Sitting Bull

At first, he couldn't even find the anger. The artistry of Leanne's vengeance had summoned his admiration and curiosity long before rage could've hoped to garner an invite. When the fury finally arrived, like a searing bite of delayed after taste, he had already swallowed his pride. She had him in checkmate. "You did this on purpose," said Everett, struggling to conceal the tremble in his voice.

No longer possessed by the innocence implied in her angelic face, Everett's persistent suspicion of his ex-wife accompanied their every interaction. Tucked behind her beautiful features was a swarming hive of malicious intentions – the divorce had shown him that. He waited for a tell, some indication that she was content with her handiwork, but her face remained impassive. "Why," asked Leanne, "why would I do this on purpose?"

"I dunno. To get back at me? You're trying to turn him against me," said Everett.

"No," said LeAnn, lowering her volume to a whisper, "Trey picked the toy all by himself. You can try and take it away from him, and he cries like a buzzard for an hour. He's glued to the damn thing."

Barely out of earshot, Everett and Leanne's son adventurously wobbled across the lawn with the controversial toy in tow. The presence of the toddler prompted both parties to restrain their palpable frustration. Serving as the central argument in their custody dispute, Everett's temper, typically begat by the bottle, had robbed him of seeing Trey for the better part of a year. For the last 10 months, Everett trotted behind every carrot the court dangled in front of him. Finally having Trey at his apartment prompted Everett to employ his newly acquired prudence. He had worked too hard to fail now.

"I ain't seen hair or hide of that thing in any of our FaceTimes," said Everett, "when did you go to the toy store? This morning?"

Guiding stray ginger tresses behind her ear, Leanne's eyes beamed with a farrago of empathy and regret. "Listen, yes, you piss me off most days that end in a y," said Leanne, slipping a glance at Everett's wheelchair, "but I would never make fun of your accident."

There was still a surreal element to Everett's confinement in the chair. She never felt comfortable looking down on him. Watching her formerly towering lover sit at eye level with her torso hurt her more than seeing the accident that put him there. Before the bitterness chewed through his heart, the accident scarcely changed Everett. The months after, however, confirmed what Leanne already knew. The physical inversion of perspective- having to look up at the world that used to adore him- crippled him worse than the fall. "C'mon, Ever, how cruel do you think I am?" asked Leanne.

"I pray to God that was supposed to be rhetorical," said Everett.

"I know you're mad, so I'm gonna let that slide. I'm trying to do you a favor here."

Everett's prudence began to buckle. "A favor?"

"Yes," said Leann, "unsupervised visits are not mandatory at all. You just seemed like you were getting your shit together, and I- -"

"You honestly think you're doing me a favor?"

"Well, genius, you tell me what I'm doing then."

Everett looked at his ex-wife, seductively spilling out of a dress, her face enveloped in glamor, and saw red. His prudence had snapped in two. "Judging by that little red dress you got there, the question is 'who are you doing?'

"What?"

"I could smell that LoveSpell crap that you pour on when you wanna impress people the second you walked outta the car. Jesus didn't turn your heart and make you think of me. You met a guy, made a date, and you're using me as the babysitter."

●●●

Trey's cries only enhanced the cacophonous drama of Leanne's exit. Punctuating the cursing and insults with a time, Leanne angrily promised to return by 12:00pm tomorrow. Everett knew she would mention his outburst to the courts. He stared at his weeping progeny, fully aware that this could be Trey's last visit for months. Doing his best to avoid looking at the toy, Everett escorted his son into the apartment.

When the wails and sobs grew tired of marauding through Everett's apartment, they retired to their home inside Trey's mouth. As the silence slowly returned, the uncomfortable tension, spurned by a mutual lack of familiarity, thickened around father and son like kneaded yeast. Trey's hypnotic gaze, possessing a sparkle both inquisitive and serene, fell upon his father. Consuming every piece of literature he could find on toddlers in preparation for Trey's arrival, Everett's skin grew hot from his son's intense focus. At this age, Trey was beginning to develop what would be his most foundational memories. Presumably, Trey's recent set of memories of his father were indistinct impressions of dread. A swirling array of disjointed flashes of his parents screaming at each other. Everett wanted to change that. He started to roll towards his son as Trey reflexively tightened his grip on the stuffed toy bull. Everett winced as he collided with the invisible wall of grief that shot up between himself and the toddler.

●●●

The bull was begging to be broken. Sitting atop the leathery hillock of muscles and instinct, Everett could feel the resistance coursing through the beast beneath him. The animal was inconsequential- they were all the same. Retaining his throne at the apex of professional bull riding was the only challenge he sought. The years afforded Everett a communion with bulls. As soon as his teammates plopped him on one's taut back, Everett could predict, almost to the second, how long his ride would last. He knew how quickly he would break a previous rider's record. That was how he broke the bull. "You ready?" asked the coach.

"Let the sonuvabitch run, and I reckon we'll find," said Everett.

