Bros and Bulls

Johnny was frequently asked by potential employers, friends, and strangers about his sudden career shift in his mid-twenties. To this question, he usually just smiled and politely answered that he was making too much money at his old job. However, the more complex story of his decision to leave his home state of New York and move west was not one he shared with more than a few eager ears.

…

“Do you even have to try?” The waitress served Alisha another fresh IPA with an orange peel straddling the edge of the glass.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” Johnny pointed at his own glass, almost empty now, and then held up a finger to the waitress, signaling that he was ready for another milk stout.

The grin Johnny wore childishly on his square face told Alisha that he knew exactly what she was referring to, but she entertained him nonetheless.

“These women, do you, like, hand them a resume, or just flex your pectoral muscles before they invite you for drinks at their apartment?”

Johnny let out a small laugh that took form as a sharp grunt.

“What, you don’t think it’s my irresistible charm that gets me laid?”

“I have my suspicions.” Alisha smiled in that way that gave Johnny a soft shock to his abdomen.

When the waitress set his matte black drink on the small table in between him and Alisha, he announced, “Alright, this is our last drink, I need to eat something. These people at the firm seem to think that salads pass for actual food.”

About halfway through his 16-ounce pour, he waved over the waitress and politely asked for the check.

“I never see you go out with the guys anymore. What’s wrong with hanging out with people exactly like you?” Alisha looked at him as if trying to answer her question by studying his smile.

“The bullpen boys? I see them enough. You can only spend so much time with less handsome and intelligent versions of yourself.”

Alisha giggled. Johnny didn’t want to admit to himself or anyone else that he had caught feelings for a friend, especially one that knew so much about his life, but her laugh gave him a feeling that only being around Alisha summoned. He had been in a relationship with someone like Alisha before, and she had caused him to experience emotions that he would rather leave entirely in the past. But sometimes when he was with Alisha, he let his mind wander to a remote place where he owned a few acres on a lake, and made her french toast with bacon on the side each morning.

He was experiencing one of these moments when the cute waitress brought back the black leather folder with their bill inside.

Alisha reached for the check, but Johnny warded her hand away with his own robust fingers.

“Come on. Maybe when you find a job that doesn’t pay you in ‘experience,’” he gave her a couple of quotation marks with his fingers, “then I’ll let you buy.”

“Hey! They actually pay me money now, although it’s only good towards Park Place and a few other valuable properties as well.”

After walking out into the moist ninety-degree New York atmosphere, he looked at her and smiled mischievously.

“What train do you take again? Or do you need to catch a plane back up to Washington Heights? I can’t remember. Although I hear the Southwest peanuts taste better than the United ones if you’re looking for a flight.” Johnny frequently poked fun at Alisha’s apartment; she could hardly afford to live anywhere south of 125th St with her entry-level nursing job.

“Ha-ha. You can walk me to the 1 Train if you are feeling like a gentleman.” She held a finger up to her lips, and whispered, “I won’t tell anyone the truth.”

In reality, Johnny knew exactly which train she took - she lived 37 stops from the Rector Street station in Lower Manhattan - although he had never made the journey himself. He had never received an invite, as their relationship mostly started and ended with happy hour, but sometimes included late night text sessions that kept Johnny up long after she had fallen asleep.

They walked up Broadway, past the Charging Bull statue, and then turned left onto Rector Street. Once he had given her a robust hug at the station steps, he looked down at his phone to order a car back to his one-bedroom apartment in Tribeca.

The black Honda Civic pulled up a couple of minutes later, and Johnny got in the back of the car. It wasn’t a long trip back to his apartment, but he spent much of the ride letting his mind wander off to Montana.

…

Johnny thought that New York City had a quite humorous way of funneling its inhabitants into certain stereotypes. Many financiers and bankers found that the convenience and entertainment included in their paycheck made their lifestyles ripe for parties, pleasure, and entertainment. A large portion of artists in Williamsburg living off of their parent’s paychecks wore thick mustaches and round glasses, and sometimes boasted surprisingly large biceps.

Instead of being the exception to his own rule, Johnny leaned into the lifestyle handed to a successful and masculine New York resident like himself, but over time he began to realize that Alisha’s life also took the form of her own professional occupation. As the summer began to show hints of autumn, Alisha’s life became more focused on church and brunch with her new friends, and less on drinking IPAs with Johnny. Johnny tried to tell himself that her less frequent presence in his life was just a phase, but he wondered if their lives would ever align in a way that would see them spending time together every week again.

As the temperatures started to drop, Johnny savored his weekends drinking at rooftop bars and spending days at the beach. The fall moved his activities indoors, but his lifestyle was hardly affected enough for him to notice much of a change.

