The True Father (13 page)

   I had been waiting almost an hour on an examination table in the Poteau Hospital Emergency Room for a nurse or doctor, or somebody with related importance, to come in and take a look at my wrist.   A large plastic curtain that hung from the ceiling and slid inside an aluminum track had been closed around me. So I saw nothing outside of my little area, but heard a little boy outside the curtain whining and crying to his mother about his ankle that apparently, determined from the pinstriped uniform I saw him wearing when I came in, he had injured in a baseball game. Jeremiah had left me alone; said he was hungry and went down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. He asked me if I wanted anything, but my only request was to get this experience over with so I could get back to my training. He had been gone the whole hour.

   About fifteen minutes later I heard a voice outside my curtain. It was a familiar voice that spoke sweet to the little boy and said they were taking him to the x-ray room. Then I heard another voice, that of a male, who also talked sweet to the little boy and said he was going to lift him onto the stretcher and take him for a little ride. Suddenly, my curtain opened and Bella stood before me, wearing teal green scrubs, white Reebok athletic shoes, her hair back in a ponytail, and she held a clipboard against her chest.

   “Uh, hi,” I said.

   She didn't smile or say anything. She came inside, turned and closed the curtain back. 

   “Been waiting long?” she asked, reading from the clipboard.

   “No, not really.”

   “I just came in for a six hour shift. I saw your chart.”

   “Oh.”

   “It scared me.”

   “I'm sorry.”

   “Are you okay?”

   I held out my arm. “I landed on my wrist.”

   She grabbed a hold of my forearm with one hand and with the other squeezed gently around my wrist. Though the squeeze was supposedly methodical and somewhat painful, I enjoyed feeling her touch again.

   “Does that hurt?” she asked.

   “Not much.”

   “Well I doubt there's anything broke, but we should probably take an x-ray just to be sure.”

   She turned away from me and grabbed the curtain.

   “It's good to see you,” I said.

   She turned her head and looked at me for a short moment, then left my little area without saying a word.

   Only a minute or two passed and she came back and opened the curtain all the way.

   “Follow me to the x-ray room.”

   We went into another room where several high-tech mechanisms were mounted on the walls and ceiling and another examination table stood in the middle of the room. She instructed me to sit on a chair and lay my arm up on the table. I laid it on a smooth surface marked with a grid while she pulled down a device suspended from the ceiling. I assumed it was the x-ray camera.

   I didn't know what to say to her, but I felt like I needed to say something to settle the tension between us.
   “How have you been?” I asked.

   “Pretty good. Yourself?”

   “Ok, I guess. 

   She made adjustments to the machine.

   “You know,” I said, “if you don't want to do this I can wait for another nurse.”

   She looked at me sternly. “I have to. I'm the only one on duty.”

   “You're running ER by yourself?”

   “The other ER nurse is on break.”

   “I think she's been on break for over an hour.”

   “It's called lunch.”

   “At five o'clock?”

   “They still call it that on the evening shift.”

   “Well, she could have waited until you got here.”

   “She did. She left you for me on purpose.”

   “She did? Why?”

   “Beats me.”

   “Oh.”

   Something told me that Bella had been talking about us, and that possibly her coworker recognized my name when I signed in.

   “How'd you hurt your wrist?” she asked.

   “On a landing. Given by a bull named Big Banana.”

   She stopped adjusting the machine. “Big Banana?”

   “Yeah, but not eight seconds. Jeremiah said it was about five.”

   “Is Jeremiah trying to kill you?”

   “Why do you say that?”

   “Big Banana is a tough bull. Way too tough for a beginner.”

   “Wow, I didn't know that.”

   “It's a wonder you only hurt your wrist.”

   “I guess so.”

   She slid a cartridge into the x-ray machine and brought it closer to my arm. She told me to spread my fingers apart then draped a heavy vest over my shoulders that hung down over my chest. She left the room and then I heard a brief buzzing sound. She came back into the room and removed the heavy vest.

   I couldn't help but look at her. Her smooth, dark complexion. Her silky black hair. She even looked good in the scrubs.

   “I really wish there was something I could do.”

   “About what?”

   “I wish I could go back and change things. I liked it better when you were my friend.”

   “Friend?”

   “Well at least that's better than nothing at all. I hate the thought of losing any part of you.”

   She took a deep breath and looked at the floor for a moment. “I'm sorry if I tried to get too close too quick.”

