Horse

by Talley English

  “You’re doing really well,” Teagan said.

  Grace shifted into third and gave it more gas.

  “I don’t usually use third here. You don’t really need to,” Teagan said.

  Grace said nothing and kept driving, and then shifted into fourth.

  “Grace, I think it’s too fast,” Teagan said. She looked over at the speedometer. The needle crept past forty, to forty-five.

  “You’re going too fast, okay? Slow down some, okay?” Teagan said.

  “This isn’t that fast,” Grace said.

  The dirt road was not long. Soon they would reach the gate between the dirt road and the paved two-lane road.

  “Okay, you should slow it down now,” Teagan said, after they’d traveled a little ways more at speed. “Slow down.”

  “Stop telling me what to do,” Grace said.

  “It’s my truck and I want you to slow it,” Teagan said.

  “Fine. I won’t drive at all,” Grace said. She took her hands off the wheel and folded them across her chest.

  “Grace, hold the wheel. You can’t do that,” Teagan yelled, bracing herself on the seat. The truck veered off the road and two wheels fell into the ditch. It drove forward, tilted precariously, two wheels on the road and two in the ditch. And then it bounced as if it had hit something and ricocheted off, and then stopped. Grace had hit the brake.

  “Oh my god. Don’t do that ever again,” said Teagan, quietly.

  “I can’t drive with you telling me what to do the whole time,” Grace said.

  “I won’t tell you what to do. I just thought it was a little fast. Please, don’t ever take your hands off the wheel again, please.”

  “I won’t,” Grace said. She started up the engine and pulled forward, out of the ditch, and drove them back to the campsite.

  They lay on their sleeping bags, talking about whatever came to mind. Songs they liked, books they’d read, their lack of boyfriends, and who they knew had dated in the past year. They lit some newspaper and stuffed it between the twigs of their fire, and when the twigs lit, they fed it larger sticks. When the woodsmoke began to rise, the woods became a place far away from the lives they lived in houses, with parents and brothers. Even though the truck was parked nearby, and they were making canned soup, they seemed a little bit distant. The soup bubbled, and they didn’t say much to each other. They ate from bowls that they stacked, unwashed, in the paper bag, and Teagan ripped open the bag of marshmallows. They stabbed the marshmallows through with thin sticks, and dunked them in the fire, and watched the sugar skin turn brown and then black in the orange flames, and then pulled them off the sticks with their mouths and ate the hot sweetness, along with the bits of bark that stuck to the soft melt. Teagan did not even point out to Grace that she was enjoying the marshmallows.

  Car

  In the morning they packed up everything into the bed of the truck. Grace drove down the hill, and at the gate they switched and Teagan drove back to the barn. At the house they found Susanna and Charlie fixing lunches. The girls had bowls of cereal and went up to Teagan’s room and fell asleep, because they’d stayed up most of the night talking. It was late afternoon when they woke up. Grace remembered that she was supposed to be home at three o’clock, and they went outside to look for Susanna, who was coming up from the barn.

  “Did you ride?” Teagan asked.

  “No, I fed. Your dad and I are going out to dinner. I wanted to get the feeding out of the way.”

  “Susanna, I’m supposed to go home now, I think,” Grace said.

  “I talked to your mother and let her know that you all were asleep. How late did you stay up?”

  Neither of them could say for sure. The sky had been a weak blue when they finally slept.

  “I’m going to take both of you to Leta, and Teagan, you can stay there tonight. Sound good?”

  * * *

  —

  On Susanna’s insistence, the girls took showers and Grace borrowed some clean clothes of Teagan’s. Susanna didn’t want to drop them off smelling like a campfire. It was six o’clock when Susanna came out of her bedroom, smelling sweet with perfume and her hair pulled back in a clip. She wore black leather heels. Grace and Teagan had their backpacks by the kitchen door like Susanna had asked and were sitting at the kitchen table.

  “You smell nice,” Teagan said.

  “Thank you, baby,” Susanna said. She took a compact from her purse and held it up high while she applied lipstick. The cap made a little click when she closed it. She popped it into the purse. “Your father should be here any minute.” Susanna looked at her delicate watch and then opened up the dishwasher and began putting clean dishes away.

  “Mom, don’t do that. You’re all dressed up.” Teagan took a dish from her mother and slid it onto a cabinet shelf. Grace got up to help.

