7. Griff
seven
Griff
“ H ave you been eating, Dad?”
With the extended break between rodeos, I made the trip to see my dad in Fox Grove. It’s been a few months since my last visit. Winter is unpredictable in these parts, and after Christmas, I stayed away.
Knowing he never takes care of himself made it all that much harder, but my tiny Ford Neon is no match for the cruel snowstorms of an Alberta winter. My biggest fear is that one day I’ll show up to find him dead.
High-functioning alcoholism is shit.
“I eat,” Dad grunts and barely looks my way. Instead focusing on the CFL game between the Roughriders and the Blue Bombers. He loves the gopher mascot for Saskatchewan. I’ve never seen a grown man so excited for a life-size gopher, but he is.
After rummaging through the cupboards and fridge, the only thing I found that wasn't prepackaged was a single apple not fit to eat. I knew ahead of time he’d likely not have much in the house, and I came prepared after a grocery run in Kissing Ridge.
“Frozen pizzas and cookies are all you have here, Dad. Do you eat fruit and vegetables? ”
He huffs from his chair as he pops the tab on another beer. The third one in the last hour, but I won’t comment on it. There’s no point.
“It’s expensive to eat that shit.” He swigs from his beer and throws his recliner back. “Come sit with me. How’s rodeo going? Have you met a nice girl yet to settle down with? You’re a smart kid. Why don’t you use that fancy degree you got?”
Gritting my teeth, I remind myself he’s not doing it on purpose.
“Dad…we’ve been over this, and you know it. I’m gay. There will never be a nice girl to settle down with.”
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before mom left, he was fun and a… dad. But his heart never let her go and he turned to booze instead. When I was little, he tried to hide it. He’d bring home a Christmas tree from the side of the road, claiming it was a surprise, and drop a bag of dollar store gifts under the tree when I was asleep, telling me Santa ran out of wrapping paper.
Sometimes I took money from his wallet to buy fresh fruit and just plain food before he could spend it at the bar. He kept food in the house, but not enough for a growing boy who often visited the office to grab from the snack bowl when it was supposed to be recess.
He’s not a bad man. He’s just a man who’s made some bad choices. I can’t really fault him for that when I’ve made plenty of my own.
“Right, right. You told me that. Not a phase, you said. It’s just my default, I guess, to ask if you’ve got a family of your own.” He burps before taking another drink. “So, when are you coming home for good? I could use help around here. ”
Scrunching my nose, I tie up the overflowing garbage bag in the kitchen and wonder when the last time he washed the floors in here was. I’m certainly not moving back to be his maid.
“You could hire a cleaning service.”
“I don’t want a strange person here.” He pats the worn sofa next to him. “Come on, Griffy. Sit with your pop for a while. I miss you.”
It’s hard to keep the emotions at bay when he slips into that voice and calls me by my childhood nickname.
“Give me a sec, Dad.”
After dropping the bag of garbage outside in the can, I duck into the bathroom and cringe at the state of the cleanliness. Pressing a square of toilet paper to the dampness in my eyes, I suck in a steadying breath. This is why I hate coming here. It makes me far too emotional. I miss the dad I lost to alcohol and the family I never had.
Even walking by my childhood bedroom twists at my heart in ways I can’t always understand, but I’ll keep coming here for Dad and hopefully one day, he’ll leave this pit. After making sure I’m not crying, I grab a seat next to my dad, and he smiles a genuine smile my way.
That’s why I keep coming. He’s my dad, and I love him. I love that smile and the memories of conversations on this very couch. He’s all I have.
“Griffy. Want to order a pizza?”
“Sure, Dad. Cesar salad, too?”
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.
“Griff!”
Jamieson’s panicked voice sounds across the field as he strides towards me.
“What’s wrong?”
“My bull got pulled out of the lineup. He wasn’t supposed to be at today’s event. Somebody fucked up.”
Jamieson’s hands clench at his side, and he chews at his lip.
“Okay. Calm down. Who do you have now?”
“Polaris.”
Nodding, I grip his elbow and pull him towards the chutes. “I know that one. Good bull. Let’s have a look.”
Walking towards the bulls, Jamieson removes his hat and runs a hand through his short hair and puffs out a worried breath. Dropping his elbow, I move my hand to the small of his back.
“Breathe, Jamie. It’ll be fine. You’re good at this.”
His jaw clenches tight, and even walking the tightrope of anxiety, he’s so handsome and capable. I don’t know why he can’t see that in himself. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Jamieson was once a tall, skinny boy with hidden strength and a kind smile. It seems like so long ago we were both young kids at university searching for our places.
Now he’s all man. Bulkier with chiseled features that would rival any marble statue. But there’s nothing hard about Jamieson. That kind smile belongs to a soft heart.
A heart I’d be best to forget about if I’m to set him at ease over this turn of events and do my job properly. My visit to my dad’s last week, along with Jamie mentioning our almost threesome in college, has had my emotions spinning off in all directions that I’m still trying to contain.
“Yeah, you’re right. As always.” He laughs softly and turns his warm gaze on me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Griff.”
It’s a passing phrase, thrown out with surface meaning is all. He’d get along just fine without me, but at times like this, I like to believe it means something more.
