Lem - 1. Lem

I’ve got this drop feeling in my stomach right now. That fuzzy little tingling in my nuts like I might get into trouble for what I’m about to do. Jason does this all the time and gets away with it somehow.

I’m the good kid. It shouldn’t be a problem - they trust me. Why wouldn’t they?

I’m standing at the top of the steps, just staring at the handrail. Paying particular attention to the grain of the wood. The way the angle of the bar matches the slant of the steps. I can barely see one little corner of the landing.

I keep starin’ at it like there’s a monster is tryin’ to get up the stairs. Sigh and scratch the side of my head. I try not to do it, to lie, but I’ve been gettin’ better at it lately. Well, just to get out of the house and do things that Dad and Momma would be better off not knowin’ about. At least I can hide behind Jason’s little fuck-ups.

Time to sell this little tall tale of mine. I start down the steps.

The basement smells like cedar. When I was little, Momma painted the walls green and hung wood panels around the bottom of the wall. It keeps pretty cool down here in the summer months.

The third step moans like it always does; it’s announcing me to Momma.

“That you, Lem?” I hate the way she can do that - know exactly who’s coming down the steps just by the way the step squeaks.

I try to walk naturally. Don’t wanna give myself away.

There's a wrap around couch that sits under the landing, where dad spends most of his time at home watching TV. He says he comes down to get away from his hay fever. He really watches the car races.

Dad and Momma are going through the videos again. Once in a while, if it tickles their fancy, they pull out the box of family videos; their wedding, Chase's first dance recital, my dad breaking his arm on the trampoline. Intermission for a small rodeo I almost forgot about.

‘...Bobby Gilders with three seconds. Someone get that sheep outta there. Next up we have young Lem Taylor.’ — ‘Just barely five years old as of yesterday.’ — ‘Five seconds is the time to beat.’ — ‘Looks like he's in the pen and ready to go. Gate's open and there he goes! Little Lem Taylor.’

The kid on the sheep is me.

“What’s wrong?”

I come down the last three steps and stand behind the couch, put my hands in my pockets. “Nothin’.”

‘That is one ugly sheep!’ – ‘Yes it is. Oops, looks like he's going over sideways a bit. He's holding on for life.’ – ‘This kid just wont let go. There's five seconds.’

Momma looks over the back of the couch, “you remember that?”

I watch without saying anything.

‘Looks like he's going for more. Watch him, Red! Here he comes!’ – ‘And there he goes, all the way to the south gates by the Perkins Chute there. Still holding on.’ – ‘Oh! Rolled off right into the gate. Lem on his feet, give him a round of applause! Waiting on word from the judges.’

It's Momma's proudest moment. Little me, little wranglers, little boots, shirt half-tucked in. For some reason, I remember my belt was too tight.

‘That's quite a ride from the young man.’ – ‘What'd you say, Red?’ – ‘I says I ride a sheep to work every day!’ – ‘You Do!?’ – ‘Yeah. My seats are covered with ‘em!’ – ‘Red Dawson, your friend in entertainment here at the Burlee Fair and Rodeo.’

Red, the local rodeo clown, he dances around on the screen. He’s one of the only colored people I ever met. Cool guy. Has a cattle ranch out west of town, bout ten miles off the road.

Dad lets out a loud snore and wakes himself up.

Momma looks at him. “Do you remember that, Gary?”

‘Nine and a half seconds, Bob! A new fair record for Mutton Bustin'!’

Dad blinks at it and leans forward. “That the one where Lem almost made it to Toole county? Man! That was almost eleven years ago.” He looks at me, then back at the television set. “You’re makin’ me feel old, kiddo.” I think the gray in the hair on his temples is doin’ a good enough job of that.

‘All of our contestants here today will receive a brand new belt buckle. And a special prize for young Lem: a brand new pair of Justin Boots from our friends down at Western Montana Ranch wear...’

I remember the smile on Dad's face when I won those boots. I take off my hat and scratch my head. “Can I go out?”

Dad looks at me. “Where you goin' on a school night?”

Here’s the seed. “Collin's got a new horse he wants to show me.” It’s not all a lie. Collin did get a new horse.

He looks at Momma, “I don't know – what do you think?”

