfit for Canadian winters. The only decent place to shop is a mom-and-pop store that’s like a Dr. Frankenstein version of Walmart and Canadian Tire with a burger joint on the side. The burgers only get served if the staff show up to work and most days it’s a crap shoot.

Oh, and a Pizza Hut that definitely has no business being there, but it’s still operating, despite the odds.

Let’s just say I’m in no rush to go back.

Jamieson’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding. I know it well. I’m from Kissing Ridge. We always had to drive through when we went up north to rodeos.”

“Kissing Ridge is a heck of a lot better than Fox Grove. At least you have your own high school. I had to take a bus for forty-five minutes on the highway every day, and staying after school for anything was never an option.”

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