He stood in the kitchen as if he’d never been there before, in this tiny house purchased with the last of his bull-riding money.
She begged him to quit, afraid one day the sport would destroy him. That she’d wake up one morning, missing the sound of his boots on the wooden floor.
He was a cowboy, never happier than settling on the back of Bushwacher, Little Yellow Jacket or Bodacious, knowing he was up against one of the best bulls in the circuit. If he won here, no telling where his career might go. Sweat beading the rim of his hat, he shifted his weight. Nodded
Just stay on, he told himself in the second before his world turned upside down. Just stay on.
It started on Sunday. Everything started on Sunday. He’d borrowed the chain saw on Sunday to cut down a tree and it fell on his house, crushing half the roof. He’d borrowed a car to get materials to repair the roof and had an accident. Well, he hadn’t had an accident. Somebody had an accident on him. The week before, he’d borrowed a pair of clippers and nearly sheered his hand off. Borrowed a plastic bag to take his clothes home from the Emergency Room, fumbled the bag with his bandaged hand, slipped and ended up back in the hospital with a busted head.
Monday through Saturday were fine. Dandy. Pleasant even. But come Sunday…
This Sunday, he’d decided to stay home, read the paper in bed. Breakfast on the patio. Nap. Drink tea. Settle in to catch up on his favorite TV shows.
Waking, he picked up a magazine, settling back with a sigh of contentment. The paper’s edge sliced three fingers. He’d borrowed it from his neighbor. Burned himself on his sister’s pan. Dropped his Aunt’s teakettle on his foot. Rolled off the sofa he’d borrowed from his parents. Shocked himself setting up the borrowed DVD player.
He was never going to borrow anything ever again. And, next Sunday, he was staying in bed.