The Truth About the Bull

My friend Tyler had been talking big about his cousin's farm all semester.

"It's practically a ranch, Maya. There's a legit bull there. Huge. You could ride it if you wanted."

I called bull. Absolutely no way.

"For real! Spring break, I'll show you. Unless you're scared?"

So there I was, standing in a mud-filled pasture in rural Ohio while Tyler's cousin Miguel tried not to laugh at my completely inadequate shoes. I'd worn Converse. Who wears Converse to a farm? This girl, apparently.

"So where's this bull?" I asked, trying to sound unimpressed.

Miguel pointed toward the back pasture. "That's Buster. He's chill unless you bother him."

Buster was enormous. Like, small-car enormous. He looked at us with these soulful brown eyes and I immediately regretted everything. Tyler, being Tyler, decided this was the perfect time to prove his point by hopping the fence.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Just saying hi! Look at him, he's basically a giant dog!"

Buster did not appreciate the comparison. His head snapped up, ears forward, and suddenly I understood exactly why people said "like a bull in a china shop" because this creature could absolutely destroy anything he wanted.

"Tyler. Come back. NOW."

But my friend had decided to make friends with a 1,500-pound animal and was apparently extending his hand like Buster was just gonna come over for a fist bump. The bull snorted. I didn't know bulls could snort, but they definitely can.

"Tyler!"

Buster took a step. Then another.

"Okay that's — that's good, Buster, good boy —" Tyler's voice cracked

Then we were both running.

We ran across that pasture like our lives depended on it, mud flying everywhere, my Converse literally sinking into the ground with every step, Tyler screaming "HE'S CHARGING" while Miguel wheeze-laughed from the safety of the truck. I looked back once. Buster had walked maybe three feet toward us and was now eating grass.

We scrambled over the fence, collapsing against the wood, both of us covered in mud, hearts pounding like we'd just finished a marathon, breathless and absolutely ridiculous.

Miguel took a picture. I know he did because it became Tyler's lock screen for months.

"You guys are the actual worst," he said, but he was grinning. "Buster was literally just gonna say hi."

"Shut up," I groaned, wiping mud from my face. "You shut your mouth."

Tyler started laughing. Like, couldn't breathe, practically crying laughing. And then I was laughing too, because what even was my life, running from a vegetarian animal in Ohio with my idiot best friend.

"So," Tyler said, still gasping. "Wanna come back tomorrow? I think Buster really liked us."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, bestie."

We sat there for a while, mud drying on our jeans, watching Buster do absolutely nothing, and I realized something important: my friend was full of crap about basically everything, but somehow that was exactly why he was my favorite person.