Denver （Thirteen Years Old）
Denver
(thirteen years old)
My boots clapped together, sending dust and dried mud shrapnel into the air. Seated on the tailgate of Mom’s pickup, I was watching her tack up a seven-year-old gelding. Somewhere, Dad and Austin were likely practicing their team roping. Jackson was in his own world—as always—slowly, thoughtfully brushing his mare. And I had nothing to do. Nowhere to be until it was my time to ride…in a little over three hours.
I loved rodeo. My entire family loved rodeo. So much, in fact, that my grandfather was the local rodeo association president for more than twenty years, and it was his dad before that. From April to October, each and every weekend was consumed by rodeo. Mom was one of the top barrel racers in British Columbia. Dad and Austin made a powerhouse team roping duo, with Aus heading and Dad heeling. Jackson was on track to be the top tie-down roper in the provincial high school rodeo circuit.
And then there was me. The only one not needing to groom or exercise my horse. No practice outside of jumping on unbroken horses and unruly cattle on our ranch. Despite my family’s objections, I rode steers rather than roping or wrestling them.
Folding the ten-dollar bill my grandpa had given me at breakfast that morning, I tucked it into the front pocket of my jeans and hopped off the tailgate.
“Gonna go buy a drink from the concession,” I said, glancing over at Mom.
“Okay, baby. If you see Blair, buy her one, too.”
“But Grandpa ga—”
“Denver Wells.” Her tone was blunt, tightening around me at the same time as she pulled on the horse’s cinch. “You be a decent boy and buy that girl a drink. She just had her best run of the season so far. She deserves it.”
I rolled my eyes with a huff. I had mucked out extra stalls the day before for that money, and now I had to spend it on some girl. Great.
“And Denver,” she called as I walked away. “Maybe it would be fun if you two hung out together. She doesn’t really know anybody except us here.”
Double great.
Now I had to spend my hard-earned money on her and hang out with her?
Should’ve slipped away when Mom wasn’t looking.
Regretting my decision to open my mouth, I trudged across the rodeo grounds. Navigating between stock trailers, I kept my head down. The way I figured, I couldn’t get in trouble for not buying Blair a pop if I genuinely didn’t see her on my way to the concession.
Fat chance.
There she was. On a patch of grass directly in the middle of my route. Watching a steer wrestling slack event in dusty jeans and a hot pink rodeo shirt. Her dark brown hair was braided down her back, and the warm sun had it shining.
Blair Hart.
We’d known each other since preschool. Same age, same grade, and same class for our entire lives—not that it meant we were friends. Mostly, we passed each other in the hallways, and sometimes I’d be a middleman when she passed notes with her friends. We operated in separate circles until Blair decided she wanted to start barrel racing. The Hart family wasn’t in the rodeo scene like mine, so Mom took her under her wing. She’d said something about wanting more estrogen in a house full of boys, on a ranch full of cowboys. Suddenly, Blair was tagging along for nearly every rodeo, and taking the school bus home with us three days per week to practice in our arena.
She was a nice enough girl. Smart, a bit quiet, and she could even be funny sometimes. Though I’d never admit that to the guys from school.
Still though, I wasn’t interested in hanging out with her for the entire day. I really didn’t want to buy her a stupid pop with my hard-earned cash. And yet, I’d rather do both than deal with Mom’s rage.
“Hey, I’m headed to buy a cold drink.” I stared down at her, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “Whaddya want?”
“Oh, um.” Blair popped up to her feet, brushing the dirt from her pants. “Let me see what they have.”
She fidgeted with the sleeve of her pearl-snap shirt the entire fifty-foot walk to the concession. Keeping a gap wide enough for two more people between us, she clearly didn’t want to be stuck hanging out with me any more than I wanted to be with her. Thankfully.
Two cans of pop and a measly amount of change back, I handed a can over to Blair beneath the thin shade of a pine tree. She grinned, wiggling a finger under the metal tab to open her Dr Pepper with an aggressive crack and carbonated hiss. “Thanks, Denny.”
“No problem.” I took a swig of my Mountain Dew while looking around for somebody to hang out with, stuffing my change into my pocket.
“Hey, I saw some train tracks down the hill when we drove in,” she said with a mischievous grin. “We should go put those pennies in your pocket on the tracks.”
I lifted a brow, talking into my open can. “For what?”
“?’Cause it’s cool. When the train runs them over, they get really big and flat. Although, it is a little dangerous.” She gave me a look like she knew that last word was my kryptonite.
Not seeing anybody else around worth hanging out with, I shrugged. “Sure. Okay.”
Blair was already turning on her heel and quickly walking away before I had the words out, and I had to jog to catch her. It turned out, the “hill” was a steep embankment filled with loose clay, and we were left with no choice but to slide down on our butts. No clue how we’d get back up, but Blair giggled the entire way down, and I couldn’t help the smile teasing my lips.