“You’d ride the bull and score points. The same thing you did before you met me.”
We stop in front of the enclosures, and Jamieson points out Polaris, a black bull with white spots all over one side. I remember it from last year. A fast-moving bull that was unpredictable. In the chutes now, though, he’s calm. Like he’s waiting to burst out and start a fight. The tiny hairs on my arms stand when the bull looks right at me, and I stare back.
“So, any feelings about him?”
None that I want to say out loud to him. Right now, he needs to be reassured.
“I feel like he’s giving you your best score of the season tonight, Jamie. All you need to do is do what you do best. Hang on and make it look easy.”
He snort-laughs and smiles my way so big my breath catches in my throat. “Didn’t you tell me that the first time I met you? ”
Smiling, I cock my head for us to walk away from the chutes. “I tell you that all the time, so it’s possible.”
The announcement sounds that the bull riding is about to start, and I pat Jamieson on his flak-jacket-covered chest.
“You’re the best. My feeling is you prove it tonight. I’ve got your back.”
He nods and squeezes my hand before I pull it away.
“Stay safe, Griff.”
“You too, Jamie.”
He walks back to his place where he gets in his groove before he rides, and I step out into the ring, ready to protect all the riders tonight, not just Jamieson.
But that bull has me uneasy, and it’s odd for me to feel so off.
With a whispered prayer to whoever listens, I ready myself for the first rider.
It’s been a great night for the bull riders so far.
Impressive rides and scores have gone up, much to the delight of the fans. It’s a big money event, with top-notch bulls and riders. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I told Jamieson something big was going to happen for him tonight. He’s due for a massive score, and when Polaris stared me down, I knew it would be tonight .
It would be a perfect start to our short road-trip vacation if we could celebrate a massive win for him.
“Hey, Griff!”
Another bullfighter I know, Carson, jogs over. “Three more to go tonight. You doing okay? It’s been a rough one.”
The rodeo clown performs his skit while we get a break with some water on this very hot, early August evening. Carson hands me a bottle of water, and I chug it down before passing it back through the fence to the staff.
“Yeah, I’m okay. But…Polaris…be on your toes.”
Carson quirks an eyebrow. He knows about my predictions and, like Jamieson, he listens. “He rank tonight?”
“I don’t know. He’s unpredictable, so be careful. It’s just a feeling.”
He nods and pats me on the shoulder, a silent understanding that he trusts me, and jogs back to his side of the ring.
The clown exits, and the music for the riders begins again. The first rider is on a bull I’ve seen many times. A real spinner and Carson signals with a twirling finger that he remembers, too.
Once it’s out of the chute, the rider does well, and Carson and I work together to shove the cowboy out of the ring while the third bullfighter leads the bull to the exit.
There’s a commotion in the chutes, and all heads swivel to find out what’s happening. A familiar form leaps up off the bull as it thrashes in the chute.
“Stay calm, Jamie,” I mutter as I watch from the side. Jamieson is always cool. Nerves never get to him when a bull acts up before it even leaves the chute. Thankfully, that seems to still be the case as he remounts and goes through his motions .
I wasn’t lying when I told Jamieson earlier that this bull will give him his biggest ride. Something big is about to happen. I can feel it as sure as the clothes on my back.
Finally, Jamieson’s head nods, and the chute opens in a furious flash of bull and rider. One buck slams the bull’s feet into the fence before it lurches forward, angrier than it was when it started.
With every move the bull uses to throw him off, Jamieson remains relaxed. He’s perfect up there, and when the buzzer sounds, my heart swells with pride. There’s nobody better than him.
Jamieson tries to dismount with the help of a pickup man but can’t, so he opts to dismount with them close by instead. Normally, a safe thing to do, and he’s done it dozens of times. Except the bull doesn’t keep bucking and head off to the exit like it does 9 times out of 10.
Polaris stops and turns, zeroing in on Jamieson’s back as he stumbles through the sand towards me and the safety of the gates. My gut clenches with a flash of what happened to us, to me, specifically the last time a bull went off plan.
Time stands still.
Jamieson’s face registers fear when he sees me launch towards him.
“Get to the fence, Jamie!”
He won’t make it. It’s a roar of white noise as Carson runs on the other side of the bull to distract him, and the pickup men try to lasso it. Polaris barely notices.
The lasso lands around the bull’s neck just as I dive between it and Jamieson. The thud of the bull’s head on my arm sends me flying backwards, and it’s Jamieson who scoops me up and drags me out of danger.
With the bull roped and the two pickup men barely keeping the bull under control, the rodeo announcer distracts the crowd with Jamieson’s score–97 points. Almost perfect.
“I told you this would be your best ride!”
“Griff, you need to get to the hospital.”
“What? I’m fine.”
Jamieson’s mouth opens and closes with no words, and it’s not until Carson walks up that I finally notice what everyone is staring at.
“Shit. I don’t think arms are supposed to go like that.” I puff a harsh laugh, but the sight of my left arm no longer straight and pointing at a weird angle sends a roll of nausea through me. “Well, fuck.”
Jamieson’s arm around my waist and his gentle voice in my ear is the last thing I remember before I pass out.