Harry walked forward, his neck rising up in front of me like a skyscraper. He felt more machine than animal. The tension stilted his movement, bound all his muscles. But he moved along, stepping short and quick, traveling a wobbly line. All the light seeped away as the clouds heaved and swirled in the sullen sky.
A white paper bag rolled by, nearly touching Harry’s hooves, flung across the ground by the quick-changing wind. Harry didn‘t even notice. His mind was coming up with far scarier things.
We rode out into the middle of the field, passing through patches of cold and warm air. Harry heard the thunder before I did. I felt him tremble as it ripped through the air. His legs stopped carrying him forward.
I set the reins on his damp neck. I let him go, and instead of holding his life in my hands I put myself at his mercy. I knew if he just turned and ran I would never get him stopped. I hoped he was still thinking enough to understand my intentions. I tried to keep breathing and I didn’t know anymore if it was him who was shaking or me. The thunder crashed, and lightning streaked across the sky, narrow and fleeting. Harry stood, paralyzed by the storm playing out around him. He didn’t run, and that alone was miraculous. I sat motionless on Harry’s back, and we both hid within ourselves. Together we stood out in the middle of the field, hunched in quiet, shared terror, fearing the worst we imagined.
Time passed, and the quiet between the thunder and lightning began to last longer than the sounds and flashes of light. Harry moved softly beneath me. I felt his head drop. He pulled a little at the reins, then brought his head up again. He looked amazed, almost disbelieving. His mind was working, trying to understand.
Harry heard the thunder again, and he stood solidly against it. The sound failed to reduce him to cringing and cowering. It failed to arrest his mind. He was maybe realizing that it was just a noise, not death.
I picked up the reins, holding them near the buckle, leaving the contact loose. I touched Harry with my calves, softly and carefully. Just enough to give him a choice.
Harry hesitated, and then he took a step. He shook himself a little, dropping his head and snorting. And he walked on. I ruffled the sweaty hairs on his neck, my face split open, grinning with pure, overwhelming happiness. I took Harry up to a trot and he strode out long and forward. He trotted on toward the unknown end of the field, courageous and free. He listened to me, not his fear. Harry left behind the awful things he’d seen and flowed underneath me, seeing past the permanent ridges of scar tissue behind his eyes. He was full of joy, and I was right there with him. The sky lightened up and the last of the lightning made only the faintest lines across it.
Part Four
Lawrence
Harry was different. There was a change in him, and it drove him to work for me. It was heady, absolutely glorious to feel him lock onto the ball, spin and surge in tune with my thoughts and motivations. All his energy, all his verve and power was channeled and in my grasp. At the touch of a finger he sank into a quivering halt, twitching with the desire to go. Harry answered the slightest brush of my leg, answered with everything he had. I knew there was nothing he couldn’t do.
He took to polo effortlessly and with a nearly frantic zeal. Once I picked up a mallet and threw out a ball Harry became a border collie before sheep, keen-eyed and straining, bursting with purpose. He watched the ball travel, eyes popping with concentration. Harry’s only fault, perhaps, was the force of his intensity, the raging energy and drive that overwhelmed him sometimes and flung him around. At times he nearly exploded with eagerness, giving me the feeling that he was trying to leap in seven directions at once. Harry was brilliant but green, and he had yet to learn strategy. His mind was overcome by the excitement of the game and his body could move much faster than he could think. I was just fine with that. I sat calmly as he threw me around, staying in the middle of him and quietly showing him the way. He would learn. I could teach him to use his mind, even in the heat of play. You couldn’t create the ability he had. You couldn’t train desire.
The ball lay at the peak of a little slope near the far edge of the field. Harry saw the speck of white and nearly bolted up the hill, reaching top speed in one slight, smooth leap. I swung, nearly waiting a second too long. But I connected with the ball. Harry was good for my reflexes.