Mom looks at him, then me, “I don't care. Be back before ten. Your midterms are tomorrow.”

I put my hat back on. “Thanks Momma.”

On the TV, the judge takes me back to the other kids, then Dad lifts me to his shoulder. I remember we went for ice cream after that. He ordered me chocolate. He always says real men eat chocolate ice cream. ‘Strawberry is for girls.’ I wanted strawberry, so he gave me chocolate. Now I’m cravin’ blueberry pie, for some reason.

Ice cream melts faster than memories. I excuse myself.

They have the lights down so they can see the television better; it’s one of those old rear-projection big screens that you have to be sitting right in front of to get a good picture.

It’s so dark, I stub my toe and trip up a few stairs. Land on my wrist funny. It aches a bit, so I rub it.

“Have a nice trip?” Momma walks up behind me, helps me up. “Don't forget you have practice tomorrow.”

* * *

This is a story about a rank known as 681, or Backdraft; a red buckin’ bull with a large white spot on his brisket. A Brangus. Sixteen-seventy-four pounds of the meanest, toughest steak you’ll ever see on the circuit. One horn points up, the other down. A buck-off percent that’s untarnished. ID number XNR432J.

He's what they call a head hunter. Keep that in mind.

* * *

I’m lookin’ square into one of the greenest sets of eyes I’ve ever seen. There're big brown flecks in them. Momma even says she’s never seen anyone else with eyes so green. His hair is short and brown, and it always sits flat against his head. There’s a small cleft in this chin. His eyes are round, curious. Not sharp-set like his father's. His lips are soft and broad, but not curved up in a natural smile like you see some people with. His eyelashes are long. His skin is soft and almost perfect, ‘cept a small pimple on this chin.

Momma says he can stop people with his smile.

He looks out of place; something I just can't figure out. He blinks at me and a lop-sided grin spreads across his face as I open the medicine cabinet.

He slides outta view. Vanishes.

I grab a comb and shut the cabinet. The mirror swings toward to my face, makes a breeze that smells like stale toothpaste and my brother's cheap perfume.

“I hafta use the bathroom!” Chase knocks on the other side of the door. “God! Are you playing with yourself again?”

“It's not Jason,” I try in my deepest voice. I sound like a damn kid.

Jason’s been busted pickling the cucumber in the bathroom by about everyone in the family. I try not to think about it, ‘cuz if I do, I hafta break out the shower cleaner before I even think about hoppin’ in the tub.

“Come on, Lem! I gotta pee!”

“Give me a minute!” I wet a washrag with hot water.

She slaps the door. “I can't hold it!”

“Christ! Use mom and dad's bathroom!”

I hear her run up the hall, “you suck!”

I splash water on my face and scrub it clean.

My friend from the mirror stands up with me, cheeks red from scrubbing. I can’t help but wonder if this is what I look like when I say something stupid. I also try to figure out why the guy in the mirror seems like a stranger to me.

Open the cabinet. Put away the comb. Find myself looking at Jason's perfume; a black glass bottle with a silver top. Stetson Black. I think better of it, but something deep inside me pushes my hand toward the bottle.

I spray some on.

“I need the bathroom!” Jason hits the door hard.

I fumble with the cap and put the perfume back. “Almost done.”

“Now, you little shit!”

“Go jerk it in your own room!”

There's a trick to open the bathroom door when it's locked. If you pull the door and twist the knob just right, it knocks the locking pin in. Jason takes two steps in. He puts his hand on my chest and pushes me against the towel rack. He almost knocks me off my feet. He holds me there and looks around. “Were you in my shit?” He grabs a fist-full of shirt.

“Dude. Sorry! Sorry!”

He thumps me on the head and pushes me out the door with his foot on my ass. “Get out!”

“Jason, you're an asshole!” I just about face-plant on the wall across from the bathroom.

He slams the door behind me.

“Hey,” Momma yells from the basement. “Knock it off up there!”

* * *

It's just after seven-thirty and the sky's turning pink.

There’re Russian Olive Trees along the dirt road up to the house. Momma’s favorite tree. They’re coming into bloom, and it's nice when the air doesn’t smell like cow shit. I pass the antique horse drawn tiller that sits near the gate. It’s leaning up against a wooden flower pot with geraniums in it, like it was just accidentally left there.

