He won’t stop bragging about his horse. Fastest horse there is, he says, all rye and sour dough. If I’m hungry, I just cut off a slice and have me a sandwich. You look outside and see a regular horse, brown and stiff with desert dust in the fading daylight, chewing on it’s rope. Never seen a better or breadier horse, he yells, five pints under now. He’s gotta leave, your boss says real low, like its a secret, you do it—he don’t look the type to hit a kid. You wanna earn that paycheck, so you walk up, cleaning cloth thrown over one shoulder like they taught you. He doesn’t see you, not until you tap his shoulder and he brings around a sloppy fist. You duck quick, and he stumbles and catches himself on the bar. He squints. Trying to steal my horse, boy? You don’t know why but it takes a second to shake your head. We’re closing soon, Sir. The man laughs. Okay, boy. We’re going to the deli and ain’t none of y’all invited! Then he’s got you by the arm and already out the door before you can stop him. Hot summer dries your face. The cowboy pulls you in front of his horse. Beauty, ain’t she, he slurs. It looks the same. While he’s wrestling gravity you think on leaving, but he hauls you up on her back, eyes shiny as fresh pennies, strength hidden under layers of leather. You’re tall up here, tallest you’ve been since graduating. The horse’s neck is soft and she smells sweet like a bakery. The cowboy’s smiling ear to ear, and before you can say anything, he trips and eats dirt.
Raine is a Vancouver based writer who enjoys making soup and drawing comics.
I could feel heat and dust. Love this short.
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