LIKE A RODEO—KANE BROWN

_____
June 3rd, 2012
FLASHBACK
_____

"Happy Birthday!" Morgan's parents shouted, startling her out of her sleep.

As she tried to catch her bearings, a candle flicker from a cake danced in her eye. A cheerful smile stretched across her face and she quickly pulled herself up into a sitting position. With her mother handing her the fun-sized cake, she blew out the candles and put an end to their violent rise and fall. Giving her father a long side-eye, she hoped he wouldn't ask the same old question that he had been seeking for years.

"Whatcha' wish for?"

Sighing, she cocked her head. "Pa, ya know if I told ya, it ain't gonna come true."

She knew her father was just pulling her leg and the amused huff that he let out was proof.

"Come on ova to the kitchen, I'll cut ya a slice," her mother urged, grabbing the cake.

After sliding on her timeworn slippers, Morgan made her way into the kitchen where her mother stood slicing into the cake. Her father sat at the table, reading over his morning newspaper.

"Besides eatin' cake with yer ole folks here, whatcha plan on doin' today?" she asked, handing her a slice.

With an uncertain shrug, Morgan pulled out a seat and licked the frosting from her finger.

She hadn't planned on doing much, just watching reruns of her favorite southern drama. That's really all she wanted to do on her twenty-first— a homebody's paradise.

"Oh, well that's perfect! Yer cousin Ella-Mae's comin' ova."

Caught off guard, Morgan gulped down the bite stuck in her throat and stared over at her mother.

"Wait-wha? Why?"

"Whatcha mean? She wanted to celebrate yer birthday witcha."

Morgan glanced over at her father, hoping he would say something to get her out of the tight spot. He purposely kept quiet, shoving large amounts of cake in his mouth. He was picking his fights wisely.

Morgan tried to object but was quickly silenced by her mother's customary 'hush now'. Feeling defeated, she pushed her plate away, no longer hungry.

She didn't have anything bad against her cousin, they were just from two different sides of the train track. Ella-Mae was like a lit firecracker. You never knew when she was going to explode but when she did, it never failed to be loud and wild.

It wasn't long into their silence before her cousin pulled up in her vintage 1966 Volkswagen Beetle, the signature shrill of its horn clamoring down on Morgan's eardrums. Reluctantly, she headed out to the porch behind her parents, eyeing Ella-Mae as she greeted them.

"Happy Birthday, cuz." She grinned, tugging her into a hug.

A pat and a thank you was all Morgan could muster as she gave her cousin a once over. It had been a while since she last saw her, but her radiance was unforgettable. A southern belle in the face, but a rebel everywhere else.

The years of insecurities and doubts hurled themselves at Morgan—almost equivalent to a hard slap across the face. It was never easy for her to stand next to Ella-Mae, especially knowing that she could never equal in comparison.

"Get a-movin', cuz. Got a bunch of things planned for today."

Leaving her parents to keep Ella-Mae company, Morgan trudged to her room and threw on her favored pedal pushers and a tank top. It was a scrappy style, but she never cared much for outlandish clothing like her cousin.

Morgan left her hair in the messy bun, knowing that if she took out the hair tie, she would be there for hours fighting with it.

In the car, Ella-Mae rocked her head to the loud music as they took off down the road and away from the farm. Yanking the scrunchie from her honey locks, she tousled her hair and whipped it around.

"I gotcha a present," she said, nodding to the backseat.

Morgan spotted the poorly wrapped gift box and reached back to grab it.

"Go on ahead. Rip it open."

She went through several layers of different wrapping paper before she got to the bulk of the present. When she finally pulled it out, Ella-Mae squealed in delight.

"Do ya like?"

Morgan feigned a smile as she held out the zebra-patterned liquor flask embossed with her name. She was sure she would never need it or use it. Not because she hated the present but because she knew she wasn't a big drinker.