My boots scratch under my feet while I walk around in circles near the mailbox. There’s still a bit of a chill in the air left over from winter, so I’ve got my hands shoved in my pockets. If I had a lick of common sense, why, I’da’ brought a jacket.

Light crests the hill and dances on the dirt from the road; Ronnie's truck roars as it comes over the horizon. I wave him down when he gets closer. Ronnie’s a state qualifier for saddle bronc ridin’ this year.

Matthew is sittin’ passenger. When the truck slows down, Mattie grins like he's glad I'm coming along.

Ronnie leans across Mattie and pulls the door open for me. “You goin' to Dawson's, too? Hop in.” Ronnie's cool - like the older brother I wish I had. He's always stuck up for me when we were younger, especially when Jason was being a dick.

“Thanks.”

Mattie scootches over, and I slide in next to him. He grins at me ear to ear in that way that makes me wonder what’s goin’ on between those big ears of his.

We’ve been best friends since we were little. They moved in next door when I was four. He's a year younger than me. We grew apart a little when I started seventh grade. He didn't like being stuck behind without me.

Mattie and his brothers are scarecrows. Lanky and thin as a broomstick. They all have messy blonde hair that looks like it's wet most of the time, but it's always clean; not greasy or anything. They all have these orange eyes, too. Most people would call it a brown or a light russet, but it looks more like orange to me.

Last they measured, Mattie was just over six foot. He's painfully shy, and if there's ever more than three of us in a group, he won’t even make a peep. He's pretty good at chasing the cans or pole bending, but he's been too old for the last few years. When the crowd cheers for him, he turns bright red and hides under his cowboy hat.

He didn’t hardly realize he had a dick between his legs until a little over a year ago. He discovered tugging the string by accident, and boy were we both surprised the first time I walked in on his party of one. Makes me think he’s got some jackrabbit in his bloodline somewhere, but that’s just me making bad jokes.

Ronnie’s blasting the new Nickelback album on his radio. He doesn't really listen to country all that much.

I scratch at a spot on my jeans. “Um, momma wants me home at ten.”

Ronnie smiles, turns his attention back to the road. “Serious? You know this thing’s goin’ until we all fall over drunk, right?”

“I know. Think I can get a ride?”

“Mom wants Mattie home around ten. What if I take you to the fork at nine forty-five and you two walk back?”

I nod and stare out the window. “Guess Momma wouldn't be too pissed if I came in a little bit late.”

We go over the bridge, down a wide dirt road, and past the Rolling W Ranch. Ronnie takes a sharp turn past a few mail-boxes and drives toward a large field on ‘ol Dawson’s property. After a few minutes, we’re parked next to a bonfire surrounded by a grove of tall trees.

Dawson did two tours in ‘Nam – he drinks too much for his own damn good. The ranch was a hand-me-down from his dearly departed dad, back when he died from lung cancer. At the rodeos, Dawson's usually standing on the chute behind a flask of Jack and a Hot-Shot. He's an okay guy.

There's a big circle of pick-up trucks around the bonfire. Almost everyone’s walkin’ around holding bottles of beer.

I heard Dad and Momma talkin’ earlier today. They know Jason’s gonna be here one way or another. Dad figured what’s the harm, since he would have snuck out if they told him he couldn’t come, anyway. Momma doesn’t think Jason’s got enough structure. They sure as hell wouldn't want me hanging around. I’m guessin’ if Jason tells them I was here, Jason's porn stash might find it's way to his laundry basket before mom sorts it.

I see Collin sittin’ on the tailgate of his truck, slobberin’ on a bottle of Moose Drool. Me and Mattie hop outta the truck and walk over. Mattie keeps quiet and stays in tow.

“Hey, man, if my Mom asks, I came over to see your new horse.”

He punches me in the arm. “My mom would’a seen you if you came over.”

“Just tell 'er I stopped by really quick before you came here.”

“She dun' know I'm here. ‘Sides, she'd be pissed if I didn't bring you in to say hi.” He reaches over the side of his truck and gets a bottle of beer, holds it out to Mattie. Mattie just stares at it like it’s a two-headed cow, so he puts it in my hands.

