The Charging Bull

The bull crashes down the hallway of my house, sending my glass swan figurines off their shelves and to the ground in trampled pieces. It smashes through the wall— launching white plaster and dust into the air. Through the white haze, it pierces me with its long, curling horns; that’s when I wake up.

The first night I dreamt of the bull, I was disturbed and only mildly upset. I rolled over in the bed I’ve slept on since I was twelve, fluffed my old pillow, and went back to sleep. The next night, the dream was more vivid. I felt the ground shaking and could smell the dry wall as it burst into the air. It was harder to fall back asleep that time. The nights after that, it kept getting worse. It started to feel more real. I could see how the muscles moved under the bull’s black, shiny coat. I could feel the dust sticking to my throat, making it hard to breathe, and I could feel the quick shots of breath from the bull’s nostrils, a rhythm of hatred. And when it gorged into me—I felt that, too. That was the first time my screams woke up my roommate, Anna.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked. It was two in the morning, and I was covered in sweat, trying to catch my breath. She flicked on the lights. A can of pepper spray was clutched in her hand.

I couldn’t get enough air to speak. I could only look at her paled complexion and wide, brown eyes.

“Kirsten, what is it?” Anna demanded.

“I— I,” I stopped to attempt to gulp in some more air, “had a…night… bad dream.”

Anna and I were best friends since kindergarten. We were now twenty-five and freshly moved out of our parents’ houses. From all of our years together, she never saw me the way I was then. She let her words linger in her mouth before speaking, “Like, a night terror or something?” Her pepper-spray lowered. She shifted her weight to her side as she aggressively raked her fingers through her poofy hair. “I just fell asleep, too,” she grumbled under her breath.

“I don’t know,” I said. I wiped my hand across my forehead to gawk at how much sweat I collected. My bangs were sticking to me and so was the hair on the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. I know you have that job interview in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Anna said. “What did you dream about? Can you talk about it?”

“There’s this bull,” I said. “And it’s in the apartment, and it stabs me.”

Anna knitted her eyebrows together and marched over to claim the corner of my mattress. It even creaked under her thin frame. “A bull?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never dreamed about a bull.”

“I know,” I said. My heartrate finally started to slow, and the frantic beating of it stopped hurting my chest.

“Why would you dream about a frickin’ bull?”

Her question humiliated me. “It’s just stupid, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

“Kinda seems like it is. You were screaming.”

I waved my hand to dismiss her. “It’s fine.” I shut my eyes tight. “Fine.”

The next nights were like that one, but the conversations changed. “The bull again?” Anna would say, and I would simply nod. After a week, Anna stopped coming into my room. She offered to let me sleep with her, but I declined. I tried sleeping on the couch. I tried meditating, yoga, candles with essential oils— all the sage and lavender in the world wouldn’t make the bull stop.

***

“Still having nightmares, huh?” Rachel asked. She adjusted her headset and glanced at the screen. We had no customers in the drive-thru. We were at our routine slow point in the afternoon when no one wants fried chicken. Dave, the manager, was fine with us resting for a bit. However, the slow bliss only lasted about an hour before the dinner rush.

“How’d you know?” I asked.

“You need to apply more concealer.”

Immediately, I opened my phone’s camera app to check my reflection. I had rings under my swollen eyes. My complexion was dull. “I look like shit,” I said. Rachel said nothing, and the lack of the polite denial of the truth stung even more. I really did look like shit.

“Did you have nightmares when you lived with your mom and dad?” Rachel asked.

“No,” I said.

Rachel fidgeted again with her headset. “My psychology professor would say some Freudian shit. Like, the bull stabbing you is some metaphor for a dick.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” I said.

Rachel shrugged. “Didn’t you go to college, too?”

I looked at Rachel. She was the picture of a young, happy college student with big dreams. She was enjoying some independence by changing her hair color every week, filling her face with piercings, and saving up for a tattoo. She was a business major and believed life would come together. I used to think that, too. I never dreamed I’d be eking out a living selling grease. “Yeah, I went to college.”

“Graduate?” Rachel asked.

“I did. Got a degree in music education.”

“Then why are you full-time at this place?”

“Cause I can only get substitute teaching gigs,” I said.

Rachel began texting, but she continued to chat. “I didn’t know you subbed.”

“Well, I haven’t lately.” Then, I felt worse about myself.

Rachel grinned down at her screen and texted with more enthusiasm before glancing at me. “Gave up, huh? I’d never give up my dreams. It’s fine though. You must love it here.”

There were a lot of words I wanted to say to Rachel, but I knew I couldn’t say one of them without either crying or yelling. So, I forced a smile and said I needed to use the restroom. And while I walked down the sticky hallway, inhaling the greasy air from the nearby kitchen, I told myself that life just hadn’t kicked her down yet.