“So, what do we do?” I eagerly awaited whatever risky thing Blair had planned for us, pulling the loose change from my pocket and presenting it to her.
“We lay the money flat on the tracks and wait for a train to come.”
I squinted at the narrow steel. “Hardly sounds dangerous.”
“Well…I guess it’s probably not as scary as steer riding. But your foot could get caught in the tracks, or you might not hear a train coming in time. Also, it’s illegal to play on train tracks. So if the conductor sees us…run.”
Illegal—now we’re talking.
“Okay.” I grabbed the three copper pennies, jamming the rest of the money back into my pocket. Handing her two, I stepped toward the tracks and waited for Blair to show me what to do.
She diligently set the coins dead center on the steel, about a foot apart, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. I followed suit, putting my coin tails up before collapsing onto the soft grass a few feet from the railway.
We sat in silence for the next twenty or so minutes. Unable to ever sit still for more than a moment or two, I fidgeted to keep myself from walking away and hurting her feelings. Plucking grass and rolling it between my fingers, picking dried mud and horse crap from my boots, rationing sips of my pop.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “I figured there’d be more trains coming by.”
Her cheeks were a light shade of pink but, despite being painfully bored, I didn’t want to make her feel worse about her silly idea of fun. “Let’s sit here awhile longer…. A train has to come eventually, right?”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to. The flattened coins aren’t that cool.”
“I have nowhere else to be.” I knotted a blade of grass carefully. “So, what made you decide to start running barrels?”
“My parents wanted me to take up a sport.”
“And soccer wasn’t an option, or…?”
She laughed. “Have you seen our school’s sports teams? Nobody takes it seriously. I’m too competitive to be on a team like that.”
Explained why she had been practicing more than anybody I knew. Sure, she was at a disadvantage when she started a few months ago, having only been on horseback a handful of times in her life. But by mid-June, you’d never guess she was new to this.
“Fair. Rodeo’s more fun than soccer, anyway.”
“What about you?” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and leaned back on her elbows. “Why steer riding instead of roping like your brothers?”
“I can rope calves on the ranch. There’s no fun in it for me.” I stretched my legs out in front of me and relished the beating sun in my face, squinting up at the pale blue sky. “I need the rush.”
“Fair,” she murmured.
Another few minutes passed before either of us spoke again. Then we started talking, in small chunks of time at first. A quick mention of plans for the summer break, a comment about how few trains there seemed to be, talk about the next rodeo. By the time an hour had gone by, neither of us could shut up. Constantly talking over each other, laughing until our cheeks hurt, saying the same thing at the same time—I owed her at least six Cokes because she won every jinx. And doing the math about how many stalls I’d muck out to pay for those Cokes didn’t bother me in the least.
The patch of sun we’d been sitting in was cast with late afternoon shadow when we finally got around to discussing favorite foods—having covered nearly every other possible conversation topic already.
“No way your favorite type of ice cream is maple walnut.” I stared wide-eyed at her glowing face, freckled from the sun and rosy from laughter. “Nobody under the age of seventy eats that. I swear to God, if you say your second favorite is Neapolitan…”
“Neapolitan is pretty much the perfect ice cream.” She giggled. “Seriously, if you add walnuts to it, you’d have my dream flavor. Call up Breyer right now.”
I fake gagged. “They’re going to think it’s a prank call because nobody but you would be interested in that abomination.”
Blair’s fingertips grazed my upper arm in a halfhearted slap. “Shush, jerk. More ice cream for me then.”
“Have at ’er. I’d rather go without ice cream for the rest of my life than eat that.”
She dramatically rolled her eyes. “Oh, as if . It’s just walnuts, drama queen. You’re acting like I said to put sardines in your ice cream.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you. That’s an old lady food, too.”
A look I’d never seen darkened her eyes. Maniacal. Plotting. Terrifying.
“No…I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” A small dimple formed in her right cheek as she spoke.
Crap.
“Well, great. I’m going to be terrified of eating ice cream anywhere near you from now on.”
“You should be, Denny.” She glanced down at the dainty silver watch around her wrist, and her shoulders fell with an exhale. “You should get back. They’re probably going to be starting steer riding soon. Sorry for making you waste your time.”
“I had more fun here than I would’ve with the stupid guys up there.” My chin pointed up toward the rodeo grounds, and the small smile on her lips was contagious. I jumped to my feet and shook out each leg to wake the muscles back up. “Come on, we’ll leave the coins and come back to check after.”
I extended my hand, a little surprised by the soft warmth of her palm when she grabbed mine to pull herself up. “Come watch me ride?”
“Sure. I have nowhere else to be,” she said, looking briefly over her shoulder at me as she started toward the hill. Blair began scrambling up the slippery, dusty bank on all fours. “Just gotta be back at the old folks home by five, or I miss out on a pudding cup.”
My chest warmed, and not only from the intense cardio of climbing the hillside. “Well shoot, we can’t have that.”