Loosening in tandem with Everett's body, the gate's lock slowly inched open. Evaporating in the haze of his concentration, the thousands of occupants inside the stadium were reduced to four: the bull, himself, Leanne, and the wisp of life growing in her belly. With a snap, the door slid open, and the beast hurtled beyond the gate. From the first jerky buck the bull gave him, Everett knew something was off. Jolts of pain had never overpowered the adrenaline before. The serenity was gone; the control was gone. His legs slipping from their position was the last thing he ever felt them do.

●●●

Leanne was right. Trey did carry the toy bull everywhere. Whenever he approached his son, Everett would spy the stuffed bull and retreat. Ensuring himself that cowardice wasn't to blame, branding his avoidance as restraint, Everett watched his son frolic from afar. Ten tedious months of classes and mantras had earned Everett an audience with his son, and the damned toy bull and Leanne's “vengeance” placed Trey impossibly out of reach.

Peacefully sprawled across the couch, Trey, like most toddlers, was contorted and frozen in the final position of his play before sleep took its hold. Enraptured by the milk-drunk cherub on his couch, Everett wished he could always watch Trey sleep. Had the marionette strings of rage attached to his fractured ego been severed with his spine, he might have been able to. Casting his eye towards the clock, Everett realized an hour had elapsed. "Shit," said Everett, "it's already 2:00 am?"

The entire day had been trampled by the toy bull. By noon tomorrow, Leanne would cart Trey off to the land of "maybe." The dreaded void of "maybe next week," or, "maybe we can revise the visitations."

Trey would be shielded behind a phalanx of ephemeral promises and false hopes for the next few months, as the widening chasm between father and son would continue to broaden. Everett rolled closer to his sleeping child. If this was all the time he was allowed, he wanted to put it to use. Gently repositioning his son supine allowed Everett to see the bull. Trey's body had obscured the toy from his vision. Yanked backward by the marionette strings, the invisible wall shot up from the ground again. The bull, closer to his son than he'd ever been, was mocking him. Tears streamed down Everett's face as phantom pain bolted through his useless limbs. The bull was calling him useless. The bull was begging to be broken.

●●●

Piercing the sanctity of his dreamless sleep, the toddler's screeching howl ushered Everett back to reality. Fearing the worst, he hurled himself onto his chair and rocketed into the living room. With his face locked in despair, Trey's mouth hung agape, producing an inaudible shriek. Once his tiny lungs had been refilled, the discordant scream resumed. "Did you have a nightmare, little buddy?" asked Everett.

Leisurely scanning the room caused Everett to remember what he had done. Strewn across the carpet were scattered flecks of stuffing and the severed remnants of the toy bull. Struck by the same irrationality governing his son, Everett lunged for the toy's carcass in a futile attempt to conceal the fruits of his deed. Unfazed by the virtual stranger crashing to the floor in front of him, Trey continued to mourn. Glancing upwards at his son, Everett was overcome by shame. Even his own son was looking down on him. Gathering the largest chunks of the toy, Everett began to crawl towards his wheelchair as the phone started to ring. "Damn it all," he shouted, "not now. Please, God, not now."

"Hey, what's up?" asked Leanne.

"Huh, oh, uh, nothing really. What's up with you?"

"Nothing really. I just - - is that Trey in the background?"

Everett braced himself and answered honestly. "Yeah, he's been crying all morning."

"Awww, he misses his mommy, huh? Well, anyway, that's why I called. The date was a bust. I'm gonna be there a little early. Is that cool?"

Once he hung up the phone, Everett had to spring into action. He needed Trey needed to exhibit at least a trace amount of contentment when Leanne arrived. He would concoct an alibi on the fly.

A parade of images rapidly burst and dissolved on the television screen as Everett searched for any cartoon to pacify his son. Reduced to gasping, raspy cries, Trey continued his impromptu funeral song. "C'mon, there has to be something on here you like," said Everett.

Attempting to coax his son into laughter, Everett disingenuously hurled his head back in faux glee hoping Trey would mimic his demeanor towards the cartoons. Circling the children's channels four times over, Everett ventured into the sports section. "Baseball," said Everett, "what about baseball?"

Absently screening for interest in his son's face during his mindless clicking, Everett turned to face the television again. Whether through fate or divine punishment, brought on by his petulant display of the previous evening, Everett found himself watching a bull riding competition. The marionette strings pulled at his psyche once again. "Is this it?" asked Everette. "Will this make you happy?"

Through painstaking effort, Everett had endeavored to avoid his former profession. He hadn't watched a single event since Trey was born. "You love bulls, right," said Everett, "well, here they are!" Tears streamed down Everett's face as phantom pain bolted through his useless limbs. The bulls were calling him useless. Hovering over the remote, Everett's hand was intercepted by Trey's tiny fingers. Casting his gaze to the right, a completely placid Trey gave Everett a soulful glare. Motioning for an embrace, Trey inched himself into his father's lap as Everett's phantom pain began to fade.

●●●

"See, his technique is all wrong," said Everett as Leanne walked in the door. "You always want to let the bull take you where it wants to go."

Choosing to remain silent for a little while, she watched Trey sit on the couch and look up at his father. For the first time in years, Everett seemed gigantic again.