The Breaking

Many, many moons ago, my brother did a deed that not many sensible humans would attempt. He tried to break a mule.

I don’t need to tell any more of this story because you know where this is going, but I really should finish it, so please bear with me.

I was sitting outside on a beautiful Spring afternoon, relaxing with a glass of sweet tea in one hand and a Louis La’mour book in the other. I heard the low growl of my brother’s red Jeep Wrangler climbing the hill that rises at the beginning of my parent’s driveway.

The Jeep popped over the crest of the hill as my brother stripped the gears.

“‘R’ is for Reverse, Joseph,” I muttered past the scowl on my face. Some people will never be able to expertly drive a stickshift. It’s a miracle that Jeep lived on past his reign in the driver’s seat of that pathetic excuse for a vehicle.

As he coasted down the hill toward the house, I noticed he was leaning over abnormally and seemed somewhat stiff.

“What’s going on here?” I asked no one in particular as I sipped the dark honey-colored nectar.

Plenty was going on here, as I soon found out.

Joseph exited the Jeep – eventually. He was having extreme difficulty. I waited in the lawn chair.

He finally put both feet on the ground and leaned at an angle much like an upside-down letter “L.” If you have trouble picturing that, turn your phone upside down and look at the capital letter at the end of the last sentence.

Okay, so that’s what he looked like. An upside-down letter “L” was not his usual stature. Have you ever seen a beanpole? Well, that’s more what he looked like.

He jerked and jolted along like he was in pain. His lips clung tight against his teeth. His teeth clenched together like a Wilton bench vise on a metal pipe.

Earlier that morning, his blue jean shirt was sewn together perfectly and in one piece.

That afternoon, his blue jean shirt was torn into shreds and ripped almost entirely in half. The skin showing through the gaping hole was red from blood and the rawness that comes from something akin to skipping along asphalt at highway speed.

I looked on in disbelief. Then, I found my voice, “Mom!”

“Caleb! Shut up!” He growled through the snarl on his face. His eyes narrowed.

“What?” I asked incredulously. “You’re hurt! You need to go to the doctor.”

“No!”

“Okay. MOM!”

“SHUT UP!”

“Mom, get out here!”

“You say that one more time, and I will clobber you so hard your teeth will meld together from the friction.”

I circled him and looked at his back. “What happened to you?”

Now, I’m not a cowboy, nor have I ever claimed to be, but his reply caused my eyes to roll back in my head so far they went in a full circle. “I tried to break a mule,” he said.

“You have got to be kidding me?” I replied.

“No, I’m not.”

“You know, I’ve seen you do some pretty dumb things, but this takes the cake.”

“I don’t want Mom or Dad to know what happened!”

“Good luck with that.”

“Don’t you dare tell them!”

“Believe me, I won’t have to.”

“That stupid mule bucked me off.”

“No kidding.”

“Yeah, and I landed on top of a t-post.”

“You probably have internal bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

It was at this point that our mother walked out the front door. And this is where the story should end. Facebook doesn’t do well with details like what I would have to share.

Let’s just say Joseph survived and recovered well, but if I had my druthers, I would have gone back to the farm and tried to break the mule again.

to the young and restless,
– Caleb