How to Make Friends with the Dark

by Kathleen Glasgow

  Opal tosses her mane at him. He just laughs and heads toward the others with the boots.

  Opal and I stare are each other. I reach out slowly and run my fingers down her nose. Is it called a nose? Or something else? I was so busy looking up horse things that I forgot horse anatomy. I make a mental note to look that up later, after dinner.

  She’s so soft, like velvet. And warm. We stand there for a long time, just breathing, and I can feel myself kind of sinking into a warm feeling, like my bones are loosening ever so slightly.

  Like things are okay, just for this tiny moment.

  I look down at her splint. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” I say. “Hurting sucks.”

  Opal leans her nose into my palm.

  And then Marco calls out that it’s time to start mucking shit.

  * * *

  • • •

  Mucking shit is just as horrible as it sounds, and by the time we’re done, our backs are sore and we smell to high heaven, or so Walrus Jackson says. He sat in the corner the whole time, reading a book, while we heaved horse manure, measured out food, and raked and cleaned stalls.

  Outside, it’s hot and flies are buzzing all around us. Marco looks almost gleeful as he explains the routine.

  In the morning, we’ll help exercise the horses, help the staff with riding lessons, and learn the ins and outs of working the stable. After lunch, we muck. After mucking, we help feed the ducks, the pigs (there are two), and take riding lessons in the late afternoon. “Nothing fancy,” Marco says. “But you need to learn the basics of riding.”

  Randy Gonzalez has appeared, his wide-brimmed hat shading his face. He smiles at all of us. “Welcome to my home. I’m glad to have you as my guests for the week. I hope you find sustenance for your soul here.”

  The four of us look around awkwardly. Adults are weird. Always saying these giant things that you have to think about for so long, you usually forget what they said in the first place.

  “There’s a pool down that little path,” he says, pointing. “You can use it, but please be respectful of noise. Most of us around here go to bed pretty early. Ranch life starts before the sun rises, after all.”

  He meanders off. Alif says, “That dude is like something from a cowboy movie.”

  Marco laughs.

  * * *

  • • •

  In our guesthouse, in our tiny shared bedroom, Mae-Lynn snores deeply. Her hands are blistered from the muck rake. I had to dig around the pink-painted bathroom to find some Band-Aids and ointment. We were all so tired from the first afternoon we could barely keep our heads up over a dinner of posole and fry bread and iced tea.

  I am tired, too, my bones aching, but I can’t sleep. I feel rickety, loose. I get up and put my dress on, even though it’s still damp from me washing it out in the sink. I slide my boots on.

  The night sky is velvety black and the air is still. I can hear the pigs gently snuffling in their pen as I walk to the stable.

  Of course, the doors are locked. These are important horses, after all. I walk down to the end, to where Opal is. Her Dutch door, which is what Marco called the half door to each stall, is partially open.

  I hold my hand inside.

  It only takes a minute, and then I hear her shuffle, snort, and then a long tongue reaches out and licks my fingers.

  She appears, her eyes glossy and curious.

  “My mom died,” I say.

  Soft snort, foot stamp.

  She nudges my hand with her nose.

  I talk to her for a long time, stuff about my mom, and my sister, until I can barely keep my eyes open, and then I say good night and go back up to the guesthouse, and fall into bed still wearing my dampish dress.

  29 days, 18 hours, 39 minutes

  THADDEUS IS STANDING AT the edge of the ring, a giant grin on his face. He’s watched all of us struggle to get on a horse, stay on the horse, and make it around the ring in one smooth go.

  There’s a lot more to horse riding than just getting on, it turns out.

  There’s grooming, saddling, cinching, reining, and a kind of awkward-sounding thing called mounting. And then the feeling of terror at being so high off the ground on such a powerful, unpredictable animal.

  You have to learn how to walk, halt, turn. All of these things have to be learned before you can jog or canter, which Mae-Lynn says she’s never doing.

