Chalk Outline

A bull’s attention span doesn’t last very long, and honestly, neither does mine. The two of us went hand in hand, cowboy and bull. The only difference being people thought us cowboys were stupid for strapping ourselves onto a bull by choice. Some people don’t like the appeal of dirt covered, sweat soaked, beat up cowboys, while others like me savored every moment of it.
Today marked the end of the rodeo circuit for me, at least until next year. Unfortunately the only thing standing between me and that gold buckle with Bull Riding Champion carved into it was an 1800 pound beast with a short temper. I had already ridden the bull Smoking Gun for eight seconds in the long round for a score of 89 points. I was sittin’ cozy in the second spot on the reader board. But second place was not how I wanted to end the season. At only 23, I was one of the youngest bull riders in the circuit and well on my way to being one of the best. I spent day and night, eating and breathing bull riding. When I had chosen to be a bull rider, it had been a life choice, not just something I chose to do for the hell of it.
It was definitely an end of the season crowd. Family members along with bull riding fans lined the seats and cheered or gasped depending on the situation. It didn’t matter how dirty you got, as long as you were having fun. The music was blaring an old AC/DC song which was causing some of the other cowboys to rock and forth to the beat.
I sat, perched on top of the chutes waiting for the first round to finish, otherwise known as the long go around. I watched a few of the inexperienced cowboys get dumped on the ground by some of the most notorious bulls in the business. Some of them came up spitting dirt while others limped back to safety. It was a rough sport, but it set the men apart from the boys. I rubbed my own knee, feeling the odd shape below my hand. It had never quite settled right after I’d been dropped on the ground by a bull at sixteen. That was the day I had vowed to never be thrown from a bull again. And if I was to get thrown it had better be for a damn good reason because I hated the taste of dirt in the morning.
There were ten of us that made it into the championship round. The round that would declare a leader above everyone else. I could still remember my very first championship round. I’d only made it into the short go because the cowboy in tenth place had been hurt and couldn’t make it back for the next round. I’d been so nervous I’d almost forgotten to strap myself to the bull. But once I’d gotten on, there was no getting me off. It had been my first money winning event and had paved the path for the following seasons. I can’t say I was in it for the money. It was more about being pushed to the limit and succeeding in a big way. I liked to think there were other cowboys like me out there that were in it for the pride and not only the money.
Those of us in the next round formed a small circle around one of the officials so we could draw our next bulls. The rankest bulls were always saved for the championship round. Since I was in second place I got to choose my bull out of the black Stetson second. I handed the small white strip of paper to the official who marked it down on the clipboard.
“Cody Gaffin and Chalk Outline.”
“Oh Shit Cody…” There were a few mumbles as I glanced around at the other cowboys, who all seemed to be giving me sympathetic looks. Chalk Outline had never before been ridden in at least forty attempts. Not even the best in the business wanted to ride him. He was notorious for kicking up his hind legs and knocking a cowboy over his head. I don’t remember one rider who came away without at least one floor burn.
There was a short break before the championship round so all the upcoming bulls could be loaded into the chutes. I made my way back to the bull pen behind the chutes and leaned up against the fence, hanging my wrists over the bar. Foolish I know. It would only take one sideswipe by a bull and I’d lose my hands for sure. But the other bulls weren’t my concern.
I had no trouble picking out Chalk Outline. He was by far the nastiest looking bull I’d ever seen. His horns perched straight out like handlebars on a bike. A cowboys’ worst enemy. But it wasn’t his looks that made him nasty, it was his demeanor. He stood tall above the other bulls, as if showing anyone who dared to look, not to mess with him. As if he sensed me looking at him, his gaze swung towards me and his ears flicked in rhythm. I held his gaze until someone started prodding him forward towards the chutes. He gave me one last look before sauntering out of the bull pen. I tightened the glove on my hand in anticipation.
