Another Place, Another Time

I wake up in the hospital. I hear the beeping of the heart monitor and the breathing of my visitors. I don't feel any pain other than where the needles from the IV's are. I open my eyes and see some of the other riders, my father and a nurse all in my room.

"You guys look like ya'll are at a funeral!" They all become aware of my consciousness.

"Funny that you should say that." I look at the nurse confused. "You broke two ribs and the shards from the upper break almost punctured your heart and lung. You're lucky to be alive. You've been unconscious for eight days."

"Oh." It sinks in that I may be out for the season that just began. "Anyways, how did the results fare in last weeks competition?"

"You got third with 86,John Walens got second with 87, and then Charlie Hicks and I tied for first with a ride of 89, but bull riding best be off your mind, you've got a lot of healin' to do before jumpin' on a bull even crosses your mind." Trent's presence wasn't much of a surprise. He'd always been there for me, as I have for him.

"I know, but I can still keep up with the competitors an' stuff."

A few months pass and I've healed up quite nicely according to the doctors. Its been two months and a week to the day since my accident. I've only missed two important rides, but as long as I make a ride from here on out, I'll catch up. Its a long shot but I can make it.

I'm in Houston Texas, for the Cactus Jack Rodeo. I've pulled Long Thunder, an older Texas Longhorn with snubbed horns. He's got a wicked habit of bustin' outta the chute, spinning against the clock and dartin' for the nearest mount.

"You ready Lane? You've got this, just remember, head up, elbows out." Miranda's been pretty good about following with the circuit and keepin' me updated about who pulled what, who sustained injuries and such.

"Yeah, I've got a good feelin' about this. I've ridden some of Thunder's offspring back home, an' I've seen quite a bit of his handiwork in videos and such. I'm only a tad nervous. Doc said that I should be good to go, but there's always a risk."

"Yeah I know, take care!" She gives me a quick kiss good-bye and heads off to the stands.
I head back to where the other cowboys are at. They wish me luck and give me hints and pointers that I already know. After the rider roll call I finish stretching and mentally preparing myself.

"Up next is the comeback boy Lane Vanders on Long Thunder." The announcer's voice is surprisingly untainted by the south's twang and seems almost as if it had a British edge to it.

I walk over to my bull in the chute and look him in the eyes. Its the same look Twisted Whiskers had, panicked fear mixed with rage and lostness. I touch his nose and step onto the platform. The hands help set me on the bull. I wrap the leather around my left hand and get a good grip. Everything is unusually silent and doesn't seem real. All I hear is the breathing of the bulls, the clanging of the gates. I don't remember saying my call to let the chute open, but I feel the sound of my voice leave me. Thunder bolts out and spins. I lean in to the turn and squeeze my legs. I keep my right hand high in the air, rocking with the rhythm of the bull, and remembering to breathe with the bull. I feel the earth's shudders through the legs and body of the bull. This feels so much like the ride with Twisted Whiskers, from the shaking of the ground to the sound of the crowd. Everything is in slow motion, I try moving faster but it feels as if I'm moving in cement. The eight second buzzer sounds and I jump off the bull, landing without a problem. I look behind me and the bull is content going after the matadors. I'm running to the fence when I hear the announcer.

"That was Lane Vanders on Long Thunder with a score of ninety-one."

I go back to where I stretched and get more pats on the back and congrats given. Miranda is there waiting for me with two things of nachos and water. We head back to my truck without any words spoken.

"That was one heck of a ride you had there. I thought for a second he had you, but you regained just in time. I can't wait to see the rest of the season!"

We sat on my tack box, and talked about life. I found out she too, had a strong background in rodeo but after her brother got hurt during a bull ride, her family abandoned their love for rodeo. That's how she ended up meeting Cecily. She was an avid rodeo fan along with the rest of the group, but after watching a video on vegetarianism and PETA they turned against rodeo. Now they protest it.

"Hey Miranda, so I know we haven't, or well at least I haven't known you for what seems like that long, but we should get together sometime other than here at the rodeo."

"Sounds like a plan, how about we go bowling tomorrow night? I've got me a pretty good curve ball."

"Oh yeah, I've bowled me a turkey or two last time I went bowling. Except it was a Halloween party and-"

"Lane, we need your help!" An unknown cowboy hollers from the pens.

"I'll catch up with you later Mir!" She nods, and I run over to where the cowboy hollered. I see that someone had let the bulls out when they were discussing the results in the announcers stand. I'm handed a horse and get on. A group of five others on horse mount go in search of the bulls that weren't able to be contained. I'm instructed by hand gestures to go around the backside of the woods. We round up the remaining bulls with ease, they're pretty cooperative for the most part. I help with the take-down of the rodeo get-up and drive home.

Over the next few months my career as a professional bull rider escalated, as did my relationship with Miranda. My scores ranged from 89 all the way up to 95, a career high for me, even in my high school days. I've made it to Nationals, and successfully scored with each ride, averaging a ninety-two. I have one bull to go, Black Stone. He's a direct offspring from Red Rock. Like his father, he's bucked off over 300 consecutive cowboys. Like Lane Frost, I, Lane Vanders, will write my own page in rodeo history by riding the unridden. But unlike Frost, I will succeed on my first try, not third.

Like all the rodeos I've been in, I do all the same stretches, same mental preparations, same prayers, same everything. They do the rodeo roll call, and as the time ticks down, my nerves tense up. Something feels off. I push the feeling aside and walk over to the bull pen and watch as the bulls are sorted. Yet again the bull I have picked is loaded up first. I walk over and look him in the eyes. He has the same look as all the bulls since Twisted Whiskers, but this time there's an edge to his gaze. He's got plans, he knows what he's doing. I don't let this get to me. I pat his nose and climb up on the platform, it seems higher up than the times before. The hands help me onto him, and fasten the leather around my hand. I feel his shallow breathing beneath me. Before I know it, I feel my voice let rip with my call and the gate fly open. Stone doesn't move a muscle. I'm about to kick him when he busts out of there like a twister. He spins with the clock, dashes, parks, spins against the clock, parks, jumps straight up and lands with uneven legs. I almost loose my balance, but to my luck he turns into my weak side. He goes back into the spins, and dashes. Everything seems so fast. I'm having a hard time following his movements, there is no rhythm to rock to, no vibrations from the ground, just a haze of dust surrounding us. I feel his muscles tense as he makes his last move, he dashes and turns. The eight second buzzer sounds, the crowd scream in excitement! But something doesn't feel right. I never felt two of his feet touch base with the ground. The ground becomes the ceiling as I realize Stone has stumbled and everything has slowed down dramatically. I can see the individual grains of dust and hair fly around us. I can hear the crowds' screams turn ugly. I feel the impact of the ground and the electrifying feeling of having a 2000+ pound bull land on me. I see the dust turn black as my head is buried.