by Shey Stahl
“Dad. . . .” My attention’s on my phone, checking the time. If I make eye contact with him, he’ll know I’m lying. Born with my heart on my sleeve and a mouth I can’t control, the less I say, the better.
Mom comes to my rescue, peeking her head around the corner where she’s fixing Morgan’s braids before bed. My stare moves to the one smiling at me. Morgan Lee, she’s the cutest kid to ever bless this earth. Free falling blonde curls like mine, she has the most adorable freckled cheeks. You can’t look at her and not smile and sigh that there’s something so perfect and pure in this world. She was born the night my Grandpa Lee passed away and I think she was his gift to our family. “Archer, honey,” Mom says, winking at me, “leave her be. She’s turning eighteen in a few days. Let her have some fun.”
“Bye, sissy!” Morgan yells.
“Bye, Morgy!”
Without looking at him, I reach for my bag by the door and let the screen door slam behind me before he can say anything else.
I’m not quick enough. “Be back by midnight,” Dad orders from the porch, kicking open the creaking door with his foot. I glance over my shoulder as he’s walking back inside the house.
Midnight? The thought makes me chuckle. He’s lucky if I make it home before the sun rises tomorrow. You’d think there’d be some leeway here since I graduated, but not with Archer Calhoun. Rules are rules. Too bad they haven’t stopped me yet.
Outside, the warm summer air clings to my face, the wind kicking up rustling through the ponderosa pines lining the dirt road leading into the Calhoun Ranch I’ve called home since birth.
There’s a rusted turquoise Ford coming up the road. It’s my best girl. Haylee Miller is the girl most steer clear of in fear she’ll kick your ass. And believe me, she will, has before, and will smile while doing so. What I love most about her? She’s never anything anyone expects her to be. She’s tiny, but tough. Sweet, but sassy, and cold, but caring. If you ever want to know what she’s thinking, ask. She’ll tell you and then some. With her sharp tongue and determination, I honestly don’t think I can live without Haylee.
I’ve known Haylee for about two years. She moved here with her mom after her dad passed away from colon cancer. It’s a sad story, and I’ll probably tell it to you here soon, but not yet.
What else can I say about her other than she’s the only person who knows almost every secret I have, and I have more than my share of a few. Probably more than most seventeen-year-olds.
Kindred spirits in more ways than one, she’s my closest confidante in this small eastern Washington farm town.
Her truck comes to a halt in the driveway, gravel skidding under her tires. When I hop in the truck, she tips her cowboy hat at me. “Hey, girl.” Plumes of dirt drift up as she rolls down the driveway before I even have a chance to completely close the door.
Once I’m safely inside, I look at her and know she’s ready to let loose. Another reason I love this girl, we’re the gypsy souls of Ellensburg. Layered beaded necklaces hang from her neck and wrists, she’s dressed in black fringe shorts, a white halter shirt, and her colorful Aztec cardigan hangs off her tanned shoulders. She’s also barefoot. We seldom wear shoes.
“You’ve got that look. Pops givin’ ya shit?” Haylee asks with one hand on the wheel, the other rolling down her window. The handle comes off in her hand. She looks at it, rolls her eyes and tosses it on the floor by my feet.
“Always.”
It’s a familiar sight down this long dirt road leading away from the house. I know every pothole just like I know every freckle on my body. Behind me sits the house I was born in—modest white with visibly cracked paint—a home that’s certainly seen better days.
A quarter mile up the road sits a red barn hit by harsh winter wind storms, but somehow it’s still standing. This place, it’s not much, it’s not fancy, but it’s still home, a place that when I do leave, I will always remember. This dusty ranch, it holds nothing for me. At least nothing I want. I want more than to get away from it, as far away as any four wheels can take me. I want freedom and a chance to be anything but a rancher’s daughter or worse, a rancher’s wife.
“Just a few more days,” I whisper to myself when we hit E Vantage Highway. Just like most teenagers, my life is defined by how many days left on the calendar until my eighteenth birthday. The day I’m finally able to decide for myself where I want to be and what I want when I get there. I can officially walk away on that day, but in truth, I decided long ago I wanted out of this town.
