When the Bull Charged

The summer I turned fifteen, my parents shipped me off to Uncle Mike's farm in middle-of-nowhere Iowa. No WiFi. No service. My iPhone was basically a paperweight.

Cousin Emma took one look at my Vans and skinny jeans and rolled her eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck. "City boy," she muttered, which was basically the worst insult in her vocabulary.

Emma was everything I wasn't — comfortable in dirt, capable, not afraid of anything. She spent her weekends at the county fair, showing livestock she'd raised herself. I spent mine scrolling TikTok and avoiding eye contact.

"You're full of bull," she told me after I claimed I'd totally gone cliff diving once. "You've never done anything risky in your life."

She wasn't wrong. But I wasn't about to admit it.

The county fair happened that weekend. Emma dragged me along, complaining the whole time about how I'd probably be useless. Then we saw it — the mechanical bull.

"Five bucks says you won't last eight seconds," Emma said, grinning.

"You're on."

I don't know what possessed me. Maybe I was tired of being the soft city cousin. Maybe I just wanted to prove her wrong.

I climbed onto that mechanical monster, gripped the handle with sweaty palms, and nodded at the operator. The bull jerked to life, bucking and spinning like it had a personal vendetta. My phone flew out of my pocket — Emma caught it mid-air, laughing.

The crowd counted down. I hung on for dear life, dignity completely optional. At seven seconds, the bull did this violent twist that nearly sent me flying.

And then — outside, actual lightning cracked across the sky. The power flickered. The bull stopped.

I sat there for a second, dazed, adrenaline pumping, hair standing up from the static. Emma was still grinning, holding my phone hostage.

"Eight seconds," she said. "Props, city boy."

But here's the thing — I hadn't even been scared. Not for real. Not like I was scared of failing math, or disappointing my parents, or saying the wrong thing at lunch.

"Again," I said.

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

That summer, I learned something unexpected about myself. I wasn't as fragile as everyone thought. And Emma wasn't as tough as she pretended — sometimes she just needed someone to ride the metaphorical bull with her.

My iPhone survived, by the way. But the Instagram-worthy version of me? That guy definitely took a hit.