Page 2 of Storm Warning
“Why are you leaving? When do you plan on coming back? Why is Mom upset?” Questions spill from my lips, however, they seem to fall on deaf ears. I know something isn’t right, but what makes this time any different? He always leaves. Maybe it’s the harsh tension in his shoulders, or the cold, unreadable set of his features, but somethingfeelsdifferent this time around. Like after today, nothing will be the same.
He doesn’t glance my way, doesn’t take a second to acknowledge me, and yet I yearn—no, crave his attention. But let’s face it, I don’t even know what it would be like to have it. It’s not like he’s ever shown me an ounce of love or affection. Never taken the time to show he cares. I question if I should rest a hand on his arm to force him to look at me while he stuffs his things into a duffle bag, shuffling across the shag carpet with his boots on, ready to leave the moment he’s done.
He must not have heard me...right?
I take a step toward him, but he shifts away just as quickly.
Unlike other times he’s left, he’s reaching for all of his belts, those of which are adorned with fancy buckles to displayhis talent. A talent I know my mother doesn’t appreciate and one I’ve rarely gotten to see. The one he’s always used as the reason for his absence, like he isn’t absent when he’s here too.
Suddenly it feels like the weight of the world is on my chest. I can’t breathe. I don’t even understand why I’m so affected by whatever is happening, but him packing everything he owns is nothing like before. This is permanent. I feel like I’m suffocating, and yet my lungs fill with air just the way they are meant to. The world feels like it’s crumbling, but there is nothing here for him to break that isn’t already broken.
The sound of a zipper permeates the air, and my gaze drifts upward, only to be met with Dad’s arm bumping into mine. For a split second, he makes eye contact with me. The only thing we both share, his eyes are like a mirror reflection of my own, and yet there is a vacancy behind his. No love. No light. Just emptiness. Anger boils up in me at his blank, emotionless expression, and I consider pushing him to gain any type of reaction. I search for sadness, worry,anything. Yet I receive no more than a lifeless glance and eyes I know only seem to have light when they are planted on top of a bull.
He continues past me without saying a single word. It’s like he sees right through me, like I’m invisible, or, at least, my worth to him is. My body feels heavy, like I’m strapped to the very position I stand. My heart aches as I fight the treacherous desire to follow him or beg him to stay. Why has he always chosen everything else above me? Why have I never been good enough?
Each question I have, yet another reminder to why I don’t follow.
The metal track squeaks as he closes the sliding door shut behind him, and a second later the rumble of his truck sounds from our driveway.
The world around me shatters. My mother’s sobs havesubsided. All I feel is the pain in my knees as they crash to the floor and tears as they trickle down my face.
The unfamiliar gravity of his leaving weighs me down, like I know this memory is one that I’ll never escape. He never told me he loved me, but this time there wasn’t even a goodbye.
I wipe the sadness from my cheeks because he doesn’t deserve to have this affect on me. Tears are for sadness. Tears are for loss. Tears are for the ones we love. And I can’t mourn something I never had to begin with.
1
RHETT - NOVEMBER 29, 2003
Static playsover the speaker next to the monitor of the muddy locker room, seizing the interest of every rider sitting within its walls, including myself. The camera man zooms in on the host while we all hold our breath, hoping to land a bull that earns us today’s title.
“Looks like fate brought the newcomers together today, folks.” The long-time announcer of the Professional American Bull Riders Association, Bob Massey, strokes his gray mustache, chuckling at his own joke while simultaneously stressing out any rider who fits the bill. Sammy Holkens, an ex-bull rider half his age and his co-host, remains quiet. Releasing a soft whistle, he continues, “Rhett Rogers is up on HelFire.”
I perk up at the sound of my name.
The hardest damn bull they’ve got?Good.
I’d rather take a formidable obstacle any day than play it safe. Maxing out this clock on a champion will make winning that much more sweet. After all, no one ever became a legend pussy-footing around and riding calves. I wanted a challenge and now I got one.
I stand, unleashing a tidal wave of relief amongst the restof the riders in the room. A resounding roar of sighs sweep over the contestants, quiet whispers thanking God they weren’t chosen to be in my place. One rider even goes so far as to clap me on the shoulder, wishing me luck.
But I don’t need luck. I make my own. And tonight, I’m riding Helfire. All the way to hell and back.
Massey leans into the microphone, his hand braced firmly around it. “This should be quite the show, folks. As I’m sure y’all are well aware, every rider that’s been on this bull has only hit around six seconds or less, and he don’t seem like he’s in any mood to let that change.”
The second he shares that thought the camera angle shifts to the bull. Helfire slams into the gates containing him, causing a sudden uproar from spectators. Readying myself, I grab my hat off the bench behind me, placing it on my head as I walk out of the locker room.
I arrive at the opening of the hall that leads into the main event arena and nod at the sound boy who clicks play on the stereo that erupts throughout the speakers. Like always, the opening lines ofHighway To Hellby ACDC plays, announcing my arrival, and I smile at the nod to my adversary. I close my eyes, take in the beat of the music, and step out into the camera’s view. A ripple of happiness sweeps over the arena and I can’t help but give them a show. Removing my hat, I swing it around above myself, causing the cheering to intensify. Keeping a slow pace, the camera man strolls alongside me. I reach the far gate, winking as I pass a group of hot chicks stationed there.
“Afternoon, ladies,” I say, sending another smile in their direction. Many of them blush, while one blows me a kiss that I promptly pretend to catch and put in my shirt pocket. Her excited squeal makes me laugh.
“Go get ‘em, Rogers,” a voice yells from the crowd, and I wave back with my free hand, searching for the familiar voice.My gaze lands on a cluster of seats near the right edge of the arena. Ma waves proudly as my eyes meet hers. Dad and Duke hoot and holler along with the crowd. Adrenaline builds within me, surging through my veins like an electrical current.
Helfire forces another blow to the side of his temporary prison, sending Massey into an audible fit of excitement.
“This will be a short ride today, folks.” Funny how I never asked about his record in the bedroom, but still got the answer. I stop in my tracks and turn toward him, giving him a great, big smile before placing my hat back on my head.
Never let ‘em see you sweat.
