by Susan Juby
Inside the house, he crouched over to take off his boots and was nearly impaled when May stuck the phone under his nose.
“Phone!” she said and took off.
Alex grabbed the receiver.
“Whatcha doing, buddy?” It was Cameron’s voice.
“Nothing,” he said, and felt a flash of heat burn down his spine.
“You want to do something?”
“Do something?”
“Come down to Bowen Park.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Now?” Alex tried to keep the confusion and alarm out of his voice. “It’s kind of dark.”
“Are you scared of the dark?”
“No, I’m just saying.”
“Half an hour. I’ll meet you in the far lot.”
The phone went dead and Alex was left staring down at his untied boots.
The night was dark, but not as dark as he feared, because the moon was nearly full. Alex drove through downtown Nanaimo and up Bowen Road. He turned onto the wet, winding road that led into the park and drove until he reached what he hoped was the farthest lot. He hadn’t been to the park since he was little and his class had come to visit the 4-H petting farm. He’d heard a few months back that someone had broken into the little fenced area and beaten several of the baby animals to death. The thought of it made him feel nauseous, as did his knowledge that the park had a reputation as a gay hangout, a place where married guys and hustlers met for illicit encounters.
Alex tried to shake off the sense of foreboding that was growing in him. So what if they weren’t going for coffee. Maybe Cameron wasn’t comfortable being…inside. Alex sat in the car with the engine off. He could feel the heat fading but he refused to turn on the engine again. He didn’t want to do anything to make himself more conspicuous.
It took a minute for his eyes to adjust after he turned off the headlights. He tried to focus on what he could see of the forest outside. It was filled with ferns and old cedars and rhododendrons just barely illuminated in the pale moonlight. The wet leaves sparkled. The park was in the middle of town, but was dead quiet under the white noise of the brimming river that lay beyond the parking lot.
He sat for almost fifteen minutes, waiting, unable to shake the sense that there was something wrong with the whole situation: the parking lot, the older men walking by who stared in at him for a few seconds too long. Thoughts of Cleo and how she’d feel about this nagged him, as did thoughts of Chris. Not that Chris was anything more than a friend. An acquaintance, really.
Finally he heard the slice and rattle of skateboard wheels on wet pavement. Cameron loomed up out of the darkness and appeared at the driver’s side window. In one smooth movement, he kicked his skateboard into his hand and pushed his black hair out of his eyes while Alex rolled down the window.
“Hey,” Cameron said.
On the drive over, Alex had imagined the conversation they’d have. He’d tell Cameron about his riding, about his dad and Ms. Reed. About Detroit and Ms. Reed’s thinly veiled threats to take the horse, his dreams of becoming a professional dressage rider. Cameron would nod and ask insightful questions. Then Cameron would talk about his problems and dreams while Alex listened. They’d stop somewhere for a good dinner. The dream filled Alex with a longing he hadn’t felt since he’d first developed his obsession with horses.
But the reality was a chilly disappointment—liter-ally. Alex’s hands and feet were numb and the two of them were as awkward as strangers.
“You want to get in?” asked Alex.
“Nah. Come on out.”
Cameron backed up a couple of steps to let Alex out of the car. Alex turned and locked the driver’s side, then followed Cameron out of the parking lot and onto a path. They pushed through wet branches and stepped over slender trees toppled by a wet, heavy snow that had fallen over Christmas, remnants of which lay in small patches. The boys walked until they reached a small sandy beach that faced only dense undergrowth on the other side of the river. The moon shone brightly off the water and the night suddenly felt warmer than it had.
Cameron put his skateboard down and gestured for Alex to sit on it.
“Want a beer? I got some in my bag.”
Without waiting for an answer Cameron began to dig around in his backpack. He handed a can to Alex, then opened his own and drank it in a few long gulps. He was already opening a second one as Alex took his first reluctant sip. Beer reminded him of his father—the worst part of his father.
Alex looked at Cameron and was struck again by how such a handsome face could be so filled with shadows and secrets.
“So you and Cleo,” said Alex. He hesitated. “You guys are…”
“Nothing,” said Cameron. “We’re nothing.”
Without seeming to move, he moved his hand onto Alex’s. Alex could feel the warmth through his glove. There was a rustling noise behind them. Cameron retracted his hand as though he’d been burned.
An overweight man stepped out of the shrubs and stood in front of them. A gold wedding band glinted on his left hand. Alex couldn’t see him very well but the man managed to ask the question without saying a word.
Alex shook his head and the man melted away, wandering off along the dark path.
For a moment Alex couldn’t speak. When he finally found his voice he said, “We should probably go.”
“He’s harmless. Who knows, maybe he’d be good for a few bucks,” said Cameron, before finishing off his second beer.
“What?”
“Just kidding,” said Cameron, leaning back and smiling in a way that made Alex very uncomfortable.
Alex looked up and saw a cloud passing beneath the moon.
He struggled to find the words for what was bothering him. It wasn’t just his feelings of guilt about Cleo. It was that he was in the lurker park with fat, married guys cruising him. He was with someone who called him “buddy.” This wasn’t at all how he’d envisioned his first date.