My reasoning? Guys like Joel who always seem to find me, prey on my weaknesses, and make their way between my legs. If I don’t leave now, I’ll forever be stuck in this cycle and before I know it, I won’t even know who I am anymore. I refuse to let that happen.
“Have you talked to him? Do you think he’ll bring it up?” Haylee asks, lighting the cigarette she’s holding between two fingers, steering the truck with her knees. When she has it lit, she tosses the lighter on the floor at my feet.
I laugh. “Girl, stop throwing shit at me.”
Haylee shoots me the bird and takes a few drags from her cigarette then hands it to me. “I won’t be surprised if he says something. Though I don’t see how you fucking Joel is any of D’s business.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll kick his ass if he does.” I take a drag from the cigarette, and then another. Smoke rolls over me and I inhale, exhaling even slower.
“Maesyn. . . .” Light green eyes the color of spring grass find mine. “You know Danny isn’t keeping any secrets for you. If he thinks it’ll get him in good with your daddy, he’d tell on you.”
She’s right. Danny’s had a crush on me since the second grade and our dads frequently do business together.
Danny means well; he just can’t keep his mouth shut. I know this, but I still hope maybe he will do me this one favor. Just this once.
Danny and I—the way he wants me—it’s never gonna happen. He’s good-hearted and nice. I’m not and I’m not about to destroy another innocent heart in this town. Now, if he can just keep his mouth shut until I leave town.
Haylee leans forward and turns down the Pistol Annies blaring through the cab of her truck. “Have you heard from Joel since then?”
“Yeah.” Spreading my legs, I gesture to the bruise on my inner thigh. “He came over this morning and gave me this lovely reminder and his twenty-minute presence. I told him I couldn’t see him anymore.”
With a new cigarette dangling from her cherry red lips, Haylee stares at me. “Really?” She snorts, adding the aggravated edge to her gesture. “What’d he say?” Haylee hates Joel for what he’s doing to me. I could say the same for her “arrangement” with Tucker.
“He said whatever and left.”
“Figures.”
Haylee’s dating a married man. I haven’t said anything to her because she knows. She doesn’t need me reminding her. I don’t even know how the two of us got wrapped up with guys like Joel and Tucker, but we did and it’s just another reason as to why we’re leaving. When Haylee got involved with Tucker Dean, she didn’t know he was married. Just like in the beginning I didn’t know Joel slept with other girls. For a while, I mistakenly thought I was the only one. He’s pretty damn secretive. That news came later and by accident for both of us. But still, even knowing Tucker’s married, Haylee hasn’t stopped it because she’s in love, and choosing your heart over reality isn’t exactly easy at our age.
We pass by a section of E Vantage Highway before it meets Highway 90. It turns my stomach and brings my heart pain so intense my breath is stolen from me. I’m instantly caught in the past as we pass the white cross surrounded by flowers his mama plants each year. It’s been years, but that stretch of road will never get easier.
Haylee’s cell phone rings on the dash, drawing me from the memories I can’t shake. “It’s probably Mom.”
“She working tonight?”
“Yeah.” Haylee’s nose scrunches. “And that’s probably her calling to te
ll me she’s staying with Kevin tonight.”
I laugh at the idea of her mother dating a college kid. I guess we all have problems, don’t we?
Heading east on Highway 90, before you hit Vantage next to the Columbia River, there’s a field where most of us locals go to party. A secret spot, passed on from generation to generation. On it sits an abandoned barn and a field filled with overgrown wild rye and sagebrush.
Parked next to Joel’s lifted Chevy, my hands shake when I reach for the door handle. Remembering I’m barefoot, I slip on my boots. Haylee does the same. Though I prefer to run around barefoot, this dusty field isn’t the place for it. One encounter with a rattlesnake will cure you of that. I have the scar on my ankle to prove it.
My boots slide over the gray clay spread over Haylee’s floor mats when I twist to open the door. I hop out and close my door, the sound carrying through the field, rust shaking loose on the bed of her Ford that’s older than she is.