  “Thank you,” Susanna said.

  The sound of car wheels was audible in the driveway.

  “Here he is. Get your things,” Susanna said and walked out the door.

  “Let’s just finish this,” Teagan said, grabbing a fistful of spoons and forks that clinked together.

  Charlie walked in carrying a duffel. “Doing chores? Is this punishment for something?” he said.

  “No,” Teagan said. She wasn’t going to argue in front of Grace. “Where are you going?”

  “Mike’s.”

  “Dad’s here. Are you coming with us?” Teagan said.

  “No. I’m driving myself. Is Mom waiting for you?” he said.

  “We’re going. Mom’s outside,” Teagan said.

  “What is that?” Charlie was looking through the window. He went out the kitchen door.

  Teagan paused with a bread knife in her hand. She heard Charlie talking with her father but couldn’t figure out what the excitement was about. She thrust a whisk and spatula at Grace. “These go there,” she said and put the knife away and closed the dishwasher, lifting the door with her foot. “C’mon,” she said, preventing Grace from picking up her backpack.

  Robert was standing with his hand on the silver hood of a sleek, expensive-looking car. Charlie was in the driver’s seat, and they were pointing to different things inside. Teagan looked at the shiny, silver, brand-new hubcaps. She’d never seen a car so clean. Barker tried to stick his nose in the open car door, and Robert pushed his head away.

  “Barker, come,” Susanna said.

  “What is it?” Teagan said.

  “It’s a car,” Susanna said.

  Teagan smiled at her mother, but Susanna wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the car. Robert straightened up.

  “What do you think?” he said, looking at Teagan. Grace hung back. Teagan said it was pretty. She wasn’t sure what else to say. She would have never guessed that her parents would buy a car like this one. It was fancy. She didn’t want to get too close to it.

  “Teagan, come sit in the driver’s seat,” Charlie said.

  She walked forward and sat down. The seat was black leather. It was soft and hugged her. It smelled like new carpet and new leather. The steering wheel was also leather. The panel was full of discreet black buttons. Where there wasn’t leather there was what looked like polished wood.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Robert said to her.

  “Yeah,” Teagan said.

  “This is a German BMW.”

  “Was it made in Germany?” Teagan said.

  “Yes. It was made there and shipped over here,” Robert said.

  “Wow,” Teagan said. “What happened to your car?” she said.

  “I traded it in for this one.”

  “You traded it?” she said.

  “Well. The car dealership buys it and takes the amount off the price of the new car. I still had to pay the difference. But this is a much better car,” Robert said.

 
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Teagan said.

  “Okay, hop out,” Robert said.

  “Nice wheels, Dad,” Charlie said and waved goodbye and got in his own car.

  Robert looked at Susanna, who stood with her arms by her sides.

  “We should get going,” he said.

  “Girls, get your stuff,” she said.

  They ran.

  * * *

  —

  When they came back out Robert was still standing near the car and Susanna was standing away from it.

  “Let’s take my car,” Susanna said.

  Teagan headed for the green car.

  “No. We’ll take this one. Girls, get in,” Robert said.

  Teagan looked at her mother, who stood and didn’t speak.

  “Come on. Hurry,” Robert said.

  Teagan and Grace crawled carefully into the smooth seats, their backpacks on their laps and both looking at the rich interior of the car. Robert shut the door on them. Grace looked at Teagan, but she just shrugged. Susanna sat in the passenger’s seat.

  “Do you like it?” Teagan asked her, quietly.

  Susanna reached back and squeezed Teagan’s knee but didn’t say anything. Robert started up the car, and it hummed.

  “You hear how quiet that is?” he said.

  “I can hardly hear it,” Teagan said.

  Down the driveway, down the road, no one said anything. Teagan looked through the impeccably clear windows, and tried the automatic button, which seemed to operate smoothly and instantly.

  “Can we listen to the radio?” Grace whispered to Teagan.

  “Can we listen to the radio?” Teagan asked her parents.

  Neither of them said anything.

  Teagan asked about the radio again.

  “What station do you want?” Susanna said, searching the dashboard for the right button.