“What are we doing out here?” he asked.
“Hanging out,” said Cameron, who gave him a look that made his brain freeze and his stomach burn. Alex resisted the temptation to let the feeling take him away.
“No. I mean us. Are we—?”
“Are we what?”
“Is this a date?”
The disgusted expression on Cameron’s face made Alex flinch.
“You sound like a girl, man,” said Cameron.
Alex knew then that whatever this was, it wasn’t going any further than the park. He also knew this park wasn’t enough for him—not now, not ever.
He got up and brushed himself off.
“Where are you going?”
Alex looked down and felt anger slice through him at whatever or whomever had sentenced Cameron to the dark.
“You should tell Cleo,” he said.
Something shifted in Cameron’s face for a moment and then the mask slipped back into place.
“Come on,” he said. “Where are you going?”
“I mean it. You need to tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“That you’re not that into her.” Because you’re not into girls. “Either you tell her or I will.”
As Alex walked away he felt himself bracing for an attack that never came.
PHASE III
Riding the horse in greater collection with regularity, suppleness, and proficiency, and with an increased bend in the joints of the hind legs in all ordinary paces and jumps that can be copied from nature. These movements developed by training to the highest perfection are called High School…. The art of riding must be divorcedfrom all mystery by simplicity and truth. High School will then be possible and free from all false doctrines and medieval conceptions, so that riding may again be acknowledged as an art within the reach of every serious rider.
—Alois Podhajsky, The Complete Training of Horse and Rider in the Principles of Classical Horsemanship
MARCH 10
21
> Alex
WHEN ALEX LED Detroit out of his stall at the Mid-Island Spring Horse Show, he felt a wash of embarrassment as people did double takes upon seeing Detroit’s show sheet. Grace had told him that, as his sponsor for the show, she wanted to advertise her company name, so over the top of his winter stable blanket, Detroit wore a purple blanket made of two bedsheets Grace had sewn together. On either side she’d written “Graceful Hair Designs” in elaborate lettering. The logo was heavily accented with rhinestones. She’d thought long and hard about whether to add “Ltd.,” but in the end decided that to do so would misrepresent her skills. “There’s nothing limited about me,” she’d concluded as she admired her handiwork.
When Cleo saw the show sheet, she told Alex that it probably wouldn’t be necessary for him to come out formally. “That blanket’ll make the announcement for you.” Alex had been thinking about coming out a lot in the past few days. He and Chris had spent four afternoons together working on the music and Alex found himself increasingly fascinated by his friend.
Chris seemed to disappear into the task of designing the musical score for Alex’s ride. He carefully watched the video of Alex riding his freestyle over and over while he played pieces of music he thought might match. He was as lost in the music as he was when he drew. Chris made music and art the way Alex rode: with complete absorption. Alex found it both comforting and inspiring.
Chris turned out to be right about the bhangra. The South Asian music was a perfect match for Detroit’s elastic and athletic gaits. The music had strong rhythms and distinct beats, but it was also complex and full of surprises. It made Alex feel like dancing while twining scarves around himself. It made him feel like riding. When he tested it out, he was sure Detroit liked it, too. The big gelding lightened up and became more animated when the music played.
As Alex tacked up Detroit, he reflected that even though he was thrilled at the freestyle he and Chris had put together, he was confused and dismayed by his growing feelings for his friend. What could have been simple admiration for Chris’s talent was amplified because Chris seemed interested.
During the four days they worked together, Alex had seen Chris looking at him. More than once. When he was tempted to make something of it, Alex remembered Cleo’s delusion that his own occasional glance in her direction meant he was in love with her. Then he thought of the scorching looks Cameron had given him. Why did romance have to be so tangled and confusing? It would be hard enough if everyone wore a sign stating their preferences. It was practically impossible for someone who had no antenna for this stuff at all.
If Alex was a more confident person, he might have tried to raise the subject directly. Chris was a thoughtful, gentle person and Alex knew he’d be kind no matter how he felt. But Alex wasn’t a confident person and kind wouldn’t cut it. Quite the opposite. And Alex thought he would rather die than make Chris uncomfortable or ruin their friendship. So he said nothing and pushed away his feelings.
“Do you need any help?”
Alex looked around and saw the person he’d just been obsessing about standing behind him. Blood rushed into his cheeks.
“Where’s Sofia?” he asked out of habit.
“She’s with your sisters and Grace. I think Sofia wants to join their gang.”
Alex nodded. “They have that effect on people.”
“You’re all ready?”
“Actually, would you mind getting my show jacket? It’s in there.” Alex pointed at the small, walk-in dressing room at the front of Fergus and Ivan’s horse trailer.
Chris came back carrying the coat and a plaid wool scarf. “It’s kind of cold out. You might need this while you warm up.” He held up the scarf. Alex, heart pounding, shrugged out of the heavy ski parka he wore over his pressed dress shirt and let Chris help him into his coat. When he finally had it on, Alex turned to his friend and began fastening the buttons with hands that should have been frozen but instead were strangely hot. When Chris very gently reached to put the scarf around Alex’s neck, their hands met.
