have guessed this car could do that.”
Never judge a book by its cover. But I’m glad Fiona and I could impress you.
“Wait, wait, wait. Fiona? Are you, like, a Shrek fan or something?”
Is anyone not a Shrek fan? But hey, I’ve got an idea. Wanna drive? Fast?
He’d let me drive his car? Of course,
he has no idea. “I don’t have my license.”
Why not? No one ever taught you how, or you flunked the test, or what?
“Actually, I’ve got my permit, and logged in my hours, but Dad won’t sign the application.”
You live pretty far out here. You’d think he’d want you to have transportation.
“I guess it’s his way of keeping me close to home. Doesn’t really matter. I don’t
have a car or any way to buy one. No car, no job. No job, no car. Catch-22.”
If you’re comfortable behind the wheel, you can still take Fiona for a short spin.
I won’t ask to see your license. It’s a tempting invitation, and I’m thinking it over when . . .
I Spy Something
“Hey. Take it easy. What’s that?”
It’s hard to see in the failing light, but it’s in the road, moving toward us.
I think it’s a horse. But no rider.
The saddle on the tall trotting
chestnut is, indeed, empty. “Can you
angle the car across the road and stop?”
He manages to block most of
both lanes diagonally, and when
the winded horse notices, it slows
to a walk. I get out of the car, approach the sweating mare carefully. “Whoa,
now,” I tell her. “Hold on, big girl.”
She tilts her head, perhaps considering escape. But when I hold out my hand,
something makes her decide to come
toward me and allow me to take hold
of her reins. I stroke the length
of her wide pale blaze. “Atta girl.”
I steer her to the shoulder, allowing Gabe to park the GTO off the asphalt.
When he gets out and joins me, he says, That was awesome. You know horses?
“Some. My Oklahoma grandparents own
them, or did. Pops taught me to ride when I was little. And one of Dad’s girlfriends lived on a ranch. Nadia, who worshipped her warmbloods, showed me a lot more.
So yes, I’m acquainted with horses.”
Well, this one must’ve left someone behind.
“I’d say that’s a given. Tell you what.
You take the car and see if you can find them. I’ll ride the horse in that direction.
She’s awfully tall, though. Can you please give me a boost?” I’d try it without help but my jeans are kind of tight, and I don’t want to rip the butt seam. I had no idea I’d go riding today. I expect an awkward attempt, but he immediately interlocks his fingers, creating a pocket for my foot, and launches me into the saddle. “Okay, wait. I take it you know horses, too?”
I do. I’ll tell you about it later, though.
The Mare Argues
When I try to turn her around.
That means home, or at least whatever she’s focused on
reaching, is in the opposite direction. I do my best to talk her into acquiescing. “Come on, girl. Your person needs a ride.”
Reluctantly, she lets me head the other way. Rather than hurry, we walk to cool her off, and I think about Nadia, who was the last person I saw tossed off a horse into the dirt, not that she didn’t deserve it.
The woman was a piece of work.
Dad hooked up with her in
Arizona, where ranch life is only pleasant seasonally. Maybe that was part of her problem.
While Pops insisted I ride his beautifully trained
quarter horses using nothing more than halters for reining, Nadia got off on spade bits in her bridles, and I’m pretty sure that’s how she dealt
with men—pain as control.
I’ve no clue if Dad gets off on pain, but relinquishing the reins, so to speak, is for sure not his thing, and YAY!
Since he didn’t fit Nadia’s profile, the relationship quickly went south. Still, I loved being there.
Her horses were stunning—
big Spanish mounts. I learned not to fear their size. And, unlike Nadia, I didn’t rely on ugly bits to gain their cooperation.
What I discovered was how
easily horses worked using nothing but subtle shifts
of weight, and once in a while, for punctuation, a gentle
touch of knees or hands.
This was their instinct
and, somehow, mine.
But then, no surprise, Dad decided it was time to leave, or Nadia did. That was more than two years ago, and I haven’t been anywhere near a horse since. Until now. Guess
it’s like riding a bike.
Once you’ve accomplished
the skill, you never forget how.
We Crest a Small Rise
And up ahead in the distance,
I can see Gabe’s GTO, pulled over
on the shoulder. I squint and discover him in an open expanse, well off
the road, kneeling over something
on the ground. I urge the mare into a gallop and when we get closer,
I notice a person, lying motionless in the dirt. Doubtless they were
ejected from the saddle I’m currently occupying. “Everything okay?” I shout, though it’s a ridiculous question.
Even from here, Gabe’s concern
is obvious. She’s in shock, he yells.
Get my jacket off the backseat.