Bullheaded

retired riders willing to give me some pointers. He fronted me the money to enter a couple of junior bull-riding events, and I earned enough to pay him back,” Johnny said proudly. “Pretty soon I was winning, even though some of the white boys didn’t like that so much. Oh, sorry.”
    “It’s okay, I understand. I think it’s only recently the Brazilians have gotten popular in the States. It’s a conservative sport,” Cody said. “So how did you switch into fighting?”
    Johnny groaned. He hated saying this part out loud. “I’m not that good a rider.”
    “You are too! You’re a great rider! Look at your ride on Dementia when you—”
    “I’m not near as good as you.” Johnny swallowed hard. It still hurt to admit he would never achieve the dream of being a big-name rider and maybe someone other Diné boys could look up to and say, “I can do that.” He couldn’t express the bitterness of the realization even to Cody. “I got taller, and the taller I got, the harder it was to stick on top of a bull. You get thrown to the end of your rope and it’s hard to pull yourself back up.”
    Cody nodded. “Yeah, definitely harder for a taller guy.”
    “You’re tall for a rider and I’m not that much taller than you, but a couple inches makes a big difference,” Johnny said.
    Both of them giggled and Cody cupped his groin, giving Johnny a dirty leer. “That’s what I always say.”
    “Shut up. Anyway, I started slipping down in the ranks, not winning so much. By then I was helping out at home, and when I didn’t win, it was hard on my mother. I got desperate.”
    “That never works. Can’t ride from fear. There’s got to be joy in it,” Cody agreed sympathetically.
    “Yeah, that’s it. I lost the joy. One day I was having a great ride but the bull threw me just shy of eight seconds. I was so fucking pissed!” Johnny smashed a fist on the table, making the silverware and Cody both jump.
    “What was the bull’s name?”
    “Raindog! Fucking Raindog!”
    “Knew you’d remember,” Cody murmured. “I remember the name of every bull ever stomped me. You get hurt?”
    “Only hurt my pride,” Johnny growled, and then he laughed. “I was so fucking pissed off I got up and stared that bull in the eyes. He glared right back at me and pawed the ground to work up to a charge but it suddenly clicked for me. I knew exactly what he was going to do. It was like I could read his thoughts. I put my hand on that bull’s head and I dared him to come for me. I taunted him and played with him and fooled him. By the end I had the audience laughing at the bull and I got him out of the ring by myself. I proved to him, to me, and to that audience that no bull was going to get the better of me!”
    “You go, boy!” Cody laughed.
    “I started helping out around the touring division, learning the trade. And then Vern came by one day to see if I wanted a job,” Johnny said. “I had to make a choice, I had to admit to myself I wasn’t going to be a top rider. No glory there. But facing a bull down in the ring was ten times more thrilling than any ride I ever had!” The excitement of remembering made him jump to his feet and stride around the room. “That was it for me. I love fighting more than I ever loved being on top of a bull. I love saving a rider’s ass, even if it means taking a hit for him. I love being on the same level with the animals.”
    “I’m so glad,” Cody whispered. He got up and pulled Johnny into his arms so their bare chests were touching. He buried his face in Johnny’s long, thick hair and started nuzzling his neck. “I always worried you were jealous of me riding.”
    “I was. I still am! But I had to face it that I couldn’t be a top rider like you, and I found something else I love more. No one’s ever going to know my name like they know yours, but I’m doing what I love.”
    “Believe me, the cowboys know your name, Johnny Arrow.”
    “And it’s not even my real name.” Johnny giggled.
    Cody pulled back in shock. “Your name isn’t Johnny?”
    “It’s Johnny, all right, but people kept calling me Johnny the Indian. Decided I might as well play into it. So, Johnny Arrow.”
    “What’s your real name?”
    “Johnny Begay.”
    Cody whistled slowly. “I can see why you might change it.”
    “It’s a common Diné name like Smith, but maybe a little too—uh—close to home.”
    “Is Ace proud to see how you turned out?”
    Johnny’s mouth had a bitter