“Dude, I better not.”

He puts one hand over mine to steady the bottle. Pops the cap with a lighter. “Drink up.”

There’s something bothersome in Mattie’s eyes right now.

I just nod and hold the bottle by the neck.

I hear Jason's truck pull in. The skinny blonde with the huge tits that’s running over, that's his girlfriend Jess. He gets out of his truck, lifts her up, spins in a few circles. She wraps her legs around his waist and jams her tongue his ear.

“Now there's a girl with a bad reputation.” Collin throws back the rest of his beer and walks off.

I tug on my brim and turn away. I hand the bottle to Matthew. “If you take a sip, I'll take one.”

He looks at it stupidly. “I... I really don't know.”

I grab the bottle from him and take a big swig. Dad used to give me sips of his beer here and there when I was younger, but I’ve never really liked the taste. I give the bottle back to Matthew.

He tries a small sip and damn near chokes on it.

“You're supposed to drink it.”

“It tastes awful!”

“Just drink some!”

He throws it back and pretends to be drinking.

I can read this kid like a book. I put a finger under the bottle and tip it back for him.

He groans a bit and lunges back so it doesn't spill on him. “That's enough!” A little foam dribbles down his chin.

It takes us almost half an hour, but between the two of us, we finish the bottle.

Brooke Reynolds walks by and gives me a wink. She’s done up in a set of Daisy Dukes, wearin’ a tight button-down shirt that’s tied off just below her knockers. Hair in pig-tails. It looks like she’s tryin’ to squeeze two grapefruits out the back of her shorts.

Matthew swallows hard. “She likes you.”

I blush. “No she doesn't. Girls like that are stupid, anyway.”

“Why? What do ya’ mean?”

“Pretty girls are stupid. God, is it warm out here?”

“Must be the fire.”

“She's probably got someone, anyway.” I wink at Mattie. “Bet she gets Junior Miss Rodeo this year.”

We walk around the party for a while. A few big, puffy yellow clouds sit in the sky, trying to hide a red half-moon behind them. The flames in the bonfire get taller. I’ve been tryin’ to keep outside of the ring of trucks. Mattie pretty much goes where I go. Keeps me company, even though neither of us are really talkin’ much.

“You're Jason's little brother, aren't you?”

Mattie and I turn around.

Brooke is sitting against the hood of a cherried out ‘69 Camaro Super Sport. There is not a scratch anywhere on this vehicle. The red in her checkered shirt matches the color of the car. The way Brooke’s sittin’, the Chevy bow-tie on the front bumper is peekin’ out from between her legs. It’s almost like she’s sittin’ that way on purpose. God, she must have her daddy wrapped around her little finger.

“Yeah, I… I guess.”

She laughs, smiles wide. “You guess? That's cute.” She walks on over to me, gives me a once-over.

Mattie is not the least bit happy.

I stutter. “Y… yeah.” I start walkin’ again, Brook at my right. Mattie stays about ten feet behind us.

Brooke takes my elbow. “You gonna watch your brother ride tomorrow night?”

I shake my head. “Naw. I'm riding in Cutbank Saturday.”

“Oh? What event?”

I step over a log and head toward the field. “Saddle Bronc.”

She flings her hair to the side. “No bull riding?”

“Jason broke his arm on a steer when he was thirteen. Momma was so pissed she won't hardly let any of us look at a steak on a dinner plate.”

She looks over her shoulder. “Matthew Hedquist, you come over here!”

Mattie has his thumbs in his pocket. He kicks at the ground and looks out from under his hat.

“Come on, now. You don't hafta’ walk all the way back there.” She smiles at me. “Nervous little critter, isn't he?”

Mattie walks up beside me and looks at her uneasily.

Brooke hooks his elbow with her free arm, and we start walkin’ again. She looks over at Mattie. “Are you riding this weekend?”

“Uh, yes, ma'am.”

She looks like she's been shot. “Ma'am?”

“Sorry.”

“What're you riding?”

“Team Ropin'.”

“Ahh.” She gets a playful grin on her face. “My sister still talks about you barrel racing when you were younger. I don’t know, but I think she might’a had a little crush on you.”

