Chapter Forty-Seven
All the Way Here
Jordan
The flag-girl garb feels deeply unfamiliar on my body.
I never really used to get ready like this before an event – in fact, I usually knew I was going to get scuffed up and bruised from the ride – so I’d wear whatever felt most comfortable under the protective vest I had on over.
I have deep respect for flag girls, though, because I wish someone had told me you have to get so dressed up it almost hurts.
Margot and Julius told me that the typical attire would be red, white and blue all over, but with their help, I put together something different.
My top is a beautiful cream Western button-down embroidered with gold and embedded with shimmering rhinestones at the arms, shoulders, and back.
My chaps, strapped on over Kimes jeans, are huge, matching white, and fringy, with the same embroidered gold and diamond-like rhinestones, forming stunning curlicues and flowers.
For the first time in my life, I’m wearing a simple beige cowboy hat perched up on my massive hairdo of pageant curls.
The only thing that hasn’t changed is my riding boots: still grimy, still scuffed.
It all makes for layers on layers of sweat and misery.
I mean, I’ve scouted out the bathrooms out of nerves, of course, but who knows if I’d make it with all this shit strapped to my person.
Despite it all, I’m no festival queen, with no title to my name, but it’s something wonderful to feel this beautiful even when you probably smell like horses and manure.
‘Folks, that’s about ten minutes to the start of ceremonies …
’ The announcer’s voice booms through the speakers mounted at the corners of the massive fairground.
The setup is fairly similar to Oklahoma, but it has its own special degree of beauty.
Mountainous, craggy, with endless ranch land stretching out beyond the ring.
The sun is just beginning to set, and I hazard a guess that it’ll probably properly dip down below the horizon within the next hour or two.
From the stables in the alley – where I’m tucked away with Elmer, one of Julius and Margot’s ex-problem horses turned loyal companion – I glance around at the crowd as it grows, stands filling up.
I guess you could say that even with the welcome distraction, my heart’s no fool.
It’s still caught on the look on Rod’s face when he gave me that pep talk, one last pass of the baton before we called it for good. Or at least, I did.
‘If I went back,’ I hum quietly, brushing Elmer’s mane, knowing that this old boy is the only one who’ll hear, ‘do you think we could still fix it? Hmm?’
Elmer chuffs quietly, and my hand rests on his brown-spotted white neck with a sigh.
Who am I kidding? One day, I’ll laugh about the couple of months I spent in Massachusetts, won’t I?
It’ll be another story that I get to tell, kick myself for, and move on.
The summer I’ll never forget. The time the stars looked so perfect, until I realized they just weren’t aligned.
Everyone has at least one of those stories, don’t they?
The kind of memory that you keep unearthing, that you keep revisiting, but dismiss easily when people ask you if it still means anything.
Even though, deep in your heart, you wonder if there is a possibility – somehow, some way – of the stars lining up just perfectly. A second chance. A fairy-tale ending.
I pull the saddle from the hook to the right of Elmer’s stable and sit it on his back, strapping everything down and tacking him up with the pretty gold and silver belts Margot rented out.
The announcer counts down, five minutes, and as I cinch the final straps on Elmer’s harness, I crane my neck to check out the clouds outside.
It looks a little hazy, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just the sunset.
It’s still absolutely stunning. A sunset ride to start off the rodeo is about all I could ask for.
‘You ready, Jor?’ Julius’s voice comes from the other end of the tunnel. His boots click against the flat ground as he joins me at Elmer’s stable, giving the horse an affectionate pat. ‘Elmer knows you well enough. He’ll love this.’
I muster a smile and tip my hat just a little bit lower. ‘It’ll be fun. A change of pace, right?’
‘Exactly.’ Julius beams. He gives me a quick hug, squeezing me to his side.
He’s got a big evening ahead of him, with several of his horses partaking in the barrel racing and tie-down roping events.
Margot must have made him get all dressed up, because he has on a button-down and jeans, turquoise bolo tie, old rodeo belt, and his best hat, a smart light brown.
‘I’d better get out there. Someone has to get a video of you, and Margot said she’ll try, but for all I know, she’s on the opposite side with all the cross-stitch ladies. ’
At that, I can’t help but let out a laugh, and he hurries off to take his spot as paparazzi.
