a bit of a story

I figured they where gonna hug or break out laughing, but all of a sudden the beret mans arm came down and dug its whip into leanardos shoulder, and the white shirt gave way to the cotton fibers that split into his skin producing a red dot that burnt into me like a bad mistake. after that leanardo fell off the horse, and the two men where smaking each other with the whips. me and the kid looked at each other with even fewer words than the lack of language permitted. I wanted to say something, but I didnt know what. I was speechless, my throat was broken, I was a bad friend a useless parent, my dad, an unfit human. I watched my friend struggle against this older mans fingers. I jumped off my horse and let the reigns dangle, above the dirt, I walked over to where the two men where punching and ripping then remebered the frothy black withers of picasso, and I went back to catch the reigns that I left dragging in the dirt. the kid was just looking, leaning forward on the pallego tuft where a horn should be smiling like he knew where he was, like he was on mark saying the lines but the director had lost the play, and the lighting grid had gone dark. “people think its hard to be a woman , but it aint easy being a man, the expectation that a man be a civilized person” take 5 everybody. I walked over to the buffet table to get a cup of joe. leanardo was sweating, and puffing and his lips where separated and there was spit on his face, and his back was arched and you could see he was trying to stand straight and out of the way of this greasy beret motorbike. finally they stopped. leanardo got back on his horse and the two guys yelled at each other for another couple of minutes. I felt embarassed for my movie star, and humiliated for myself. the beret fat cheeked mustache stood still and quiet, his arms folded accross his chest looking like an egyptian mummy, his knotted crop dusting his left shoulder, his eyes batting balls back and forth accross the green cookie cutter vista. between me and the kid, batting back the sheeps head and ears framed by the car in the distance. batting a white turnkey strip of pine through the speckled door. batting the flat plane of dirt pressed into the space above the threshold. I saw all this through strained lids and a blood pumping heart beating fast. I watched leanardo and was ashamed at myself for staying quiet. the sheep where a mile up ahead and thier brown molten backs blinked on and off against the rising hills the way a strand of chistmas lights flash in your palm. the kid looked like he was asleep , I tried to ask if he was alright but realized it was the wrong question, I stuffed all I was feeling down into my boot but the lamb meat was taking up too much room, and I my fears were fighting with my toes, and the bulging buffalo hide stretched around this new moment, and I looked around for a place to empty my foot. leanardos shirt was ripped right down the front and there was a red gash that had little blue and black dots around it where it was already starting to bruise. his lip was fat and red and his hats brim wasnt dark enough to hide his eyes. he tried to straighten out the cotton shirt, and tucked the scraps deeper into his waist, but now he wasnt crisp anymore, he had lost the battle to stay clean. we had gotten about 20 minutes down the road when allesandro came riding up, I heard black leather and the word spur trumpet like a neon sign that followed behind him attached to a big bright balloon. when leanardo told him about the fight, allesandro, dug his foot into the ground, and buried a steal fulcrum which he used to turn he and leanardo back around, back towards the motorcylce man, and the king tits arm socket, back towards the driveway cantering all chuckles and smiling sharp with a pizza cutter tooth digging into a steel can, a dog licked the horses leg sucking the salt off the wet skin. I was left alone again looking at the kid. in the distance I heard a new kind of cry and the sound of bones crushing and the weak cartiladge of the septum parting into two distinct and useless canals. me and the kid caught up with the sheep. pronto was walking slow, and getting him to lunge required all my heel. I kicked until I could feel a rib, and I tore off a prickled brush branch as I past the fence. I hit the horse around the neck with the hard part, and he began to trott. I left the branch there resting on his ear and I knew it reminded him that he was one move away from pain.