Stepping over bunches of sagebrush and praying there’s not a rattler coiled up next to one, wind whips at my face, giving me a rush of what smells like dirt and cow shit carrying through the air.
Haylee makes a dramatic gagging gesture at the smell, flicking her cigarette in a nearby mud puddle. “I hate this place and that God-forsaken shit smell.” She rounds the front of the truck and wraps her arm around my shoulder.
I know the feeling. Haylee didn’t have much choice in coming to Ellensburg. After her dad died, her mom literally pointed to a map and that’s where they moved to. Annie, her mom, thought it sounded like a cool town for a fresh start. I love Annie, but apparently since her husband died, she’s batshit crazy. So Haylee says, but in many ways, both Haylee and I have respect for Annie.
She left it all behind for a fresh start. Sure, she’s fucking a college kid now, but you know what, I’ve never seen Annie without a smile on her face. Probably because this dude she’s “seeing”—a term that should be used loosely in this case—is the running back for the Central Washington Wildcats. As Haylee refers to it, her mother has become a cougar.
Hooking her arm in mine, Haylee slides her hand down my forearm to hold my hand. We step over sagebrush, wild grass nipping at our bare legs, my skirt rustling with the wind. Laying her head on my shoulder, she sighs. “Only a few more weeks and we can leave.”
Our motto for leaving? It’s better to look back on life and say, “I can’t believe I did that,” than to look back and say, “I wish I’d done that.”
Though Haylee turned eighteen in May, she’s stuck around waiting on me. But as she likes to put it, friends like me don’t come around often. It’s not the ones you’ve known the longest; it’s the ones who refuse to leave your side.
An event’s list of bull riders and the bulls with which they are randomly paired is called the “draw”. The draw for a 25th PBR: Unleash the Beast event is typically created via computer the Wednesday prior to an event. If a bull rider says he has a “good draw”, it means he’s happy with the bull that he was randomly selected to ride.
Every town has a history. Stories, urban legends, scandals. Ellensburg, Washington, it’s no different. What’s the story here?
My brothers and me, probably, but also a place called Mel’s hole. It’s a hole in the ground near Manatash Ridge and if you ask me, creepy as fuck. I’ve been there, once, and I’ll tell you about that fucked-up night later.
First, let me tell you about the legend. Much like any bottomless pit, you can throw in as much shit as you want and you’ll never hear it hit bottom and the hole never seems to fill up.
One would think—me included—it’s just an underground stream or something of that nature, but there’s more.
According to the stories the hole was once used for cow dumping. Don’t confuse it with cow tipping. I did as a kid and was sorely mistaken. Again a story for another day, but cow dumping, that’s where ranchers would dispose of sick cattle. But, as the story goes, told by Mel Water's, a self-proclaimed inter-tribal medicine man named Red Elk, and several other eyewitnesses, me included, during certain times of the day a black beam can be seen coming out of the hole. Like a dark column-like shadow, rising straight into the air and appearing out of nowhere. As the story goes, a local hunter dumped his dog in the hole after it’s accidental death, only for the dog to appear trotting out of the woods several hours later. I’ve traveled all over the world and I can honestly say I’ve never experienced unease like I do there. Hell, even animals avoid it. Although, it seems to be Pet Cemetery, so they might want to hang out there more often if they find themselves, you know, accidentally dead and then come back to life as something else.
Now, you might be wondering what that has to do with anything. It doesn’t. I’m haunted by the story, so you might as well be too. And maybe it explains my unease at being back in Ellensburg after leaving four years ago. I didn’t plan on ever coming back and now that I’m here, I keep thinking about that goddamn hole.
Standing on the front porch of my cousin’s house, he stares at me like I’ve been gone for four years. “Goddamn, it’s good to see you, man.”
I want to say it’s good to see him, but I can’t say it is. Instead, I nod and give him a smile. “It’s been a while.”
Kade nods. “What brings you to town? I would have thought you’d be on the road catching the next rodeo.”
Rodeo? Bull riding is not a rodeo. I’m not barrel racing or roping steers. It’s man against beast. A two-thousand-pound bucking bull you’re trying to tame, but whatever. Call it what you want.