One of the kids working the alley takes his place.
Once I sling myself atop Elmer and get my bearings, she passes me the flag.
It’s much heavier than what I practised with (granted, that was a very long wooden dowel, so little can be said about the accuracy).
This feels like a pre-game hype ritual before an Oklahoma City Riders match, or even a MLL match.
Elmer’s hooves clop in anticipation as the announcer does his spiel, listing off sponsors and events and teams, all of whom line up along the barriers and wave as their names are called.
The whole while, I think to myself, when I leave this tunnel, I want to leave it all behind.
I want to forget about it so that I can finally go home, or to training, and keep doing stupid shit like spilling chai without letting it take me back to the time I met the person who changed everything about my life.
But that’s the thing. He shook the foundations of the avoidance and the running away that I knew so well up till now, and he showed me what it meant to dig my boots into the ground and open my heart again.
At least, before the events of the past few weeks convinced me it’d been the wrong decision.
Finally, I hear my key words: ‘national anthem’. I ready Elmer for the run down out of the alley. He snorts, and I look out to the announcer, who turns to the tunnel as the voice of someone’s daughter, standing nearby in jeans and a Stetson, starts in on the words of ‘Star-Spangled Banner’.
I paste a huge smile on my face. ‘Let’s go, buddy.’
Elmer and I trot out of the tunnel, both of us with our heads held high, and I let the flag flutter behind me, keeping the horse at a steady clip as we circle the ring.
The anthem continues, and sure, this isn’t what I’m used to, but the fairground has always been, aside from the lacrosse field, my home away from home. That much, at least, feels so right.
At the end of our lap, I pull Elmer to the centre of the ring, and we pose, wave for the cameras, as cheers and applause surround us. Okay, so maybe I understand why pageant queens love this thing so much.
Above us, though, the clouds rumble ominously.
I swear there wasn’t supposed to be anything of the sort on the forecast for today, but it looks like I was sorely wrong, because they’re moving a little faster than I’d like.
I pop my head up, throw my hat back. I’m no meteorologist, and I definitely can’t gauge cloud movement, but when you’ve lived in Oklahoma long enough, you get pretty good at knowing when it’s going to rain.
‘Really quickly, folks,’ the announcer cuts in, pressing a hand to his earpiece beneath the brim of his hat and looking around with a brusque clearing of his throat. ‘Looks like we will have a bit of thunder. Nothing harmful, it’ll be a—’
Mother Nature decides that is her cue to make it known that she refuses to be belittled.
On that final word, a torrent of rain streams straight down; naturally, no thunder, but a sheet of relentless, cold rain like some kind of divine interference.
I practically spit water out of my mouth as Elmer whinnies nervously and, over the shouts of audience members and the violent patter of precipitation, I shout, ‘It’s okay, boy!
’ as we struggle to find a dry spot. Ultimately, I get Elmer to cross the ring and tuck him away in the stable with the help of a couple of the girls in the back.
Outside, there’s the sort of chaos going on that only rodeos can bring out in people, with a couple draping jackets over their hats and yelling about why hasn’t it started yet, what’s the holdup, and a few others hurrying to take cover.
Rodeos, of course, are rain or shine. Akin to a college football game, we’re in it for the long haul.
There are several fusses going on all around which is probably why I don’t notice the primary one until it’s right in front of me.
From off to my left, I watch some guy attempt to jump the barrier, to the chagrin of the announcer, who’s attempting to grab a clutch of bull riders to help him handle this unexpected development.
Once I’ve managed to detangle myself from my humongous show chaps, I make to join in the drama, but I’m stopped right in my tracks towards the centre of the ring when I realize that there, flouting the rules and being a nuisance at my family’s home rodeo, is Rodney Wilson.
‘Hey!’ he shouts, and he holds up something that I can’t completely make out from all of his wild flailing as he practically hangs over the rail. ‘Jordan!’
I blink. What the actual fuck? The more I squint, the more I realize that I know exactly what he’s holding.
Oh my god. It’s my ridiculous tumbler.