Homage to a Tradition

Elena stood with her arms dangling over the makeshift barricade along the narrow side street. Stone pavers beneath her feet and balconies draped with the dark red and gold flags of Spain above her head. The bustling crowd of onlookers encompassed her. Some still delirious from partying the day before, others jogging in place to secure a spot in the oncoming group.

At seventeen years old, she knew exactly how the annual Bull Run festival played out. First, it was a tradition that her grandparents took her parents to. Then the familial baton was passed down to the next generation. She had Polaroid photos of her as a child side by side with a stranger in a bull costume. And another with a plastic spoon in her grip, a scowl on her face. Bull soup sloshing around in the bowl in front of her. It was a dish most nine-year-olds weren’t begging for.

The day before the run was dedicated to celebration. The streets overflowed with musical performers, copious amounts of alcohol, and native foods even Elena had never heard of. People traveled far and wide to attend the festival, from distant countries abroad or across Spanish soil. Most dressed in white to create a stark contrast for the nearly mandatory accessory: a red bandana, which hung from the necks of each attendee. From above, the festival churned into a sea of red splotches.

When the ground began to vibrate under her feet, she knew they were coming—the wall of men running from the galloping bulls. The creatures still intimidated Elena, despite watching her father tend to the farm adjacent to their home during her childhood. Something about them still left her uneasy. Their strength and unpredictability warranted her to keep a distance. Only fueling the way she grappled over why anybody would provoke the animals and then allow themselves to be chased for enjoyment purposes. But her parents time and time again summed up the reasoning with a single word: Tradition.

The wave of men and animals barreled around the corner. A stampede of human feet, a handful of bull hooves. Elena held her breath as the never-ending group whizzed by the railing. Every year, several runners got injured in the mix. Once one went down, the domino effect kicked in. Years prior, she’d witnessed her father falling and getting trampled by several bulls and runners before he was able to crawl to aid. But instead of accepting help from the nearby medics, he jumped back into the corral of people, continuing the run with a broken elbow. She remembered looking up to her mom, who shook her head and sucked air between her teeth after it registered in her mind. Her husband was jumping back in for another round. Both his fall and rejuvenation would later be broadcasted on the television highlights of the event.

Now, Elena was blossoming into a young woman. Surrounded by people but internally alone at an event that felt as if it was bred into her blood. Her father passed away eight months prior, unexpectedly. Her mother was bedridden and approaching her final days. She denied it to Elena, but she was succumbing to a progressive disease that finally caught up to her. She’d hid the diagnosis from her family for nearly a decade. Elena’s older brother was spending his days incarcerated in Barcelona. Matteo found himself trapped in the crossfire of a burglary gone wrong. All of which was the result of getting some fast cash for their mother’s unlikely treatment. With barely any communication, Elena worried she’d never see her brother again. However, she would wait for him. A promise she would keep regardless of when or if he would be free again.

That was why she found herself at the festival on her own—grasping at straws for any sense of normality. Yet, how could she not go to the festival? At this point, it was part of her heritage, not just that of her homeland, Santo Domingo. If it weren’t for the harsh circumstances casting havoc on her family, they all would be there.

She realized how hard her grip was on the barricade when her fingers started to cramp up. A young man crashed on the dusty ground in front of her. His white clothes were suddenly stained with orange dirt from the bulls' hooves that crushed over him. It reminded her of the way her dad looked all those years ago. Aching in pain, but enough adrenaline coursing through his veins to jump back into the face of danger. An animalistic instinct matching that of the bulls.

Elena thought of what her family would do. Suppose things were different than the current reality. Her mother would tsk her tongue against her teeth in dismay, praying for it to be over. Matteo would be running with their dad. Arms linked together, so nobody was left behind. If they went tumbling down, they went together. Would her dad have let her join in? He brought Matteo into the run when he turned seventeen. Would he have given her the same perceived privilege? Or would he have known she would rather stand in safety with her mother?

This time was different. Elena didn’t have anyone by her side, neither in safety nor in the run, living out the custom. She’d stood by, anxiously watching for long enough. At that moment, she decided it was time to feel this for herself. For her dad.

Her grip on the bars transformed and served as a ladder to hoist herself to the edge. Carefully, she kept herself tucked against the bars away from the runners grazing by. She had to jump down before she was mistakenly knocked off. So, she freed herself from the imaginary arms of her mother. Ready to face the thrill her father endured. Except this was harder, she wasn’t getting the headstart like those who’d planned to run. When her feet slammed to the ground, they were already in motion. There wasn’t a choice to wait for a better moment to launch herself or take her time to speed up. Her legs carried her without much thought or effort.

Numb limbs, dry throat, shallow breaths. An abundant fear of what would happen if she looked back to assess what was trailing behind. There was a wave of heat on her heels. Unsure if it was human or beast, Elena fixated on her path in front of her. Since she’d dropped into the middle of the run, she only had to make it about a quarter of a mile. But when three runners in front of her fell to the ground, she had to calculate her response. Her right leg leaped ahead, and she ricocheted herself over the men lying flat on the earth beneath her. All in a manner she had never attempted before.

The landing was harsh. Pressure rose from the ball of her foot up through her femur. As if it was rattling her entire skeleton. But she pressed on; the finish line was nearing. An inevitable smile crept to her lips, a peal of giddy laughter leaving her chest. As she branched off at the forked finish line, she pulled the knotted bandana from her neck to wipe the beads of sweat from her upper lip. Then, as she caught her breath, she looked up to the sky. Hopeful for a sign that her dad was watching or seen that he’d followed in his footsteps.

Instead, it was just a blue sky with puffy white clouds. No hidden rainbow or majestic butterfly in the distance. No rare sighting that anyone could chalk up to symbolize her dad’s presence. She laughed again, mumbling curse words under her breath. The bandana tightened in her grip as her fist pumped into the air.

“For you,” her hollow whisper emitted.

Elena shuffled her aching toes along the cobblestone path, exiting the city's center in the direction of home. It would be her last time attending the Bull Run festival. Finally, she’d gotten what she wanted; the ability to foster a momentary connection to what once was and what could have been.