“Cody, you’re up!” One of the officials waved me over towards the chutes so I gave my chaps a once over and grabbed my rope from the gate. Chalk Outline was already in the chute, waiting for his next victim. I stood above him and wrapped the bull rope around his midsection, strapping myself to his back. His head snapped up at the realization that someone was attempting to ride him. I wiped the sweat off my forehead that had formed from my hat and shoved up my shirt sleeves.
I adjusted my position on his back until I felt I was as comfortable as a person could be on the back of a scruffy haired bull. With one hand on the chute gate and the other tucked nicely into the rope I shook my head and felt the gate swing open under my grasp.
I didn’t even have a second to think before Chalk Outline snapped his body from left to right. I kept my free arm bent at the elbow and my hand pointed straight in the air. If I was going to be bucked off a bull, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be this one. He thought he was the boss back in the bull pen, but I was the boss in the arena.
His head snapped up which made his horn come dangerously close to my face. I arched my back and dug in the spurs on my boots. His back legs came up in protest and I was hurled forward. I didn’t even hear the eight second buzzer go off, but I saw one of the bull fighters telling me to get off. I brought down my free arm and tried to free my other hand from the rope.
The bull had other ideas however and launched himself forward sending me overboard, onto his horns. If I hadn’t been wearing a protective vest I would have for sure got a horn in the lungs, but instead I just got caught on the tip of his left horn. He twisted his body around sending me flying off to the side, landing right in the dirt.
The breath rushed out of me as my back broke my fall. I let my head fall against the ground and closed my eyes. I wished like hell the bull fighters would take care of everything and get the bull out of the arena. I was wrong. I opened my eyes just in time to see two horns coming straight for me. There were white flashes before my eyes as I felt one horn enter my side. I was in too much shock to even cry out.
I scrunched up my face in pain at the sound of bones crunching in my already bad knee. I let out a shout, but the nasty beast didn’t have any sympathy for a cowboy like me. I did the only thing I could think of at this point and huddled up my body, covering anything I could, mainly my head. I prayed that the bull thought I was down for the count.
After hooking his horns under my frail body he made one last attempt to toss me like a rag doll into the nearest chutes. Suddenly the bull caught sight of a colorful bullfighter and changed directions. I managed to watch the bull leave the arena before my eyes drifted shut and everything went black.
* * * *
“Chalk Outline‘s in the program tonight.”
“Really? That’ll make for a good ride, but I doubt anyone will ride him.”
Conversation in the crowd was a foreign experience to my ears. I listened to the couple in the row in front of me and remembered hearing those same words spoken only months before. My long legs were stretched out in front of me and my black hat sat low over my eyes, shielding me from the public view. Unlike a couple months ago my clothes were now clean with not a spot of dirt on them. My boots shined and my shirt was neatly tucked into my Levi’s. Some people didn’t even recognize me but they always saw the scars.
After having multiple broken ribs, a torn knee, a concussion and various other lacerations I was lucky I was even able to walk on my own. Instead of sticking around to hear the end of the couple’s conversation about the hottest young rider or the freshest new bull I made a quick exit out of the stands and down to the main floor. I nodded to one of the security guards who still recognized me and stopped along side the bull pen.
Emerging from the center of the pen, Chalk Outline held his head high as he stared me down. I hooked my thumbs through my belt loop and showed him my belt buckle. Even though he’d gotten the best of me, I’d still rode him for a score of 95 points, winning the bull riding championship and his respect.
We had both been at the top of our game. Top rider and top bull. It couldn’t have been better if someone had tampered with the pickings themselves. I had thought long and hard about whether I should return for the next season. Whether or not my bones could handle anymore breaks or bruises. I couldn’t picture my life without bull riding, but I also wanted to be able to walk on my own when I was older. Maybe, after plenty of healing time I would come back and reclaim my title. If a cowboy was lucky he would get one good season and hopefully a bull riding title. I’d had my winning season, but I could always buy a new belt for another buckle.
I watched Chalk Outline saunter back to the middle of his domain and slowly made my way out of the arena. My limp slowed me down but it would always be a reminder of the best season of my life, along with the small scar along the side of my cheek, white as chalk.