Page 21 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

His wrinkled face frowns. “If you’re paying.”

After calling the order in to the only pizza place here, my dad asks me about rodeo, and I explain again that I’m a bullfighter and not a rider. He never seems to remember that either.

While we wait for the food, I ask what I always ask when I visit.

“Dad…when was the last time you went to a doctor?”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

He presses his lips together in a tight line, and I know he won’t say anything else on the subject. Sometimes I can get him to open up, but today isn’t the day.

With a sigh, I change the subject. “I’m going to Ontario for a few days. A small vacation after my next rodeo.”

“Oh, that’s fun. Are all the boys going with you?”

“Just Jamieson. Jackson and Hunter are semi-retired now.”

“A real boys’ getaway, then. Good for you. I wish you’d come by more often.”

Another reason it’s hard to keep coming here. Guilt trips for not being here enough. Not that he’s doing it intentionally, but every time he states he wants to see me more, I feel like I’ve failed as a son.

“There’s nothing here for me, Dad. My life is in Kissing Ridge now.”

The words are out before I can stop them, and Dad frowns at his almost-empty beer can.

“I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”

His voice cracks, and an overwhelming sadness sits on my chest.

“You are, Dad, but…it’s not a place for me. You know that.”

The knock comes on the door for our pizza, and after paying the guy, I pull the coffee table closer and set the pizza down with some napkins for Dad. I don’t bother finding dishes and use the plastic fork to eat the salad straight from the container.

Dad has an appetite for the pizza, at least, and his mood picks up.

“They’re talking about building a Walmart here. Wouldn’t that be something?”

He’s also been saying this for at least five years now. I’m not sure whether it’s the same story from five years ago he refers to, or if there’s been new talk in the town. Either way, I let him chatter on about how it would be great to get milk and new socks at the same store to save on gas.

“Yeah, sounds great. I hope it happens for the town.”

“Would you mind getting me another beer, Griffy?”

“Sure.”

Folding up the pizza box lid, I take the leftovers to the fridge and get the beer for him as he asked. When I return, he’s already half asleep in the La-Z-Boy.

His face, once handsome and so much like mine, has aged so much since I was here last. He’s only sixty-two and should be enjoying his retirement. Instead, he looks like he’s eighty with one foot in the grave.

“Hey, Dad, I’m going to go now. It was nice seeing you again.” Setting the beer on the table next to him, I place a kiss on his forehead.

“You too, son. Don’t be a stranger, kay?” He mumbles as his head turns to the side.

“I won’t. I love you.”

My dad doesn’t reply. He’s already passed out.

With a painful heart, I lock the door behind me and drive the two hours back home. Just like every time I leave, I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll ever see him.

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