Cowgirl Math
by Kevin Broccoli
The cowgirl’s homework was due tomorrow.
Glancing at the bull, she wondered if there was any way she could remain on its backside for the required ninety-four seconds it would take to win the tournament.
Her father, a five-time riding champion, sucked on a peach lozenge while he glanced at the math worksheet she had brought with her to the rodeo. The hope was that he could finish most of it and she could complete the rest tomorrow at breakfast while her mother pretended not to notice.
One look at her father let her know that any equation he attempted to wrangle would wind up facing the red pen of Mrs. Pen der Slaan. His strengths were fatherhood and assessing an animal’s ferocity. His weaknesses were long division and lying to his wife. That night when Gretchen asked him if he’d allowed his only daughter to compete in yet another tournament where she could be grievously injured, he would inevitably crack under the weight of her silver eyes. She’d forgive him after a week of silent treatment provided their one and only daughter came back from the rodeo unharmed.
If it weren’t for the cowgirl’s confident assertion that she could hang on for ninety-four seconds (and perhaps a few more), he would have simply taken her for ice cream, which is the story he gave his spouse. They would, in fact, get a strawberry swirl cup, but only after the tournament and a shot at the faux gold trophy.
“Well Pop,” the cowgirl said, as she spit in her palms and sent up a prayer, “Should I walk?”
Her father pulled one last punch of that peach lozenge, looked at his daughter. He wanted to tell her that this was all a fool’s errand, and they should get out while the getting was good. The trouble was, his daughter had inherited his habit of looking back. He knew that if they turned their backs on a gamble, she’d steal a look over her shoulder on the way out, and the look would last a lifetime.
So instead, he adjusted her hat and looked her square in the eyes when he said--
“There’s no walking away from this.”
With that, she stepped onto the amarillo dirt spread out all over the Thelma E. Totten Rodeo. The crowd roared their approval.
There aren’t many dynasties in rodeo, but there was about to be one more.
Kevin Broccoli is a writer from New England. His work has appeared in Molecule, Apricity, New Plains Review, Havik, and Ponder Review. He is the George Lila Award winner for Short Fiction, and the author of "Combustion."