Mattie scowls and turns as red as Brooke’s car.

We walk around just out of the fire light and talk, the three of us. Somewhere along the way, I get another beer to split with Brooke and Mattie. It feels like I’ve been drinking cold medicine.

Brooke puts her arm around my back and kinda snuggles with my side.

I don't know what to do. This ain’t happened to me before.

There's something sad in Matthew's eye. I look over at him and he looks off toward the mountains, like something more important caught his fancy. Suddenly, he grabs at my elbow, “it's gettin’ on ten.”

I stop and give him a nasty look, then turn to Brooke. “Sorry, I gotta be getting' on home.”

She smiles. “I wish I could come watch you ride.”

“Thanks.”

She kisses me on the cheek. As she’s got her lips locked to the side of my face, I look across the fire and see a guy I never seen before.

“Who’s that?” I nod toward him.

Brook looks over. “That's Jeff. They moved over from Idaho a few weeks back.”

I’m torn two ways, here. I can't take my eyes off him. I can’t move my legs because I feel like I'm falling out of the sky. My ears start to tingle.

Mattie yanks me off kilter. “We gotta go.”

“Wait a damn minute here! You almost pulled me over!”

He bites his bottom lip and turns red. Looks away.

“Miss Brooke, I’m sorry, but we gotta jet.”

She gives me a hug.

I look over at Jeff one last time. My head is floating. I walk backwards and wave at Brooke.

She smiles and waves.

“Come on!” Mattie runs off toward Ronnie's truck.

* * *

Ronnie drops us off about half a mile from home. Me and Mattie get out and take to walking. Ronnie flips a bitch and heads back to the party.

I hit a nick in the road and trip over my feet.

Mattie laughs at me. After we walk a ways, Mattie breaks the silence. “She really likes you.”

I look at him almost sideways. “Who likes me?”

“Brooke does.”

“No, she don't.”

“You can see when she smiles at you.”

I think back and see Jeff. “Yeah, she's somethin' else.”

“You said she was stupid.”

“Guess I was wrong.” I stop and close my eyes.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know. I feel funny.”

“Bet it’s the beer.”

“No, I mean something else.” I start walkin’ again.

Mattie follows me with his eyes, then runs to catch up. “Like what?”

“I’ono.”

He doesn't say anything. We just walk shoulder to shoulder. He rubs his arms after a cold breeze churns in the valley. “You should see if you can spend the night.”

I look at him. “We have midterms tomorrow and Thursday. No way my mom or your mom'd go for it.”

“How bout Thursday night then? Seein’ we don't have school or anything, we could get some movies. Be easy since we have practice Friday.”

“I guess.”

He slows down a bit. “Ya think we could do that thing we always did last summer?”

I know what he's playin’ at. I act stupid. “What thing?”

“You know, when we...” he sighs, “that thing.”

I turn my head and look at him cold. “You mean play with each other?”

He looks at the ground and kicks his boot. “I guess.”

“I don't know.”

“Lem? You wouldn't tell anyone about it, would you?”

“Think I want to get my ass kicked? They'd think things, Mattie. I don’t really wanna see you get beaten and tied to a fence somewhere.”

He's quiet for a bit. “Think you'd ever date a girl like Brooke?”

“I don't think she's interested.”

“She'd be lucky to have a guy like you.”

I cock my head. “‘the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You remember back when that girl kissed you on the cheek when you were seven? Back when you took goat tying? You didn't shut up about it for a week. Hello! Brooke has it for you!” He sighs. Scratches his arm. “I'll never get someone...” He trails off. “Shit.”

This is the first time I've heard him swear - ever.

“Don't you worry yourself about it. It won’t happen with me an’ Brooke.”

He lightens up a little. “Who needs girls, anyway?” He has a soft, tenor giggle.

We stop at my front gate and look up the road.

“Call me tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

He looks over at a building off the front driveway, “I, ah... you wanna?” He kicks his foot.

“Dude, I'm already late.”

“Please? I really don't want to wait ‘till I get home.”

“I’m beginning to think you like her.”

“I... um...” He looks down again. “Please?”

