Page 7 of Colt
“It looks like it for a while. Before they moved you. You were stabilized by the time they flew you here from Medford.”
“They flew me here? And I missed it?”
“Yeah. You have a head injury.” She moves toward me, standing at the foot of the bed. “And, not only did you have a head injury, you were on enough painkillers to put that bull down.”
“I’ve heard that,” I say, then, “Didthey put the bull down?” I realize that I’ll be unhappy if so. Because a bull doesn’t choose to be ridden, but I chose to ride. And whatever happens as a result, the consequences are on the cowboy. The animal shouldn’t bear any.
“I know.”
“Well, I want to find out. And tell them not to.”
“He wanted to killyou.”
“Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t mean I want him to die.”
She puts her hands on the footboard of the hospital bed and leans in. “It doesn’t make any sense that you would want to defend the animal that tried to kill you.”
“Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense. But it’s how I feel. I put myself in that situation. I took the risk. And I’m going to do it again.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No. I’m not out of my mind. But this isn’t me.” I gesture around the hospital room. “This is my life. I’m not going to be in here forever. I’m going to go back on the circuit. I still haven’t won a championship yet. I’ve got winning to do.”
“Colt,” she says, like she’s talking to a child, patronizing and lowering. “You aren’t just going to bounce back from this.”
“I’m going to be the best god damn patient that anyone has ever seen,” I say, frustration bubbling up inside of me. “The doctor is just talking about averages. Bone grafts and shit. I think I feel better already.”
“Youare onmorphine. And you don’t know how you feel.”
“Being in nursing school doesn’t make you an expert.”
“Beingyoudoesn’t make you an expert,” she says. “Whatever you may like to think. You don’t know better than your doctors, you dumbass.”
“I didn’t say I did. I am saying that I’m going to do a hell of a lot better than average. I’m going to get back on the bull.”
She makes an exasperated sound. “I’m not arguing with you at three in the morning.”
I look around and suddenly realize where I am, yet again. I keep losing myself. My brain feels fuzzy, and I’m not sure why. Morphine. She said that.
But I’ve never not been able to will my way out of a situation that I didn’t like. It just seems like, because I’m awake, my brain should be working the way I want it to. And because I want to get back into the rodeo, my body should obey. It always has. It’s always been like that for me.
“You need to take the time to recover,” she says. “If you don’t do that, you’re not going to be able to do anything.”
I look away from her. When I roll my head back over, she’s standing right next to me. It startles me. I can’t remember the last time Allison got anywhere near me of her own free will.
“Colt,” she says, her eyes sincere in the darkness. “That was the most horrendous thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You probably don’t remember it, but I will, for the rest of my life. When your mom came back to the hospital with your bones…” Her breath catches. “We all know what you just went through. You don’t. So maybe you should shut up, and quit being soarrogant and listen to other people for once in your God damned life.”
She goes away from the bed, back to the corner. She sits in the chair, and I get the impression that she’s done with me for the night.
Then I fall back into an uneasy sleep. Filled with strange and disturbing dreams. About death. Dying.
Being crushed beneath the weight of the bull, my dad is looking away from me.
Did you see?
He never turns around.
Chapter Four