   “Me, too.”

   She raised the x-ray camera and offered me a slight smile. “I'll try to get a doctor to look at this now so you don't have to wait any longer. Meanwhile, you can wait back at that other table. Can I get you anything?”

   “You can find that asshole Jeremiah who abandoned me up here.”

   She laughed. “Okay.”

   I waited back at my original ER table and a few minutes later an older doctor showed up with Bella. His hair was thick and gray and parted neatly. He wore scrubs underneath a long white coat and a stethoscope hung around his neck. He clipped the x-ray photo on a white board on the wall and flicked on a light switch. The skeletal image of my hand and forearm came into view.

   “I hear you've been doing a little bull riding,” he said, studying the x-ray.

   “That's right.”

   The doctor now looked at my arm and squeezed it similar to the method Bella had used, only slightly harder. 

   Jeremiah walked into the room, said hello to Bella then nodded at me. “How you doing?”

   “The doctor is about to tell me. Where you been?”

   “I'm not much for emergency rooms.”

   I should have known that places like these probably seemed a little spooky to him, and if nothing else, brought back memories he'd just as soon forget.

   “Well, Trevor,” the doctor said, “you're lucky here. This is just a sprain.”

   “That's good,” I said.

   “How long will it take to heal?” Jeremiah asked.

   “Put it in a sling, avoid roughhousing, especially bull riding, and you'll be good as new in six to eight weeks.”

   Bella raised her eyebrows and I understood that this was something she liked to hear. But Jeremiah winked at me, as though he had some sort of an alternative plan.

   The doctor gave me a prescription for some pain medication, said Bella would fix me up with a sling, wished me luck and left the room.

   Bella followed the doctor out and Jeremiah came closer to me, leaned forward and whispered. “That's all bullshit, you know?”

   “What is?”

   “Six to eight weeks. Hell you'll be fit as a fiddle in three.”

   “Really?”

   “Don't pay any attention to that doctor. They exaggerate everything.”

   Bella returned with a piece of navy blue fabric that she wrapped around my shoulder then slid my arm inside.

   “Now, Mr. Hodge,” she said, sneering at me. “You do what the doctor says and no roughhousing.”

   “Yes ma'am.”

   Then she turned to Jeremiah and shook a finger at him. “And you, too, Mr. Hodge. Behave yourself and keep this cowboy off them bulls.”

   “Whatever you say, pretty lady.”

   When she looked back at me, her smile offered more relief than any pain medicine could ever provide. And to see it again, I'd fall off Big Banana a thousand times more.

 

 

   On our way back to the arena Jeremiah lit a cigarette, rolled down the pickup window and rested his elbow on the door. He had been so rigid at first, but now seemed almost excited about whatever I had managed to accomplish from the ride, regardless of the minor injury. I wasn't quite sure how to interpret this attitude. It came across as strange and almost uncomfortable.

   “I guess I won't be much help on the ranch now,” I said.

   “Ah, don't worry about that. You're young. You'll heal fast.”

   “Kind of messes up my training, though.”

   “Why do you say that?”

   “Come on. How am I supposed to train with a strained wrist?”

   “Minor setback. In two or three weeks you'll lose that sling and you can get right back on.”

   “Why this sudden change of heart?”

   His quick glance offered the appearance of being caught in a fib. “What are you talking about?”

   “Before the ride you were all worried about me getting hurt and fought every desire I had. Now you act as though I'm your next protégé.”

   He gazed out the window at the passing countryside, exhaled smoke that quickly vanished in the wind. “Maybe you're right. I tend to get a little carried away when I see a young bull rider do a good job.”

   “Well please don't change. I like it.”

   “I have to admit, I enjoyed watching you.”

   “So I did good?”

   “For a greenhorn on Big Banana, you did excellent.”

   I remembered Bella telling me the same thing, and suddenly wondered why he put me on such a tough bull so early in my training.

   “Why Big Banana? I thought you were going to put me on an easier bull.”

   “I thought about it for quite a spell. When Jettie and I were greenhorns, we used to go to a contractor and look over his bull herd and we'd always pick the most challenging bull to practice on. Yesterday when I was riding through the pasture looking at bulls, I couldn't help but feel the same for you. I looked all the bulls over real good, and for some reason the idea of using Big Banana stayed with me and I couldn't let it go.”

   “I thought you said he was pretty predictable.”

   “He is. Guaranteed to give you one hell of a ride every time.”

