Carma's Corner: Three Seconds

It’s no secret. I love words. I like stringing words together and rearranging them to create stories where the characters’ fate is solely dependent on my imagination and use of words. For the next few columns, I have decided to take a little detour from the usual “Carma’s Corner” and share one of my creative narratives. The following narrative is one of my favorites, and I hope it’s as enjoyable to read as it was to write. The story and characters are fictitious and merely a product of the imagination.

Three Seconds

Bright overhead lights shine down; people in uniform bustle around the elevated bed; needles are shoved into available veins; neck is placed in a brace and strapped to the bed; whispers are heard outside the curtained doorway; alarms and buzzers sound together in a coarse rhythmic tune. Commotion, noise, and physical pain fill this world, a world that will become all too familiar to Nathan Hendricks.

“Fracture in neck…extent of damage unknown…future uncertain…” These words echo and fade in Nathan’s head as he rallies between reality and the world of the unknown. The world of the unknown is silent, painless, and dark, but this serenity is occasionally dissolved into the chaos of reality, a life where Nathan would have to fight only to survive.

Fight has always been part of Nathan’s life; it isn’t that he struggled with delinquency; it isn’t that he didn’t get along with others, and it isn’t that trouble always found him. The truth is Nathan diligently searched for the greatest fight, the fight of a dirt snorting, hoof pounding bull. The larger, the angrier, and the wilder the beast, the more Nathan loved it. But did his passion drive him to hold on a few seconds too long, one too many times, or will his passion precisely be the antidote in his impending fight for life?

****
“All right, Nate, your score is sitting in the 60s” dad said. “Do you think you can give us another strong ride?”

“I will, dad, I will,” Nathan said. It was a bright, brisk October Saturday, a day where the wind nipped at the skin, the sun gave enough heat to bring sweat to the brow, and the air tenaciously held on to the lingering smells of summer. Nathan loved these fall days; he lived for these days. It wasn’t so much that he liked the season of fall as it always marked the beginning of classes, homework, and countless activities associated with school. But fall also brought the rodeo, and that was what Nathan lived for.

He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t part of the rodeo. He recalled countless Saturdays clinging to the fence and stretching as far as he could just to peek over the top panel to watch dad “play with the bull.” At four years old, he didn’t understand much about the rodeo, but he knew most Saturdays was dad’s play date with the bulls. Nathan was a bubbling teapot on rodeo days; he would get up, pull on his jeans, yank on his favorite black and red flannel shirt, and tug on his black cowboy boots before the sun even roused from its slumber. Saturdays was their day, a day filled with popcorn, soda pop, riding ponies, laughing at the clowns, and most importantly cheering for dad.

Standing in his jeans, red flannel shirt, and black boots, Nathan could still see that excited little boy, hear his shrieks of joy, and feel his endless energy. But at seventeen the excitement, joy, and energy rush no longer came from being a part of the rodeo; the high resulted from being in the rodeo. Dad willingly took on the role of watching from the fence line when he had properly handed over his skills for playing with the bulls to Nate.

“You ready for this,” dad said, slapping Nate on the shoulder. “Gangucha is an arm jerker. Other riders are saying he’s in bad temper today.” Gangucha Fury had a noteworthy history, one that all riders liked to talk about, but few dared to endure. Most riders would swear that gGangucha was primarily the devil, while others confessed that devil was too tame of a word. Gangucha looked like one of hell’s angels with his wild eyes, burnt red coat, and yellowed horns that appeared to be glazed with the venom of death. If the sight of him wasn’t frightening enough, his size of 1700 pounds was sure to bring any rider to his knees, whether it was in prayer or absolute terror.

Nate sighed as he peered into the bull pen; his date with destiny was standing off in the far corner of the pen. Gangucha stood quietly; he wasn’t being disturbed, but Nate knew this tranquil nature was only momentary.

“Yeah, I’m ready; he’s just one more bull to ride. Gangucha hasn’t met Nathan Hendricks yet!” Nate stepped away from the fence. “I better get ready; I ride in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be at the fence. See you after the fall of Gangucha!”

(To be continued…)