I’m agitated. I hate having to explain myself. I’m pretty sure most men do. It’s a common theme given our lack of fucks we usually give for conversations that involve things we don’t want to discuss.
I’m one of those people who avoids it at all cost. And given my profession, crazy-as-fuck bull rider, it’s a problem at times. There’s a good portion of every day where there’s a camera in my face.
Which explains why, even though I’m asking him for something, I’m annoyed by the slightest explanation of my sudden appearance in town.
“How long are you here for?”
And Kade. Well, I don’t particularly like this dude. In fact, I don’t like him at all, despite him being family. But he has what I need. And I’m not entirely sure I want to answer his question. The less anyone knows about me, the better. “Not long,” I finally answer.
“I’m real sorry to hear about Stanton, man.” Kade leans back into the doorframe, his feet crossing over one another like he’s completely comfortable. I’m sure he is, this is his place after all. It’s me who’s uncomfortable and out of place here. “Sucks. He was a good ol’ guy.”
You know what I find worse about losing a parent? The way people refer to them in past tense. Fuck that. He’s still a good guy. He’s just not here with us anymore. Even him dying doesn’t change the fact that he’s still my dad, and still the greatest influence on my life.
The Kentucky Headhunters “Dumas Walker” flows through the open door. At least it’s a good music choice.
I look past Kade, into the same house I used to pass out in every Friday night, avoiding eye contact. “Me too. I’m just here for the deed to the land. I really need to get going.”
Kade gapes at me like I’m crazy for wanting to leave, but motions inside. “Yeah, man. I got it inside. Why don’t ya stay for a drink?”
I shouldn’t. I need to be up early but after the day I’ve had traveling across the country with little sleep, a drink sounds pretty fuckin’ good.
“Heard you had a rough go in Vegas. There’s a party out back.”
I laugh. Of course he brings up the ride in Vegas. When you win, when you have a good ride, nobody says shit. It’s when you have a tough go that nobody withholds comment. “Not much has changed, has it?” I smart off with, wanting to rearrange his face.
I follow Kade inside. He turns over his shoulder, grinning. “You know how it is around here.”
I do know. And unf
ortunately, after everything that’s happened in this town, a party with a bunch of high school and college kids isn’t exactly where I should be.
“The deed?” I ask, raising an eyebrow when Kade’s lost interest, distracted by the arrival of a blonde wearing barely any clothes.
He watches her walk by then looks at me, smiling. “Right.”
I pay little attention to those around me, including the ones who stare, pointing as if they know me. They do. It’s hard not to when my face is literally plastered everywhere in this small town as the local hero having won the Professional Bull Riding Championship last year. My brothers and me, it wasn’t always the hero mentality for us here. There was a time when the Easton brothers were hated in this town. So we left.
And I never planned on coming back until Pops died. He passed away a couple weeks back and the land and house he owned here sold. Needing to clear my head going into the second half of the tour, I offered to come back and take care of it before I had to be in Mississippi in a couple weeks.
That leaves me here, needing the deed from my cousin.
“Congrats on the championship.”
Jesus Christ. Remember what I said about questions? I hate small talk even more. I want to scream in his face, “Give me the fucking title.”
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I screamed at Kade. I once held him against a wall by his throat for asking me where I was. I admit, I’m a bit over-reactive at times and keep in mind I was sixteen at the time, had just wrecked my dad’s truck and feared having my ass skinned by Stanton Easton, quite possibly the scariest man alive when you’re sixteen and don’t have a driver’s license. It’s all a matter of opinion if you ask me, because I like to think I’m pretty calm. Sometimes.
To make matters worse, I’m bumped from behind by a group of guys, drinking and shoving one another. My jaw tightens and I right my stance, my shoulders and body stiff. I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I want out of here. I hate crowds. And confined spaces. I know what you’re thinking, or hell, maybe you’re not because it’s not like you know that much about me yet. You can gather I’m a professional bull rider, right? That’s all you need to know. The only time I’m ever at ease is when I’m straddling a two-thousand-pound bull.