  “Happy just moseying along,” she calls out, as her horse, Fireball, meanders slowly inside the ring. Mae-Lynn is doing pretty well. Taran and Alif are struggling.

  I’ve been circling the ring at a slow clip on Opal. At first, Marco didn’t want to give her to me, because of her leg, but then he decided it would be okay. “You two like each other,” he said. “I know you’ll be gentle. No one likes to be forced to do things they aren’t ready to do, and she’ll let you know when she’s had enough.”

  It’s very bouncy being on a horse, and kind of painful on muscles and bone parts you weren’t really aware of at first, but I like it.

  I look down at Thaddeus as I make my third turn around the ring.

  He gives me a thumbs-up.

  I feel at home.

  Maybe horses, like avocados and stand-up comedy, can be in your DNA, too.

  30 days, 16 hours

  RANDY GONZALEZ HOLDS OUT the receiver of the stable phone. It’s bolted to the wall next to the stacks of feed. We aren’t allowed to bring our cellphones with us when we work the stables. Marco had said, “I don’t need anyone not paying attention and then getting kicked in the head.”

  “Your sister,” Randy says. “Don’t worry, she says nothing is wrong.”

  I take off my smelly gloves and drop them on the ground.

  “Hey, you,” my sister says. “What’s shaking?”

  “Um, nothing? Just…” I look around the stable, at my friends—my friends!—shoveling horse shit and measuring food for the horses. “Working.”

  “Well, glad to hear it. Listen—” Her voice gets softer, but also quicker, like she thinks someone might be listening, and my ears prick up at the difference. “I know you’re supposed to stay until Sunday, but it’s summer!” There’s a pause, and when she starts talking again, her voice is higher. “Aren’t I supposed to take you on a summer vacation? We did that sometimes when I was little. Went to a cabin once on the Redneck Riviera. We lived in Florida then. Other places, too.”

  “I didn’t know you lived in Florida, too,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah. Lots of places. Anyway, I’ve gussied up your mom’s car and I can pack some bags—”

  “We don’t have the money for that, Shayna. Do we?” I lick my lips. She seems weird, like something is wrong, but taking a trip can’t be wrong, can it?

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. My grandpa sent a check, not a big one, mind you, but it’ll cover some things, and hey, maybe we can even stop by and see them in Alabama on our trip. I love driving. It’ll be a blast. Maybe you can take the wheel a little. Back roads and stuff.”

  “Um…” I look over at Taran and Alif and Mae-Lynn, their clothes wet with sweat. They’re all watching me. “Well, I mean, I kind of like it here right now. Maybe I can stay? And you could do your trip. I bet I can stay with Mae-Lynn until you get back.”

  There’s an eerie silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Shayna?

  “So, no. I mean, I hate to pull the guardian card, but you’re coming with me. I can’t leave you behind.”

  “I don’t…you’re making me go on vacation with you?”

  “Yes. I’ll be by at ten tomorrow, so be ready! I’ll pack up some of your stuff here so we can just get started.” She tries to make her voice sound bright. “A sister trip. Just you and me.”

  She hangs up. I listen to the dial tone before replacing the receiver.

  Her voice
, it had just the tiniest, sharpest quiver at the end, when she said just you and me.

  When I turn back around, they’re all looking at me, eyes concerned.

  “Looks like I’m leaving tomorrow,” I say. “Who’s up for one more ride?”

  * * *

  • • •

  I ride so hard and so fast on the trail that Tarin’s and Alif’s voices are lost in the wind. Opal is heaving herself forward, like she couldn’t wait to try to go fast again. I can feel her blood pumping beneath my legs.

  I want to go fast all the time now.

  I want to go so fast I can’t see, can’t hear, can’t be.

  I was happy here, and now my sister is ripping me away from it.

  But I feel better, riding Opal. Maybe this is our shared story: a fast horse, time stopping somehow.