   “And I rode him good?”

   “A lot better than I expected.”

   “How would it have compared to Cyclone?”

   “The difference is that Cyclone is not predictable. Sometimes he bends and sometimes he spins. You just never know what he's going to do.”

   “Then how does a cowboy prepare for him?”

   “That's something that can't be trained. It's a relationship a cowboy has with his own mind that even he may not totally understand.”

   This was a complicated if not confusing lesson. I was beginning to understand the jargon and physical demands of the sport, but still very ignorant to the mentality required to ride with success. I also wondered if Jeremiah totally understood my quest; that my need for this knowledge was much different than what he and every other cowboy prepared for. It was my own inner resolve; an experience that no one else needed but me. Regardless, now he seemed to be supporting my efforts, and I had to take it any way I could get it.

   When I woke the next morning my wrist was stiff and sore. I took one of the pain capsules prescribed by the doctor, took a hot shower then dressed in workout shorts and a tank top. For breakfast I prepared a bowl of instant oatmeal and a glass of orange juice. Getting along with only one hand was difficult to get used to, nevertheless, I eventually developed a momentum that worked and found the sling to be a comforting deterrent from using the arm.

   I was almost finished with my breakfast when I heard a knock on the front door. Before I got to the door I first thought of Bella, that possibly she had come over for a workout. But when I opened the door she was not the woman who stood before me. It was Jodie, wearing sunglasses and carrying a covered dish.

   “Good morning,” she said. “I decided to bring a little something for the wounded.”

   “Oh, thank you. Come in.”

   I tried to take the dish from her, but with having the use of only one arm she wouldn't allow it, and took it to the kitchen herself. She sat it on the kitchen table then removed her sunglasses.

   “Do you like Mexican casserole?”

   “I've never had it.”

   “It's nothing fancy. Just some refried beans, ground beef, cheese, tortilla chips, and a little sour cream on top.”

   “It sounds good.”

   “And you can add some jalapenos and salsa if you like.”

   “I might do that.”

   “So how are you feeling today?”

   “A little sore, otherwise fine.”

   She walked out of the kitchen and peered into each of the rooms. “I like what you've done to the place.”

   “Oh, I haven't really done anything. Bella is the one that did the cleaning.”

   Jodie looked back at me and delivered a slight smile. “So how is she doing?”

   I shrugged. “I can't be sure. She's difficult to figure out.”

   “Yes, she is.”

   The humidity was on the rise and the house felt stuffy, so I invited Jodie outdoors where there was at least a warm breeze. We walked through the front yard while above us several sparrows chirped in the maple trees and a blue jay squawked and jumped from limb to limb.

   “I guess you can say that your stay here has been eventful,” Jodie said.

   “Very much so.”

   “Are you planning to get on a bull again?”

   “Yes, I am.”

   “I see.”

   “You sound as though you don't agree with it.”

   “Doesn't matter, does it? It's your decision.”

   “Yeah, but I'd like your opinion.”

   “I try to avoid judging other people's lives. Only they know why they do what they do. Just like I'm sure you have your reasons.”

   “I wish everyone were as understanding as you.”

   “I don't think it has much to do with understanding. It's more like trying not to be overly concerned or too selfish.”

   “Why do you say that?”

   “We're all concerned about you, Trevor. You were a lost loved one who has come home, and what you're doing is dangerous. We don't want to lose you again.”

   I didn't quite know how to respond. What she said was touching, and didn't at all seem selfish. “I'm really grateful for Jeremiah finding me and introducing me to all of you. But more than anything, I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn who my father really was.”

   “But you see, if you get hurt, then Jeremiah will feel guilty for finding you. And I want you to understand that.”

   “I don't mean to put that kind of pressure on him, or Bella, or you, or anyone. I just feel that my real loss was never knowing my father. Sure, I've got to know all of you, but until I know Jettie, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied.”

   Jodie stopped walking and I followed suit. She faced me and grabbed my hand and held it between both of hers. “Maybe that's where we're a little selfish.”

   “How?”

   “Because you have a good reason for doing what you're doing, and we're trying to give you reasons why you shouldn't.”

   “So you think it's a good reason?”

   “If I were in your shoes, I'd probably do the same thing.”

   “It feels real good to hear you say that.”

   She hugged me and kissed my cheek, then looked into my eyes. “And you hang in there with Bella. One day she'll understand.”