As he rushed onward, I closed my hand on the reins. “Easy. Wait.” Harry’s hindquarters lowered, and he stopped, but I felt the energy, felt it right under the surface. His teeth clacked against the bit. His ears strained ahead. I released him, steadying myself for whiplash. Harry flung himself straight into a gallop, covering the distance between us and the ball in a few fleeting seconds. I gave a half halt, and he collected himself, giving me more time to make the hit. I thumped his neck with my rein hand as I struck the ball. “Good.”
Eventually we quit, and I walked Harry cool, happily exhausted. Harry kept stealing glances at the ball until I picked it up and stuck it in my pocket. Even then he stayed hopeful. Harry never wanted to stop. He never seemed to tire, in any way. I had to work to keep him from overdoing things and straining himself, so I kept our high-intensity sessions short.
I led Harry home, smoothing the hair on his neck. The gelding was everything I’d thought he was. Harry lived up to the promise he’d shown. His strength, his will to live and fight, was still fully present. He used it differently now. We used it together.
I stripped off Harry’s tack, curried and brushed him vigorously. When his hair lay flat and dry I led him to the paddock he shared with Vegas. He trotted off smartly, tail hiked up over his back, snapping up his legs and shaking his head. Vegas walked over, and Harry pushed into him happily. They shoved each other for a minute, and then their heads dropped to the grass.
I walked up to the house, letting myself in. Amber wasn’t anywhere inside, but her truck was in the drive. Maybe she went for a walk. I shrugged, sinking into the couch. Resting my muscles.
My phone sat beside me, slipping steadily deeper into the crease between the cushion and the arm of the sofa. I picked it up and put it right down again. The familiar, uncomfortable sensation eased into my head. Weighing me down.
There was someone else who was invested in Harry. Probably every bit as much as I was. She had seen him through so much. She had understood Harry. She made me understand him. As much as it hurt to admit it, I knew there was a possibility, a very distinct one, that I would have thrown Harry away if it had not been for her.
Harry had turned a corner, and Erica deserved to know. I wanted her to know. I wanted to show her what Harry could do, now that he was free. I wanted to see her face when I rode by on Harry, as we ran the ball down. I knew that I would see her face clearly, even when everything else was a blur. She would be elated. She would tell me what I wanted to hear, and I’d lean into her praise even though I would know I didn’t deserve it. And then she would be gone.
It was only natural. She had helped me, without expectations. Without fair compensation. She’d gone above and beyond for my horse. The least I could do was let her go. I knew that, and I wanted to do the right thing. I tried to do the right thing. I reached for the phone countless times. But when I thought about losing her, every cell of my body revolted, down to my very soul. When I started to dial her number with the intent to set her free, I felt sick. A panicked, visceral stab of desperation overtook me, and I couldn’t think or fight through it.
I couldn’t go back and find the moment I started to fall for her. I hadn’t experienced love at first sight (which I imagined as kind of like lust at first sight, except, you know, more profound). I always liked her well enough, from the beginning. She was a nice person, a good rider. A training genius. But somehow, subtly, gradually she took up more time and space in my head until I lost my mind over her. And now here I was.
I rested my head on the back of the couch. I remembered the day her shirt crept up, revealing two inches of her lower back, and how that was all I thought about for three days.
I closed my eyes and trie
d to sleep. I could never sleep in the middle of the day. Through the darkness, I imagined what I would say to her if I weren’t such a fucking coward. My words were stupid and faltering. I quickly gave up on telling her how I felt. In my fantasy I showed her instead.
Erica
I coasted onto the drive. Amber was waiting by her grime-beige Chevy and she jogged up to my truck when she saw me. I swiftly unlocked the doors, and she yanked the passenger side door open, much harder than necessary. It rebounded, and she swore at it briefly, then jumped into the cab beside me. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I put the truck in reverse, reluctantly. I never liked to leave Lawrence’s, and I was finding that was particularly true when I’d only just gotten there. Oh, well. Get over it. I started back down the road.
“So where are we going?” Amber spoke up quickly.