It was only a moment, but when it was over, Alex was suddenly eight feet tall and made of sunlight.
Grace told him later that the music seemed to take the small crowd by surprise. Alex didn’t notice. As soon as he entered the arena everything disappeared but the horse and the music. As he rode down the centerline he felt Detroit’s footfalls perfectly match the beats. They made a perfect transition to a square halt at X. Silence fell for a beat, two beats, three beats. Then the music began again, louder now, as Alex pushed Detroit off at a collected trot.
It seemed to Alex that he could feel the horse’s back muscles ripple in time with the music as they crossed the diagonal at a medium trot. Detroit did a traverse to the right and then to the left at the trot, maintaining his rhythm. When Alex tightened his stomach, Detroit stopped in time with the crescendo. The horse backed up the four steps at the slightest prompt and then moved off again. Alex put the big gelding into a canter, again perfectly timed to the music. He lengthened and collected the horse’s canter, then let him stretch his neck down to take the bit. Alex felt as if he’d grown wings and that his horse was stepping on clouds rather than sand. The music swirled around them and Alex heard the crowd clapping in time. He put the horse into a medium trot and the clapping seemed to hold them aloft each stride for an extra moment.
When it was over and Detroit stood perfectly still and square at X, the music faded from the air, and several people in the crowd stood up and applauded.
Maybe it was just a schooling show and not an Olympic qualifier, and a second-level freestyle rather than a grand prix test, but Alex couldn’t help feeling elated. He’d just spent over five minutes in the zone, that rare state of grace in riding when everything comes together. Time in the zone was elusive and generally measured in fractions of seconds, not entire minutes.
As soon as Alex and Detroit got out of the ring they were surrounded by people: coaches, sisters, friends. People he’d never spoken to before came over to congratulate him on a nice ride.
“Thanks,” he said, careful not to let his excitement look like arrogance.
Fergus and Ivan were overcome with emotion, as though Alex were a baby bird who’d just landed safely after his first flight.
“Lovely, my dear,” said Fergus after he swung the woolen quarter sheet over Detroit’s rump. “Just lovely. I admit I wasn’t sure about that music, but by God it worked.”
Ivan nodded. “That was good,” he said.
“We were dancing along!” said Maggie. “Did you see us?”
Alex saw Ivan look down at his sisters, his white eyebrows knitted together.
“I’ve got to walk him out,” he said, kicking his legs out of his stirrups and swinging a leg over the saddle.
When he hit the ground sharp pains shot through his feet as the full weight of gravity grabbed him again.
“Where’s Cleo?” he asked, realizing he hadn’t seen her since she went off to ride her first test. That was at least an hour ago.
Fergus shook his head and Ivan looked away, his lips pursed.
“What?” pressed Alex. His coaches didn’t answer.
Alex gave up and walked over to Chris, who held out his winter jacket.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Let me get a picture,” said Grace. Chris tried to step out of the frame but she stopped him. “I want all of you.”
Soon she’d herded Fergus, Ivan, Maggie, May, Chris, Sofia, and a couple of surprised strangers into a huddle around Detroit.
When she’d gotten her picture and the crowd had gone their separate ways, Alex turned to Grace.
“Have you seen Cleo?”
“I think there was a bit of a problem with her first ride.”
“I saw Fergus and Ivan getting mad at her,” said Maggie. “Something about drinking.”
“Drinking?” asked Alex, feeling completely lost.
“Something about her drinking and not being allowed to ride in the rest o
f the show.”
After Alex had cooled Detroit and put him in his stall he headed toward the jumper area to find Cleo. He figured the first person she’d run to was that reprobate roommate of hers.
He stood on the narrow gravel road that separated the rings from the barns as he decided whether to check the jumper ring or the jumper barn first. That’s when he saw the champagne-colored Lexus. His stomach dropped. The car was empty. Ms. Reed was here somewhere.
He quickly turned toward the jumper barn, choosing it because it was farthest from Ms. Reed’s car, but before he could get very far Ms. Reed stepped out from behind a truck like she’d been waiting for him.
“Hello,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed in the cold. Alex hadn’t seen her for at least two weeks. In those two weeks his father had come home to his RV every night after work and stayed home on weekends. Alex had a sick feeling about the whole thing. His throat was suddenly so dry he couldn’t swallow.
“I saw your little performance,” said Ms. Reed.
Alex nodded cautiously.
“Watching you out there made me realize how much I miss riding,” she said. “Especially since I have a bit more time on my hands these days. You know, since your father and I have stopped seeing each other.”
They stared at each other for another long beat.
“Does your father know you’re gay?” she asked without preamble. “No. I’m sure he doesn’t. Brian doesn’t see anything he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t see that your tramp of a mother is never coming back or that his precious son bats for the wrong team. Although personally, I don’t know how he could miss it.
“Anyway, like I said, you’ve inspired me to take up riding again. It’s time for me to start working with my own horse again. You can bring him home next weekend,” said Ms. Reed. She stared at Alex for a long beat, then turned and walked away.
Alex stood rooted to his spot for a long minute. Then, in a fog of shock, he went off to find Cleo.
MARCH 10