   “I look forward to that day.”

   After Jodie left I decided to get started with my workout. Being somewhat handicapped I knew I wouldn't be able to do a lot, but I wanted to at least keep my legs and abdominals in shape, and possible a few curls with my good arm. I got down on my knees and reached under the bed with my good hand and found the vinyl workout mat, but I couldn't reach either of the dumbbells. I leaned to my side and looked under the bed and found them. I grabbed one and saw a red shoebox far to the other side. I had never noticed the shoebox before, but figured I had never looked that far under the bed before. So I walked around to the other side and reached underneath and pulled out the box. It was dusty, but looked as though it had recently been touched. I removed the lid to find several letters like the one Jeremiah had given me when I came down for the funeral. I remembered him telling me that there were more letters, which explained why the box looked as though it had recently been opened.

   I counted fourteen letters, all identical to the one I had already read, other than the dates on the postmarks. The date span ranged from December to April. None had been opened and all were stamped “return to sender”.

   I arranged them in order by date and opened the earliest one, postmarked December 20, 1977.

 

   December 19, 1977

 

   My dearest Bonnie,

  
   You've been gone over a month now and I keep wondering whether you are going to be home for Christmas. Jodie said she heard you'd moved to Kansas City and I had to go to quite a bit of trouble to find you. I figured you'd be staying with that old girlfriend from Sallisaw who moved up there to work for that greeting card company. I was surprised to find out that you had rented a house and got a job there too. Bonnie whatever I've done to run you off I wish you'd forgive me and come home. I sure do miss you and little Trevor. I bought him a little toy tractor for Christmas. It looks just like mine and I figured he'd like that. I don't know what else to say other than I can't imagine spending Christmas without you and my boy. Please come home, Bonnie. I love you. And tell Trevor I love him too.

 

   All my love,

   Jettie

 

  
The letter was hard to read. He seemed abandoned, hopeless, and almost pitiful. And to think that the letters were returned and never read, made me wonder if things would have been different if Mom would have read them.

   I kept opening letters and reading them. It was more of the same; only the tone steadily grew worse, as if in desperation, giving up on life and getting used to nights alone, passing out under the influence of corn whiskey.

   Then came the last letter, postmarked April 10, 1978. Different than the others, the edges of the envelope were covered with clear cellophane tape that had browned over the years.

 

   April 10, 1978

 

   Dear Bonnie,

  
   All your letters have come back now so I guess it's very unlikely you'll read this one. Maybe I'm just writing it for myself. All I know is that I've done all I can to win you back. My trip to Kansas City almost landed me in jail, only because I wanted to see my little boy and give him his Christmas present. I guess that really proved how you felt about me. I've come to grips with that now and I guess I'll just have to let it go. It's been so long since I've seen little Trevor that I wonder if I'd even recognize him. I'm sure he's grown like a prairie weed. I wonder if he'd even know me. I guess I'll just have to hope that you raise him good because without you Bonnie I don't see how I could ever be a good daddy. Being gone all the time is no life for a little boy. So maybe its just best that I stay out of his life and let you raise him the best you can. And one day I hope you'll tell him that his daddy loves him, and that some day maybe he could come down and go fishing or to a rodeo and watch the bulls. I'd sure like that someday. Please give Trevor the package taped to this letter and tell him it's a special present. You don't have to tell him who it's from.

 

   All my love,

   Jettie

 

   A ton of emotion welled up inside me. Some of it anger, but most was sadness. I wanted to cry but couldn't. The image of him visiting our house haunted me. All he wanted was to see his little boy, his own flesh and blood, and give him his Christmas present. And I saw the image of a Massey Ferguson replica, a tiny rendition of something real to help remind the little boy of who his father was and how he lived. The entire image made me want to drive to Kansas City and force my mom to read all these letters, explain to me how she could avoid a man with so much love, and also so much pain. I couldn't understand any of it. More than ever I needed answers—answers that I would search endlessly to find, no matter how difficult the journey might be.

   I knew that eventually most of those answers would have to come from my mom. But by avoiding him, she purposely kept herself from knowing what was in his heart. The letters proved how much he loved me then, but they didn't explain the rest of his life. Why didn't he go on and find another love? Why didn't he become the best damn bull rider there ever was? Suddenly I remembered my conversation with Denny Rose, and without much hesitation found the phone book and located the number. Tonight seemed like a perfect night to do some fishing.