“Um. It depends on what you like to eat. We can go wherever.”
“Well, I don’t eat meat. So that narrows it down.” Amber’s chin jutted somewhat defiantly, giving me the impression of a dare. It seemed like she wanted me to give up on her, to write her off. But no one really wants that.
I thought for a minute, and I drew a blank on vegetarian places. “Do you like dessert?”
Amber’s defensive posture softened. “Yeah. I really like pie.”
“Well, let’s go have pie for lunch,” I said. “It wouldn’t be a first for me.”
Amber turned her head, grinning at me. She was so pretty that it actually hurt to look at her. Or maybe it was just me.
Gradually we left the farmland behind, and I navigated my way into downtown Lexington. I found a parking space about a block away from the bakery and shut down my truck. “We can walk from here,” I said.
Amber unbuckled her seat belt, kicked open her door and slammed it so hard the entire cab shuddered. Cringing, I made a mental note to tell her to lighten up. I shut my door gently and locked it, and we started off down the sidewalk. Amber’s arms swung loosely. She looked happy and eager. I smiled. I was glad I’d brought her here, and I was also thrilled that we were going to eat pie. Picking at salad blows.
As we neared the bakery’s door it swung open, hitting me with that drool-inducing aroma. Indulgence was painted onto the glass in sprawling, curling letters. I pulled the door open and felt Amber right at my heels.
My head swiveled and I just stood there for a minute, taking in the sensory overload of goodness from simple, understated, wholesome pies to the rich, towering cakes. Amber marched up to the counter, breaking my stupor. “I’m getting blueberry pie. What do you want?”
I quickly assessed the situation. “Let’s just get a whole pie. You wind up paying more for less if you get slices.”
Amber swung her head around, grinning. “This is awesome.”
I looked back at the vast selection as she ordered. There was a double chocolate chip torte that looked amazing, and I felt a bit of a pang. Oh well. I wasn’t about to pay eight bucks a slice. And I didn’t trust myself to buy a whole cake. I did not do portion control.
We sat down at a cute little round table and dug into the pie. It was excellent, crisp over the top and overflowing with fruit juices. It almost tasted healthy, in a good way.
Surprisingly, I discovered Amber could eat me under the table. She must have an incredible metabolism. Just another way in which I was lacking. I tried not to dwell on it as I sat there with a physically perfect girl and the sugar altered my body chemistry, making me hyper and twitchy, yet sad and wistful.
A couple came in the door, consisting of a chatty blonde girl with caked-on red lipstick and a clean cut, faux-rugged guy. He was wearing one of those $200 L.L. Bean jackets rated for minus a million degrees. His girlfriend ordered the cake I wanted, and I tried not to stare as she walked it right past me. I didn’t do a very good job of not staring.
I watched her pick that beautiful slice apart like it was a salad without croutons. I sat in quiet outrage as she basically shredded it, barely eating two bites. What is the point of this? What the hell is the point? I wished it was socially acceptable to walk up to her and ask for the crumbled remains of her cake. Because I would so do it.
Distracted as I was with the prissy girl who was way too dedicated to her diet, I was slow to see that Amber was stiffening up. I started to sense that her guard had gone up, and I looked over at her. She was still eating, stabbing the remaining pie aggressively with her fork. I looked around, bewildered. I was about to ask her what was wrong when I saw that I was not alone in my struggle with inappropriate staring issues. The prissy girl’s boyfriend was staring at Amber. His eyes were on her, and they weren’t moving.
I caught Amber’s eye. “Let’s get out of here,” I said.
She stood up fast, and walked out the door. I took a moment to pay the bill and throw what little remained of the pie into a container, then I hurried out to find her. She was walking down the sidewalk, head down. Every guy she passed looked at her, some harder than others.
I caught up with her at my truck, and as soon as I hit unlock she cranked the door open. I decided not to say anything. It was just a door. It wasn’t worth getting killed over.