I shrug. Lead him to the storage shed. I wonder why I let him get the better of me sometimes.

The shed’s big enough for a small tractor and a riding mower. The place reeks to high heaven of gasoline. A ladder goes up to a small attic. After Jason and Ronnie met, they cleaned it up and got an old couch up there somehow. It was their clubhouse. They used to look at Playboys up there before they stopped being friends. It's too hot to hang out there during the day, and it's too cold in the winter. The fumes usually give me a headache after about ten minutes. Only time I come up here’s when Mattie gets an itch in his britches.

Mattie sits on the couch and starts pulling off his Ropers.

The only light in the attic’s from a digital clock with blue numbers. I sit on the floor, stare at the clock blankly, let the numbers blur out a little bit.

His pants and underwear hit the floor; he sits on the edge of the couch, leaning back with his feet on the floor. He spreads his knees apart, keeps his heels together.

His tool is warm. I flat-hand rub at first. Start at his balls and move up. I wrap my fingers around it.

He puts his feet on my shoulders, his knees are bent out like he's on his horse. I'm close enough I can smell his label; his musk and sweat - the salt of his skin. He grunts and squeaks every so often.

I swell up a bit myself, but my mind is somewhere else. I tug a bit faster.

Mattie starts pumping his hips.

I imagine myself pulling off Jeff. The glint in his eyes and the way the light falls against his jaw reminds me that I am wrapped around Matthew.

“Unnnnhh!” He gasps. “Unnn uhhhh uhhhhhhh mmmmmmmmmm...” His hips fly forward like a horse out of a chute. He breathes like a wild animal. Stop and squeeze. The pressure builds and he fires off. “Annnnnnnhhhhh!”

I feel the warmth land on the back of my hand. I stand up.

“Want me to do you?”

I look around and shake my head, “I have to get inside before I get in deep shit.”

He just sits there breathing hard, his arms across the back of the couch. There's a sad look in his eyes. I hate it when he looks at me like that.

“Mattie, no. I can't.” I start down the ladder.

“See you at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I'll ask my mom about Thursday.”

I know he's a bit happier when he says, “cool.”

I walk up the drive toward the house. The lights are still on in the basement, and the windows on dad's truck are still rolled down. He probably fell asleep in front of the TV again.

Something sticky on the back of my hand burns my insides like a wild fire. I smell it – this thick bleach. I stop and close my eyes; I see Jeff. I don't even know him, so why do I feel like I would do things with him? What's making me feel like this? Why?

I look at the stars and twirl in slow circles. I lick it off the back of my hand. All of it. For this minute, I feel Jeff on my tongue. Salty and spicy. Has a burn to it. I try my all to swallow it down, and it lurches down my throat — slowly. “Jeff.” My squeak barely makes it to my ears. “Jeff.”

I hear feet running off behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Matthew in the moonlight. My belly sinks to know that he might have heard me. I never swallowed Jeff's offerings. I've never even talked to Jeff. I've just swallowed Mattie's stuff. I just stand here, watch Mattie run home and wonder what the hell I’ve just done.

I go through the sliding door on the porch and close it quietly. I untie my Ropers and walk lightly through the house. I don't want to wake up Momma or any of the dogs. I make it to the bathroom and rinse my mouth out with Listerine, and I brush twice. I don't wash my hands.

I change into a tee-shirt and a pair of blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms. They're still too long for me, but it's my favorite thing to wear to bed. I go down to the basement. I block out the cedar by smelling Jeff. There is a nervous pit in my stomach, but it's not for talking to my parents. It feels like risk.

“Night, Momma.”

She has her hands over the back of her recliner. She wakes up, “I didn't even hear you come in. How was the horse?”

“Real beauty. Collin was leaving for the party when I got there, so I didn't much get to see it. I ran into Mattie on the way back, so we went over to his place for a while.”

“Oh.” She checks her watch, even though there's a time-telling piece on the VCR. “Guess I should be getting to bed. Will you help your brother load Boscoe into the trailer in the morning? They're leaving early.”

“Sure.”

“I'll wake you up at five, then.” She squints at me, “you feeling okay? Your eyes are glossy and your cheeks are flushed.”

“I'm fine. Got into a sneezing fit over at Mattie's. Think it's allergies.”