The truth was, I was trying to make a change. I wanted things to be different. I didn’t want to be taking orders about spicy or regular chicken till I finally died. Moving out was the first step, and I was job hunting like Anna. But even though I really wanted things to get better— I wanted to teach music to children— I was hesitant. I was off a few beats, and it was ruining my life’s song. The problem was I couldn’t find what notes I was missing.

***

“Do you wanna try binging on Disney tonight to purge the bull?” Anna asked. “We haven’t tried an old-fashioned Disney princess marathon.”

I slumped more on the couch. I had just showered after work and still somehow smelled like a chicken sandwich. Disney. More dreams and working hard and actually achieving success. “Not tonight.”

“More murder mystery then?”

I could enjoy that. Murder mysteries always involved people’s plans getting destroyed. “I’m up for that.”

Anna rested her ramen bowl on the coffee table her mom donated to us to grab the remote. Soon, I was listening to a narrator describe the seemingly perfect life of the episode’s victim. Anna finished her dinner and scrolled on her phone. I sometimes think Anna would rather watch something else, but she never complains.

“There’s a position open at a private school. They’re looking for a teaching assistant for special needs music class,” Anna said. She looked at me and grinned.

“No,” I said without thinking.

“Why not? A lot of private schools have deep pockets. You’d be helping with music.”

“It’s special education music. I’m not trained in that. And it’s just an assistant.” I focused on the television screen, hoping something exciting would happen to change the subject. “Totally think the nanny is the killer,” I said.

Anna paused the show. “What, you think you’re gonna get this perfect job the first time?”

Did she really just go there? “Oh yeah,” I started with a sarcastic tone. “I only look for awesome jobs. That’s why I work at fast food and risk getting another burn.”

“Obviously, there’s no room to grow there, Kirsten. You can keep hiding behind your shitty luck excuse.”

“You know how hard I tried!” I felt tears sting my eyes.

“Try some more. Just apply for the special ed. job! What have you got to lose?”

“I know I won’t get it anyway! Why set myself up for heartbreak? I clearly need more education that I can’t afford and more experience that I can’t get.”

“I think you’re scared,” Anna said. “You know that this,” she gestured around the humble little apartment, “isn’t working. This can’t last forever.”

Now, I really wanted to cry. I could feel the emotion clawing at my throat. “I know things have to change! Do you think I’m delusional?”

“Then start changing.”

“I’m going to bed,” I snapped.

A mix of regret, pity, and frustration twisted up Anna’s face. She sighed and threw her hands up in the air. “Fine! Sleep. I hope you don’t dream about that damn bull!”

***

I sprawled out on my bed and debated whether or not I wanted to text my dad. I knew if I did, he’d say I could come back home until I found a better job or a husband, and going back home sounded really tempting, especially with Anna’s moody behavior. But I promised her, back when we agreed to try to live on our own, I wouldn’t go back home. While my parents are amazing, her mom and stepdad aren’t so nice. Anna was fighting to make a better life. Why wasn’t I fighting anymore? Could I really say I was trying? Anna made good points— not that I could admit that to her...yet.

What was wrong? My stomach twisted into knots. I closed my eyes and saw the bull rush by, knocking over my favorite glass swan from the shelf. I hated to see it breaking to pieces. Swans make such stunning transformations. They start out fuzzy and awkward and change into the essence of grace. Could I ever change? My stomach knotted more. That’s when it hit me.

The problem was the anxiety; the fear of things changing. I was comfortable with my identity as a college graduate and nothing more. I didn’t have a chance to fail yet or to take a gamble on living completely independently. Safety nets were my haven. I spent my life building my castle to protect me, like a flower kept in a kitchen window, away from the real elements, and too weak to stand in the wind, pelted down by the rain that nurtures roots. I knew things needed to change, and that change was rushing me like a bull, tearing down what I built; so, maybe I could build something new, something better?

There was my old bed with the faded comforter and shams. There was the same old lamp I brought from my childhood bedroom. It was time to really move on. I could say I wanted to. I always said I could, but I was scared of what that meant. I didn’t have some prince charming to take me to my new castle. I was left to build one myself, and I needed to find out what my foundation would be.

Change is terrifying but letting my life rot in a crumbling foundation is far worse. That’s where haunted houses come from. It was time to move on.

The bull charging at me was the inevitable change coming into my life, and I couldn’t just stand there anymore. I needed to take control and respond.

I opened my bedroom door and marched back into the living room. “Anna, I’m sorry. Send me the job link. I’m applying right now.” And I did apply. Then, the bull was gone.