“If you make me miss butterscotch pudding, you’re definitely getting sardine ice cream next weekend, Wells.” She stopped briefly on the hill to turn to me with a menacing glare and finger point, nearly losing her footing, which would’ve sent her toppling down to the bottom.
“ Of course you like butterscotch. You’re an odd duck, Hart.”
—
Protective gear in place, I stood behind the bucking chute, eyeing up a steer by the name of Big Tom while my mom placed my number on my back. Despite not understanding my desire to climb on an untamed steer for eight seconds, she never missed a ride and she never tried to talk me out of competing.
“Give ’em hell, baby.” She rubbed a firm hand across my shoulder, then moved to give me a final pat on the back when I stepped onto the metal rail. Poised to climb into the chute, I smiled down at her.
Adrenaline and excitement coursed through my veins. A rush of blood through my chest. A dull, steady drumming rhythm played deep in my ears, and radiated around my skull like a sturdy helmet—something to protect against natural fear. Arguably nobody should be comfortable climbing on the back of an animal that wants to see you die. And yet, knowing the steer could maim me was part of the thrill.
Sinking down, I tucked my hand under the steer rope, sliding the leather handle along my palm until I had a steady grip. Youth steer riders were permitted to hold on with two hands, but I wanted the real deal. I wanted to prove I had what it takes to compete with the men. I would’ve hopped on a bronc or bull, instead of a steer, if they’d have let me.
Swallowing the saliva pooling at the back of my throat, I heard Grandpa’s voice in my ear. His baseball-glove-sized hand cupped my shoulder. “You got this, kiddo. Remember, three deep breaths—fix that hand—and let your body flow with the momentum. Don’t overthink it.”
I inhaled the dusty air, letting the animal odors settle in my lungs, and exhaled. Three times. Grandpa’s hand left my shoulder, he nodded, I nodded.
The gate swung open and the steer flew out into the open air, jarring my body with every stomp. Swinging me in every direction. My grip tightened and I relaxed into the motion, letting my movements roll like an ocean swell. A train horn sounded in perfect harmony with the buzzer, and the pickup men couldn’t get to me fast enough. The moment my boots hit the dusty earth, I was sprinting.
Over the fence rails, already tearing off my gear, I tossed my chaps in a heap next to where Mom had been watching, and breathlessly exclaimed, “Gotta go find Blair for a second. Be right back.”
If she questioned me, I didn’t hear it. Blood pounding behind my ears, I jogged down the alley to find Blair. She was sitting on a metal bench, watching the pickup men try to herd the steer out of the arena, when I plunked down next to her with a loud exhale.
“Oh,” she said with a startled tone. “Hey. Wow, Denny. That was a great ride. Like…you were amazing.”
She smiled at me, brown eyes taking on a gold hue in the sun, and I wasn’t about to tell her it was merely an okay ride. Definitely not my best, and I didn’t need to stick around for the score to be announced to know I wasn’t winning.
“I heard the train. Let’s go check our coins.” I grabbed her hand to tug her to her feet.
“Denny, it’s really not that exciting,” she said as she followed me to the clay banks. “Like, they’re just flattened coins. They aren’t going anywhere. We could’ve stayed to hear your score.”
“Meh, I’ll find out what it is later.” My feet sank into the fine, powdery clay and instantly slipped out from under me. I fell backward into Blair, who was smart enough to not even bother trying to get down the hill in any way but by sliding on her butt.
With a shriek, she threw a hand up to block me right before our skulls clunked together, and her laughter filled the air. “You can stay on a steer no problem, but can’t manage to keep your own two feet underneath you?”
“I was just trying to beat you to the bottom.”
Her tongue darted out to lick her lip, then she shoved my shoulder hard as she stood. As she launched her body forward, her feet barely stayed under her as she ran. But, shit, she made it. With a triumphant fist pump, she turned to faceme.
“Beat you,” she taunted.
I ran down after her, skidding through the soft earth to stop before my chest crashed into hers. “Didn’t know I was dealing with a cheater.”
Ignoring me, she beelined for the tracks and held one of the flattened coins between her finger and thumb, letting the setting sun reflect off the smooth surface. Her doe eyes sparkled with a similar shade of worn copper, a kaleidoscope of browns and greens and golds.
She was right, the flattened penny wasn’t that impressive. And I could tell she knew that.
“This is so cool,” I lied with a smile, holding up my own to inspect it. “Dang, now I wish we’d done this with a toonie to see what the two colors all squished together would look like. Next weekend?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. I’m going to see if I can figure out the train schedule this week so we can make sure we’re down here to watch it go by.”
God, she was weird. And I guess I was, too, because I enjoyed every second of hanging out with her. When we started back up toward the rodeo ground, I was already counting down the time until we’d be back here.
I smiled over at her, extending a hand to climb the embankment together. “I’ll bring the butterscotch pudding.”