The ride was quick and Morgan felt thankful that Ella-Mae's harsh and tuneless singing was put to an end. As they pulled into a large patch of red dirt, Morgan peered out the window. She didn't have a clue where they were at but as she sat and listened, she could hear the tumultuous shouts of a large crowd. Getting out, she overlooked the stop of the car and spotted a throng of people circled around a gated enclosure.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Why, a rodeo of course," Ella-Mae scoffed as if it were obvious.

Before Morgan could say anything further, her cousin grabbed her by the hand and guided her into the mass. Ella-Mae was too distracted by reaching the edge of the arena to notice the angry looks of bystanders as they pushed past them.

"Cricket!" She waved, catching the attention of a flankman.

He was rather lengthy and lean, almost willowy with several days worth of scruff on his chin and a long blond mullet.

With his brown boots kicking up dust, he ran through the middle of the arena until reaching Ella-Mae and Morgan. Though the gate separated the two, it didn't prevent them from over-excitedly locking lips.

Morgan quickly averted her eyes and tried to focus on anything other than the two scrambling against the barrier. It proved difficult for her, especially with the added stares from others.

This was classic Ella-Mae—unashamed and unapologetic. Morgan was sure she was immune to embarrassment. For her, however, a scarlet tint burned her cheeks. She felt relieved when a fellow flankman called Cricket back to the chute.

"Lord a'mercy! Ain't he a tall drank of iced tea," Ella-Mae swooned, leaning over the gate and watching him head back.

Morgan kept quiet, still not fully recovered from their brazen scene. Her focus drew to the ring as the announcer made his way to the center. With a golden belt buckle and electric blue chinks, he pranced around the ring, trying to amp up the crowd.

"I'm sure y'all know our first rider. He's quite famous in these parts."

"Oh, wait till ya see this hunk. He's a friend of Crickets. Cleans up real nice," Ella-Mae whispered before being overtaken by the speaker.

"So, without further talk, I'll give it over to our Triple Time Winner."

Presenting an arm, the announcer gestured behind him and then scurried out of there. Just as he hopped out of the ring, the gate to the chute was opened and a long-horned bull came barreling out. It charged down the arena as the crowd roared and cheered. The man on top, only protected by tight leather chaps, was jostled back and forth like a rag doll, the bulls buck aggressive and desperate.

Morgan wasn't usually for these kinds of sports but even she couldn't pass up the chance on hooting with her boisterous cousin. She could see why he was a titleholder as he moved fluidly with the rock of the bull.

After the buzzard rang with the eight-second mark, the crowd seemed to heighten with enthusiasm as the rider stayed mounted. But, it didn't last long.
Morgan watched with keen interest as he hopped off the rear of the bull and bolted for the fence.

A team of bullfighters quickly jumped the gate and posed as a distraction until the rider was safely behind the barrier.

"Let's give that cowboy a hand. He had a lot of try," the emcee said.

Morgan could see the rider as he took off his hat, his dirty blond hair flattened down to his head by sweat. He was a good-looking cowboy and oddly familiar to her.

Claps turned into loud bouts of fury as the bull-riders total score tallied in and Morgan assumed that he didn't place high enough to keep his winning streak.

She never realized how thrilling bull-riding was and had a new appreciation for the sport. Maybe the outing with Ella-Mae wasn't as bad as she thought it out to be.

They had stayed for a few more rough stock events before Ella-Mae once again took her hand and guided her back out to the car.

"We gotta do some shoppin' for tonight," she said with a hint of a sly smile.

A nervous lump stuck in Morgan's throat. "And what's tonight?"

She kept her smile as she ignited the car and peeled out of the dirt parking lot.

"Why, that's a secret of course."

• • •

Morgan hated it. Shopping was her own personal feeling of torture, especially when it came down to her indecisive cousin. It had taken a painful three hours, going from store to store and clothes rack to clothes rack before she had finally settled on an outfit. And that was just for Morgan. She had yet to look for hers.

Sitting on a stool in a run-of-the-mill dressing room, she picked at her clothes in boredom as Ella-Mae tried things on.

"Whatta think of this one, cuz?" she asked, twirling around.