“There's some Clariton in my cupboard. I'll get you some tomorrow.”

“Oh, Momma?”

“Yeah?”

“Mattie was wondering if I could spend the night on Thursday since we don't have school on Friday.”

“If it's okay with his parents, I don't see why not.”

“Night, momma.”

She blows me a kiss. “Night, sweet pea.”

I go back to my room and get into bed. The wood floors are cold, and the spring breeze coming through the window feels good. After I turn off the lamp, my jammies end up around my ankles. I smell the back of my hand while I let my hand wander. My mind takes me on a ride.

“... Jeff!”

* * *

The trailer with Jason's horse is loaded. Jason walks around the barn getting his tack ready. Dad has been talking with him really close, and it makes me nervous.

I run back to the house. Momma's making an early breakfast before Dad and Jason head out. It's a treat when she makes muffins from scratch. I sit down at the table in front of my math book.

Mom looks at me. She’s sizzlin’ up ham steaks. “Your brother was three sheets to the wind when he came in last night. I'm surprised he didn't wake you up when he went to bed.”

“I was pretty out of it. Is that why Dad's been whispering in his ear all morning?”

“He's pretty mad at him.”

* * *

Someone brought a ghetto blaster to practice. It's sitting on the bench about three rows up from the chutes playing Garth Brooks. I've got a saddle on a training horse. A junior’s helping me get set up.

My spurs clank on the metal bleachers as I run up a few steps to get my gloves. I hop the back of the chute and sit on the edge while I wait for Coach. Mattie’s sitting with a small group of team ropers, waiting for the arena.

“Pony up, boy!” Coach cinches a rope.

I sit down in the saddle and tie my left hand off. The junior is holding the bridle while coach finishes tightening the flank rope. The horse tries to jump forward. I readjust, my hand is still snug. This horse won't jump too high unless I really piss him off.

Coach scratches his nose, and puts his hands on his hips. “Watch your shoulders, keep that hand up. This one's an honest bucker, but he likes to bail out. Watch him!”

I hold my right hand up and pull down a bit with my other. Lean back a bit. I nod at the guy holding the rope. “Go!”

He yanks the rope and the chute flies open. I get my points in just below the horse's neck, and he leaps almost straight up on his back legs. There's daylight between me and the saddle; I land it rough and hit my nuts hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I get in a kick under me. The horse makes small hops.

“Lean into him! Shoulders, dammit!”

I spot Jeff sitting on the edge of a chute. My body crumples forward and I let my legs down on the front haunches a bit. My hand comes loose and I roll off the business end of horse.

“That's a disqualification, Lem! God damn it – if you're gonna ride like a pussy I'm gonna stick you on a sheep!” Coach reminds me of that guy in Blazing Saddles for some reason - the one that said ‘what in the wide, wide world of sports is a-goin’ on here!?’ I half expect him to call someone a Kansas City faggot one of these times.

Jeff watches me run back to the chute. Our eyes meet as the 8 second buzzer rings behind me.

I sit up on the gate and try to catch my breath. “What the holy hell just happened?” Coach is in the run looking up at me.

“I Came... Came down square on my nuts.”

“Suck it up! Get your saddle and find an empty goddamned chute!” He walks off to see to another go round.

Jeff walks behind me and slaps me square in the back. “Breathe, kid!” He walks off, carries his tack to a chute with a training steer.

I climb down the back of the gate and run up behind him. He's half over the chute, wrapping the bull.

“Need help?” I almost choke when I say it.

He eyeballs me. “I can manage. This thing'd bend you in half.”

I nod blankly. “I'm, uh, Lem.”

I hold my hand out to him and he just stares at it. He flicks his hat brim and tugs the neck of his chest plate.

“Taylor!” Coach is leaning over a chute. “Get your goddamned ass to chute three!”

* * *

We’re at Mattie’s watchin’ movies in the basement. The new James Bond movie with Daniel Craig is on the satellite. It’s supposed to be Ronnie’s area, but he lets us come down here and hang out. It’s like he’s got his own little living room down here.

We stuffed ourselves to the gills on pizza and cookies a while ago, and the sugar slump’s startin’ to hit me hard.