  I don’t ever want to stop. I dig my heels into Opal.

  I can ride so fast and far that when I come out the other side, everything will be different.

  I’m crying.

  She snorts. Her gait slows. She’s telling me she’s done. She tosses her head. I dig in. She whinnies.

  She balks, and I go flying.

  I land a few feet away, thudding so painfully on the ground I’m afraid I might have broken something. I have burrs and goatheads in my hair, in my hands, in my dress. I almost smacked my head into a rock.

  I breathe in dirt and dust. Cough.

  Opal snorts, limps over. She stamps a hoof.

  I didn’t like that.

  Okay, I say. I’m sorry.

  Okay.

  She leans down, noses my face. Snorts, sending snot and spit on my cheek. I rub the side of her neck.

  Taran and Alif ride up, sending another cloud of dust over me.

  “What the hell were you doing! You could’ve killed yourself.” Taran gets off Duster, kneels down and brushes dirt off me. “You’re bleeding.”

  His brother takes my arm. “You just took off. Was it the horse? She get spooked or something?”

  “It wasn’t the horse, dude. It was her.” Taran picks some pine needles off the sleeve of my dress. “We’re supposed to be having fun.”

  “I just…,” I say.

  They look at me. The sun is golden and hot, and even though we have hats on, our faces are sweaty and dirty and tired. Four days of mucking stalls and chasing ducks and trying to learn everything horse will do that to you, I guess.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Alif’s eyes are sad. “You don’t have to be sorry, Tiger. But it’s not going to do any good, hurting yourself like this.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Taran says, “Come on, let’s go. Jackson will be worried. And the horses need water.”

  They help me back onto Opal. My body is starting to feel sore and stiff. I ride behind them. When I think they’re enough ahead of me, I lean down close to the hot velvet of Opal’s neck and whisper, “I am. I’m really sorry.”

  She twitches her mane, sending whips of thick hair against my cheek.

  * * *

  • • •

  In the guesthouse, Mae-Lynn examines my cuts, pulls goatheads from my hair.

  “That was stupid,” she says. “I mean, so stupid.” Her fingers are rough in my hair.

  “Why are you so mad?” I ask, swatting her hand away. “I just wanted to go fast. I don’t know.”

  Mae-Lynn crosses her arms. Her cheeks are wet. She’s looking away from me, down at the ground.

  “I know what you were trying to do. You thought you could go so fast or far everything would change, or you’d die, right?”

  She looks back up at me. Her eyes are streaming.

  “Well, bully for you, then. And how dare you! I thought I finally found a friend. And not only that, a friend who understands this horrible hole I have inside, but you know what? I don’t care. Because what kind of friend would leave me that way? What kind of friend would do that to me after I’ve had the worst kind of leaving?”

  Her voice shatters. She’s crying so hard her shoulders are shaking.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning against her, wrapping my arms around her. “I’m sorry. I won’t leave you. It was stupid. I promise. I promise.”

  “Don’t,” she cries into my hair. “Please don’t. I’ve had too much already.”

  30 days, 23 hours, 17 minutes

  MAE-LYNN IS SITTING ON the edge of the pool, her legs in, trailing her fingers through the water. “I’m sorry you’re leaving early, but that seems cool, a road trip. Right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. She seemed weird about it, though.”

  “Well, there’s no turning back,” she says. “She’s it. She’s what you have and you have to make the best of it.”

  “Yep.”

  I get up. “Hold on,” I say. “I have to call her. I need her to pack something for me.”

  I’ve never been anywhere on a trip without my mom, and I don’t want to start now. I call Shayna, but her voice mail picks up. “Hey,” I say. “I know it’s bizarre, but can you, uh, pack my Boxes of Mom? They won’t take up much room. I just…I don’t want to leave her behind. Okay. Call me back if you want, or text.”