Morgan looked and gave it the full up and down. It was a boho sundress with a more than long slit on the side and it clung to her body like it's life depended on it.

Though it was far from Morgan's taste, it suited her cousin well. There wasn't anything that didn't suit her.

Morgan nodded though she knew it ultimately laid with how her cousin felt about it. As usual.

"I think this is the one," she squealed, hopping up and down.

In the car, Ella-Mae was back to her off-pitch belting and dancing. They drove on the road for what could have been hours as the skyline ebbed into nightfall.

Eventually, the streets went from two to three cars to a bustling street as Ella-Mae fought traffic to get into the city of Montgomery. When they pulled into a packed parking lot, Ella-Mae turned to her with a grin.

"Welcome to the Stampede, birthday girl."

Positioned on the outpost of Old West Village was a club with a midwestern saloon style. It housed a line of zestful patrons, most, if not all, long inebriated. With the low bass of live instruments emanating past its doors, Ella-Mae rollicked to the tune.

Morgan had heard a lot of great things about the Stampede around town, though she never ventured out to it herself.

"Ya ever done line dancin', cuz?" Ella-Mae asked as they added to the line.

"Not since middle school."

She released a dramatic gasp. "Nuh-uh, none of that young'n mess over here. Tonight, yer gonna have more fun than yer ma's over-the-shoulder boulder holders."

Morgan cringed at the unmentionable joke, the thought scarring, no thanks to Ella-Mae's unfiltered mind.

After showing their ID's and being stamped, they went through the swinging doors as the wafting odor of alcohol and something charred caused Morgan's nose to shrivel up. The inside had a down-home feel. Other than that, there was nothing too special about it.

Morgan followed behind Ella-Mae until they stood in front of the bar.

"Two extra-dry martinis." Ella-Mae winked over at the bartender.

With a wink back, he whipped out two chilled martini glasses and mixed their drinks.

Morgan bobbed her head to the country music and stared out onto the dance floor while they did the 2-step. Ella-Mae practically jittered in her shoes next to her.

"Howdy cupcake," a man's voice whispered from behind.

Before Morgan could turn around to discern who it belonged to, Ella-Mae flung herself at him as she planted frenzied kisses to his face.

"Cricket!" she squeaked, hauling him by the collar towards the dance floor.

Morgan was left there stunned and alone, and for the first time realized that her cousin used her birthday as an excuse to see her boyfriend. At least, that's what seemed.

To keep herself from looking out of place, she took a sip from her drink but curled her nose in distaste.

"Mind if I getcha a different drank?"

Morgan peered over to see a man sitting on a stool, his face half-hidden by the ends of his cowboy hat.

Though she didn't answer, he still signaled to the bartender."The lady would like an Arnold Palmer. Put it on ma' tab."

Once he removed his hat, that's when she recognized him. Though it clicked in her head that she had seen him long before today, she decided to keep quiet on it.

"Yer the bull-rider from earlier. The Triple Time Winner," Morgan said.

He chuckled. "Guess that titles all it's ever gonna be."

She could see the disappointment across his stunningly rugged features.

Morgan pointed out, "Well, quadruple time winner ain't got a nice ring to it, now do it?"

He flashed a charming smile and it stole a heartbeat from Morgan. She had never seen one as infectious as his. It was warm and brought about a smile of her own.

"I didn't catch yer name'," he said, offering his hand.

She practically jumped at the chance of taking it and a tingle traveled up her arm as he grasped hers.

"Morgan."

Neither one of them took their eyes off of each other until the bartender slid in her drink and broke the moment.

"I'm Rhetus, but everybody calls me Rhett." He glanced over to the floor and then back at her. "Would ya like to dance? I sure ain't the best—"

"Neither am I," she interjected with a bashful smile.

She was glad to know she wasn't the only one born without rhythm.

"Then let's boogie horribly together."

He stood up and offered his hand to her with that same infectious smile and she held on to it as he led her to the floor. They danced the night away—very badly, but together.

Copyright ⓒ 2019, Desarae A Dotson. All rights reserved