Mattie and me are both dressed for bed. I’m in my pajamas, and he’s in what he normally wears to bed - which is next to nothing. When he’s at home, he usually runs around in his briefs and an undershirt.

His mom comes half way down the steps and stops. She's in her night gown. “You two gonna sleep down here?”

Mattie looks over and nods. “Yeah, mom.”

“Okay. Dad and I are going to bed.”

“Night.”

“You need anything, Lem?”

“No, ma'am. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, you two.” She turns around and heads back upstairs. I hear the door close behind her.

Matthew turns the volume down a few notches. He gets up to go take a piss.

I lay back and try not to doze off... close my eyes for a second... an explosion on TV... car tires screeching... music... gunfire… sleep tugging at me...

Mattie sits down close; it feels like he's leaning against me.

I open my eyes and look at him. “What's up?”

He shakes his head. We sit on the couch for a while. After a bit, he scratches his arm. “Let's do something.”

“Like what?”

He runs a finger under my waistband and tugs. Lets them snap back to my side. I stare at the TV, but I can feel him looking at me.

I'm not saying yes, I'm not saying no - and he knows it. I blink at him.

Guess that’s all the invitation he needs. He slides off the couch and gets on his knees, grabs my pajama bottoms at the waist and starts pulling. I lift my hips up a bit, but don't really help him. He takes his undies off. Sits on his sleeping bag. He pats a spot in front of him.

I stand up and take a step forward. He pulls my whities down and rubs me. I close my eyes and try to see Jeff. I bite my bottom lip, hear myself moan a little bit.

He leans back and pulls something out of his sleeping bag.

I sit, pull my knees to my chest.

He grabs my ankles and pulls my legs around his back, puts his legs over mine and wraps his legs around my back. We’re sitting with our butts together, hard as a set of rocks. He opens the bottle of lotion he was hiding, puts some on his palm.

It's cold when he puts his hand on me. Im a little disinclined, but I take the bottle from him. Monkey see, monkey do.

He grinds his junk against mine. Takes us both into his hand and squeezes.

I don’t want it to, but it feels good. I find myself wondering if Jeff's ever done this. What would this feel like doing this with him? My heart jumps again. I can only think about Jeff's strong hands - the mysterious way he looks out out from under his hat like a curious bird.

Matthew grits down and moans. He whispers in my ear. “Your turn.”

Cold air flows over my skin and gives me goosebumbs, but I feel heat from his body. I start pulling us slowly.

Mattie latches onto me, tucks his face into my neck. I feel his breath. “Don't stop, Lem. God, don't stop.” He inhales, bites my shoulder.

This is weird.

“Mattie...”

“Don't stop!” He hugs onto me even tighter, my hand jammed between us. I'm not even moving it — it's just his thrust.

I close my eyes and think of Jeff. The rubbing, his breath. I start countering his movement.

He puts his forehead against mine, pulls me by the back of my neck. “God!”

“Shhh!” I try to concentrate.

He bites my shoulder again and grabs my shirt with his teeth. “Uhhhhh.” He thrusts forward with every moan.

I think of Jeff, hear Mattie, Jeff, Mattie... He thrusts quicker, I go faster.

“Oh, God! Ohhhhhhh...” He sounds like he's crying.

I'm so close. I think of Mattie, hear Jeff. “Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh! Ahhhh! Ffff... God Fuck!”

Matthew pushes me over and gets on top of me, grinds his crotch into mine like he’s fuckin’ a chick. We're both going now, just mashin’ it together - it's almost too much.

I put my hands on his butt and pull down on him. He cums just a little bit before I do. I feel warm and throbbing. I feel Jeff breathing into my neck. My ears are ringing, eyes watering. I stare at the ceiling.

Another explosion.

A car chase. Someone got shot with a silencer. Aston Martin.

The ceiling.

Ringing. Breathing. Heart Beating — the both of us. Weight on my chest. Sticky. Sweaty. Breathing harder. Jeff on me.

Matthew pushes himself up on his arms and looks down into my eyes, strawberry blond matted against his head.

I'm crushed. I feel like I'm staring right through him.

Jesus Christ, Jeff - what’re you doin’ to me?