  Taran and Alif start calling out Marco! Polo! and Mae-Lynn is giggling. Even though I’m just wearing a T-shirt and some shorts Thaddeus loaned me, since I don’t have a real bathing suit, seeing them playing in the pool makes me kind of giddy, and not awkward or poor.

  They make me feel hopeful even, with their voices ringing out in the night air, the stars perfect and sweet in the dark night sky.

  I take a running start and when my body slices through the water, I feel as free as I did all those years ago in The Pit, my body weightless and ignorant of the pain to come.

  31 days, 12 hours, 39 minutes

  SHAYNA DOESN’T COME TO get me.

  I wait for her in the guesthouse, scrolling on my phone. The others are in the stable, working.

  I try not to panic, like that one night. PTSD, Walrus called it. I tell myself: just because one person went away, doesn’t mean another will. Deep breaths.

  I send two texts and leave one voice mail before I go down to the stable and ask Taran and Alif for a ride after lunch. At least I can wait for her at home.

  * * *

  • • •

  The first thing I notice when Taran and Alif drop me off is the dented black sedan in the driveway. Shayna never has friends over. She always says she’s meeting people, but they never come over.

  I walk slowly to the door, my heart sinking. First we go on this mystery trip, then she doesn’t show up, and now she has friends over?

  When I open the door, the second thing I notice is the mess.

  Not that Shayna is a neat freak, by any means, but this is by far worse than anything I thought possible, coming from her.

  Clothes all over the place, like they’ve been thrown and kicked around. Stacks of dirty dishes in the sink and toppling on the red counter. An open cardboard container of orange juice on its side, a pool of gelatinous pulp drying on the counter.

  The smell of cigarette smoke, which makes my eyes tear up.

  I set my pink suitcase by the door, my heart sinking. “Shayna?” I call out softly. “I’m home.” I suddenly wonder if I should text Taran and Alif and have them come back.

  The door to my—our—bedroom is closed.

  There are beer cans in a pyramid on the coffee table in front of the television.

  A full ashtray.

  Shayna doesn’t smoke.

  My voice trembles as I call out her name again, a little louder this time.

  No answer. I’m completely freaked out, and just as I’m turning to go, and planning to run down the dirt driveway and call Taran, or 911, the bedroom door swings open, and a gravelly voice says, “You must be
the famous little sister. The one that up and lured my girlfriend away.”

  My fingertips go cold. My whole body goes cold.

  Ray.

  She said he was gone. She said he wasn’t a worry. She said, It’s just Ray. He’s all talk and no game.

  But maybe her voice had shaken, just the tiniest bit. Can I remember that? Did that happen? That happened. It happened.

  I’m telling you for the billionth time.

  It’s Just Ray is leaning in the doorway of my bedroom, his flannel shirt untucked, his jeans greasy, hair hanging in his eyes. He has deep, dark circles under his eyes.

  He smiles, but his voice isn’t friendly. “Don’t you want to say hi? I came all this way, after all.”

  Behind him, my sister is a lump in the bed, her long hair spilling over the side, toward the floor. There’s a tear in her pink Victoria’s Secret pajama pants.

  They were in my bed. Doing things.

  My stomach turns. I might be sick.

  I don’t want to look at him in the doorway anymore, so I look at the floor.

  And then he bellows, so loud it makes all the hair on my body stand up, “Shayna, your sister’s home!”

  My sister shoots out of bed, weaving and almost falling over. She catches herself with one hand on the bed before pushing herself back upright. She lurches toward Ray, who makes room for her in the doorway. When she takes her hands away from her face and looks at me, I see the dark circles under her eyes, too.

  She’s as pale as a ghost and her lips are dry, dry. There’s a purplish shadow on her temple that makes my heart squeeze.

  “Did he hi—” It comes out in a half breath before she shakes her head violently.

  No.

  But I don’t believe her, because I remember that morning she left her phone on the bed and went to shower and it lit up. You are not the one in charge here don’t forget that.