D. R. Graham - To All the Cowboys I’ve Loved Before

Chuck and BJ both have good rides—seventy-nine and eighty-three. I’m up last. My horse is loaded in the chute. And I’m nervous as hell. I underestimated how having Della here would affect my performance. It almost feels like the first time I ever rode.

“Woo!” Chuck slaps my back and then hooks the latigo. “I hope Della is warming up for that commando back flip because I feel a ninety coming on. Show her how it’s done, Havie.”

Motivated by his enthusiasm I strap on my neck collar and climb into the chute. After pulling my hat down over my forehead I wedge my glove into my rigging, roll my fingers, and crack my arm back for a tight fit. Lean back. Heels up. Nod.

The gate opens and the world literally blurs. I pull my knees up and drag my spurs along the horse’s shoulders, hitting his rhythm. The crowd roars because they can sense it’s a good ride. Better than good. Eight seconds of ripping on a horse that’s bucking like a champion.

The buzzer goes and the pick-up horse nudges next to me. I slide over its backside and land on my feet. As I tip my hat, I scan the crowd. Della is bouncing up and down in the front row and whistling with her fingers in her mouth. I point at her and then turn to watch the scoreboard. Too bad she was joking about the back flip because my score is definitely going to be at least a ninety.

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