December brought a bit of depression to Johnny’s life, but also awarded opportunities for sleep-deprived, drug-infused weekends at ski resorts with his friend Marcus from the bullpen at their firm. The days they spent gliding down the mountains in upstate New York brought Johnny some peace during the weekends, but Marcus often complained about the conditions and protested the lack of what he called “powder days.” While Johnny didn’t know any different, Marcus had spent many days during his formative years skiing at resorts revered by professional and amateur skiers seeking fluffier snow. Marcus bragged for months about west coast skiing, specifically in Wyoming, where his parents had taken him at least once a year during his childhood.

“It’s just not the same. What’s the point of shredding this pathetic excuse for snow? Like they use snow sprinklers just to keep a layer of the white stuff on top of the rocks.”

“Fine, let’s do it then.”

Marcus looked curiously at Johnny, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Jackson Hole, let’s go. If it means you’ll stop whining every time you’re driving up to Hunter, then let’s go.”

Marcus let his mouth spread until it was almost touching his ears. “Yeah? Okay, uh, let’s go the weekend after next. Got a cutie lined up for ice skating next Saturday.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that ‘cause it’s super lame and not true, but if you send me the flight I’ll book my ticket.”

…

They planned to stay at a little bed and breakfast inside the town of Jackson. Their itinerary included two days of skiing at Jackson Hole starting on Saturday morning, and so almost as soon as they stepped off the jet bridge in Jackson, they started brainstorming ways to make that Friday night memorable before hitting the slopes in the morning. 

As they made their way through the airport, advertisements boasted the thrills of Jackson and the wider northwest Wyoming region.

“Dude, check this out. Perfect. Done. Let’s go.” Marcus was pointed at a poster in the hallway leading to baggage claim. There was a massive picture of a man in a cowboy hat riding a bull with its hind legs kicked up above its head.

“Uh, you can go. I’m going to see what’s up with the ladies in town.”

“Here’s how I see it.” Marcus started reasoning with Johnny, who was admittedly rather headstrong. “If we go to this rodeo thing tonight, we’ll have a good time and see some cowboys, but more importantly, there will be an abundance of beautiful country women in attendance dying to meet a couple of handsome city boys.”

“Well, I guess they will be sorely disappointed when they meet you.”

“Ha-ha. I’m going, and I assume you’re coming with.”

Despite his joking, the latter point of Marcus’ argument was enough for Johnny to reserve two tickets on his phone before the luggage carousel started moving. At 6:00 pm, once they had put on their skinny jeans and winter jackets, they ordered a car to drive them to the rodeo.

Once inside, Johnny shot Marcus a spiteful look, pinching his nose; the smell of hay and animal dung saturated the air inside the building.

They found their seats near the bottom of the arena, where Johnny turned his head and scouted the scene.

“Bro, all the cute girls are in the nosebleeds, why did we pay a hundred bucks for, like, the best seats in the house?”

“Come on. Rodeo first, then we’ll party with the cute ones. Plus, we might not be able to see them from down here, but they can certainly see us from up there.”

The first real event, following a man in a cowboy hat and some boots singing the national anthem in a deep country tone, was the bucking, which entailed various men and women dressed in flannels and blue jeans trying their best to stay mounted on the back of a bull bulging with muscles.

“That thing is an absolute unit.” Johnny was impressed by the size of the animal, and his attention was finally sparked a bit.

The bull had tremendous strength and tenacity, unwilling to yield to each rider. Every time a new cowboy or cowgirl mounted the aggressive beast, they were unable to stay seated for longer than 45 seconds. When the rider was inevitably bucked from the bull’s back, a group of what Johnny called “second-string cowboys” hurried out from the side of the arena and protected the bull rider from being trampled.

Marcus explained that these bulls were bred and raised for aggression, and it was certainly apparent in this one’s cartoonishly violent behavior. Johnny rooted for the bull and admitted to himself that the rodeo wasn’t the worst way to spend a Friday night.

After six or seven different people had mounted and been ejected from the bull’s back, an unwelcome sadness began to tug at Johnny. This animal was clearly stronger than those who made its masculinity and aggressive nature a sport, but was nonetheless trapped inside of a game by its owners. When his time of relative glory was over and he reached an age where he was retired, Johnny imagined he was sent back to the ranch to eat grass and complete his short life.

Johnny’s focus on a cowgirl being tossed by the beast was interrupted by his phone buzzing against his muscular thigh. He pulled his phone out of his tight jeans pocket and pressed the home button. It was a text from his boss, who was apparently working late inside his mahogany-filled office, right outside the bullpen where Johnny’s desk sat vacant.