Honk, honk.
“Malik,” his mom shouted, “get out there and tell Ronnie that he doesn’t need to lay on that horn.”
Malik opened the door and saw Ronnie impatiently waiting in his car.
“Hurry up, dude!” Ronnie shouted.
“Just give me a minute,” Malik called as he quickly ducked back into the house. He grabbed his cowboy boots. He’d gotten them from an up-and-comer in the music scene while visiting a buddy in Nashville. There were few occasions in Atlanta for a black man to wear cowboy boots, so Malik jumped at any opportunity to strut around in them. Ronnie was plugged into the agriculture community. He said there would be a rodeo for the migrant workers. Malik wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew this was an opportunity to rock his boots.
Malik came out of the house and jumped into the white Silverado, instead of the two-door sports car he’d been expecting. Ronnie was a big dude. He had the build of a farmer and a buzz cut. His family came here to work the farms, but Ronnie had the opportunity to study finance. His grandpa still had a large crew of workers he contracted out to different farms. Ronnie helped Pop with the back office work.
“Your grandpop let you drive his truck?” Malik asked.
“I can’t pull up to a rodeo in my car. Plus, we’re going to need four-wheel drive where we’re going.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see,” Ronnie said. His smile was sly.
This was Malik’s first rodeo. Trying to manage his expectations, he spent last night watching rodeo videos online. He kept prodding Ronnie with questions, “So what are we talking about here? Barrel racing? Pole bending? Bull riding? That mutton-busting thing where a kid rides a sheep?”
“I said you’ll see,” was all Ronnie would give him. They drove for so long, Malik fell asleep. He jumped awake when the truck hit a large pothole, and he banged his head against the passenger side window. He peered out the window. It was pitch black except for the full moon that illuminated the trees. But something was different. Malik wasn’t seeing the Georgia pines he had grown accustomed to seeing when traveling outside the perimeter. He saw fields of banana plants with bright blue bags covering the large bunches of bananas.
“Where are we?” Malik asked.
“We’re here,” Ronnie said as he pointed to an arena built in a field. Ronnie parked, and they joined the people making their way to the stadium. Malik heard the cheers getting louder as they approached.
The scene in the arena was not what Malik expected. A few dozen spectators in plainclothes were standing inside the arena. Nothing seemed to be happening though.
“What’s going on?” Malik asked.
“Just wait for it.” Ronnie leaned forward.
Malik turned back to see that someone opened a gate where someone was attempting to ride a bull. The rider lasted for approximately three seconds. Once the bull successfully bucked the rider, he turned his attention to the other people in the ring. The bull chased the people around the circle. Some participants quickly climbed up the arena walls, barely missed by the horns. The brave ones side-stepped the bull’s horns and tried to slap the bull on the forehead. Every time someone successfully touched the bull behind the horns, the crowd roared with cheers. This went on until the bull became tired or bored, then the next bull and rider came out.
“I’ve got a buddy from San Jose. He’s always told me that I needed to see how the Costa Rican Ticos do rodeos,” Ronnie said as he nudged Malik with his elbow. “How wild, right? I’ll be right back. I’m going to buy us a couple of beers. Maybe if we drink enough, we’ll have the liquid courage to jump in the ring.”
“I doubt that,” Malik shouted as Ronnie disappeared into the crowd.
Malik stood in the stands and watched as bull after bull tossed a rider and chased the crowd. When a lucky soul or two touched the bull, the spectators would go nuts.
A couple was standing next to him. The husband was more than a few drinks in, and his buddies were tugging on his arm, trying to get him to jump in the arena. The wife leaned toward Malik, pointing to the arena as she talked as if trying to explain things to him. Malik couldn’t understand a word the woman was saying, but he smiled back at her anyway.
Several bulls had come and gone, and Malik licked his lips. He realized that Ronnie hadn’t come back with his beer. Malik reached for his phone; it didn’t have a signal. Maybe there’s a long line at the concession stand. Malik left the stands to find the closest concession stand.
The area under the stands was empty. There wasn’t a soul. No vendors, no Ronnie, not even a sign that the arena was even open. Plastic tarps and clothes were covering the ice chests next to the concession stand booth.
“What the…” Malik said. He listened for the crowd, and even they had gone silent. He went back out toward the arena. Everyone was lying on the ground, motionless. A bull walked around, sniffing at the bodies on the floor. It appeared to be confused. Malik turned his sights to the spectators in the crowd. All were lying down, motionless. Malik looked back at the couple he’d been standing next to. The woman had vanished, but her husband was lying there. He was now dramatically thinner. Dark lesions started to appear on him, covering his exposed skin in a matter of seconds. Malik instinctively touched his mask and backed up as he saw that the lesions were spreading to everyone now lying in the stands.
Suddenly, Ronnie walked up with two beers. He handed one to Malik and sat down nearby in the stands as if nothing had changed and the rodeo was still happening. However, Ronnie’s muscular frame was now frail. He too was covered in lesions, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I like your buddy. That man’s a fighter.” Malik turned around and saw a thin man with a thick mustache wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a cowboy hat.
“Who are you?” asked Malik.
“I’m just a cowboy. But that lady,” the cowboy pointed across the arena, “she calls me a goddamned hero.”
Malik looked across the arena. Standing on the opposite side and glowing was the woman with long, curly, light brown hair. “Evelyn,” Malik whispered. This is a dream.
The cowboy continued, “Let me tell you something though. If those assholes aren’t gonna help you, then you do it your damned self. Do you understand me? To hell with ‘em.”
Malik eyed the man, letting his words sink in. The next thing he knew, they were both standing behind a concession stand. Now a thick crowd surrounded the concession stand like it was halftime at a football game.
“Step right up, step right up,” the man was shouting as he waved his hands in the air. “I’ve got what you need.” The cowboy had metal shakers and was mixing drinks like a bartender. He poured the cocktails in various glasses laid out on the table in front of them.
The man glanced at Malik and said, “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do sometimes, kid.” Then the cowboy handed people the glasses. As soon as they threw back the cocktails, their dark lesions vanished, and they regained their weight and color in their skin.
Then the man grabbed the neck of Malik’s shirt and jerked Malik within inches of his face. The man twisted the shirt with a solid grip, and with one hand, he lifted Malik off the ground. The cowboy stared at Malik. “Do you have what it takes to go all the way, kid?” Then he threw Malik backward. Malik closed his eyes and braced for impact…
He woke up in his bed.