I drove for a few minutes before Amber spoke. “Sorry,” she said sharply. “I just hate that. I really fucking hate that.” She inclined her head away from me and stared out the window, her long, curved neck hard with tension.
I just nodded and drove on. I didn’t really have anything to say. I could see how much she hated being looked at that way, and I knew, deep down, that it could probably get to you fast if every guy on the street, without exception, looked at you with varying degrees of bald lust. I just had no idea how that felt because I went through life living the opposite extreme, never being looked at, never sticking in anyone’s mind or exciting anyone. And sometimes I wanted someone to look at me that way. Not necessarily a guy in a $200 jacket on a date with his girlfriend, but someone. Just so I could stop feeling like there was something wrong with me, something that made me inherently undesirable. That was all.
The drive back did us both some good. Amber started looking less homicidal, and I pulled myself out of my pitiful mental funk. When I pulled in Lawrence’s drive for the second time that day I felt a lot better.
Lawrence came out from behind the barn as we both stepped down from the truck. I stared through the cab, through two windows, as he walked up to Amber. He snagged my breath and stung me, deep in my lungs. I didn’t pull my eyes away because I knew that would really hurt.
Lawrence
Amber was gone. The Harley was still where she’d parked it, but she was gone, and she’d been that way for a while. I called her and she didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t leave a message. I figured the mounting missed calls would clue her in to the fact that I was looking for her.
I stepped outside to look for something that needed to be done. Vegas and Harry were ridden and resting, nose to tail. Elle was intent on the grass at her feet; she didn’t even flick an ear to me. I went behind the barn to check on the old mare. Maude, that’s right. Amber named her. I walked up to the paddock fence. “Hey, Maude,” I said.
She ambled over, probably looking for carrots. Quickly figuring out that I had nothing to offer, she turned on her haunches and left me standing at the fence. Maude looked pretty good for 30-something. She doesn’t even look that stiff. I realized I’d never seen her move faster than a walk. I’d never done anything with the mare besides feed her and lead her back and forth between eating stations.
I turned around and went into the barn, where I grabbed a halter and lead. I ducked into the tack room for a longe line and a whip, which I left just outside the barn. Maude stood in place as I let myself into her paddock and walked up to her. I haltered the old mare and led her through the gate. She looked at me with considerable suspicion when I stopped to pick up the longeing equipment. That looks like work to me.
She walked along with me to the arena. “Let’s see if you longe,” I said to her as I snapped the l
onge line to her halter. Maude walked off quickly, and I let the longe line out, making the circle bigger. She walked around me without stopping, pulling or falling in. “Good girl. Nice.” I raised the whip slightly. “T-rot.”
Maude gave me a sideways look that said I’d rather stomp you into the ground. I stepped forward and wrapped the lash of the whip around her hindquarters. She jerked into a trot, bracing, her nose stuck out. I stepped back to watch her move. She had pretty decent reach and hock action, considering her age and her opinion about moving.
Encouraged, I lifted the whip again. “Maude, canter.”
Again, the sideways death stare. She fully knew what I wanted. She just didn’t want to give me what I wanted.
I flicked the lash at her hind end, but she accelerated, moving out of the way. I kept after her until she grudgingly stepped into a canter, ears flat back. “Good, Maude. Nice canter.” She wasn’t bad to look at when she got moving. Her attitude does limit her usefulness. But if I work on her, she might make a decent trail horse for someone. I halted Maude and she turned to face the other direction, so I worked her for a few more minutes. Her ears stayed back on her head the entire time, but she did everything right.
“Whoa, Maude,” I said.
The mare stopped quickly, her legs straight and square. I folded the longe line as I walked to her head. I took a moment to rub her neck and she turned her head away, staring pointedly off into space. “You’re not dead yet,” I said to her. “You can still contribute. Maybe you can teach some kid to ride.” Or cure some kid of ever liking horses, I thought somewhat unkindly.
Training Harry Page 38