  Cake

  In my apartment, I pour a cup of coffee and push one of the cardboard boxes I picked up from my mother’s house into the middle of the floor. My saddle lies upside-down in the corner, like a giant flayed bug. I sip my coffee and stare at a box. I’d rather do anything than sort through its contents, but I pull the box to me. I consider just taking all of the boxes to the dump, except I don’t actually know where the dump is, and I know that the boxes contain a lot of paper, which I will recycle, especially because I picture my old journals lying open on a pile of tires and toilet seats, my adolescent misgivings exposed.

  I pop open a box and pull out papers. On top is a school essay on the greenhouse effect. This is worse than I’d guessed. I am going to have to sort through the detritus of my childhood. The essay is an appropriate start to the recycling pile. There are poems written on yellowed wide-lined paper and drawings done in crayon. There is a letter to my grandmother, written on a card decorated with a bird, which I never sent to her. There are several journals, full of angst and teenage self-discovery: three pages dedicated to the merits of a boy I liked. I hold my mug of coffee close for support.

  My mother saved this stuff and somehow decided I would want it all back. Maybe there is one thing I might want in all this, but I feel there isn’t enough time to go back in time. I commit to sorting quickly and making a no pile and a yes pile. The no pile will be decidedly the larger.

  What I want is to move on, to move forward, and also to take a shower. I don’t want this reek of nostalgia. I will julienne the past and it will not be profound; it is a simple chore. I give myself this pep talk, pour more coffee, and dig out the contents of another box.

  Three slow hours later, the no pile is tall and the yes pile is tiny. I chose to keep a note from my grandmother, a card from my mother, and another card from my father, because in each handwritten message I can hear a voice stored in letters. There is one final box, and from it I pull a fabric-covered photo album that my mother put together for me. I have been missing it for a couple of years, not wanting to admit that it might be lost. I can’t believe it is in my lap.

  The photos were taken on film. The colors are faded and muted and the photos are pasted behind clear, flimsy plastic. Like frames from a film they show a progression of moments. My grandmother, younger than I ever remember, holds me as an infant in a blanket. My mother stands with my father, looking at me. Charlie stands beside them, but his gaze to the ground and he turns slightly away. He looks disappointed. He is no longer his parents’ only darling. Another picture of Charlie shows him on the couch. His feet don’t yet reach the end of the cushion, and there I am, his monkey-faced infant sister, draped across his legs. He is smiling but looks unsure as to what he’s holding on to.

  Another series of photos is arranged vertically on an album page. They show a one-year-old me and my dad. I am sitting in his lap. His thick forearm hugs me. Smiling, he holds his baby daughter as she focuses on a piece of cake on the table. My fingers curl on my father’s arm. In the next picture, he lifts a spoon with yellow cake and fluffy icing. The snapshot catches the spoon almost to my opened mouth. My father leans to the side to catch the expression on my face. In the last picture, my cheeks are smeared with frosting, and my dad looks down at the top of my head. We wear the same squinted smile.

  Obsidian

  “Your mother and I found a horse,” Robert said.

  “Really? What is it?” Teagan said.

  “A Thoroughbred.”

  “Mare or gelding?”

  “Gelding.”

  “What color?”

  “He’s a dark bay. He looks black, with a white mark on his face.”

  “A star?”

  “No, a blaze. And one white sock on a hind leg.”

  “A foxhunter?”

  “A seasoned foxhunter.”

  “He sounds good.”

  “We’re bringing him here.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Can I ride him?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a strong horse.”

  “I’m strong.”

  “He won’t be a horse for a girl.”

  Foxhunt

  Robert was told a story about Obsidian. At the time the gelding belonged to a man whose fields happened to lie along a route the River County Hunt often rode. The horse was in his usual field. When the riders passed by, Obsidian jumped the fence and took his place. He halted with the hunt, galloped when they galloped. At the end of the day the riders passed by the field, and he jumped back in.

  Susanna Told Teagan a Story

  Susanna told Teagan a story about the first time she and Robert tried to load the horse, Obsidian, onto the trailer to go foxhunting. It was early in the morning. Susanna said they were all beautiful and clean (the horses, the tack, and they in their riding clothes). The horse wouldn’t walk onto the trailer.

  “He acted like he’d never seen a trailer,” Susanna said.

  Robert tried to lead him up the ramp, but Ian stepped off to the side. Susanna couldn’t believe it. They were ready to go, and the new horse, an experienced hunter, wouldn’t load. Desperate to get the horse on the trailer, Susanna called Hope Graves, her friend who was a horse trainer.

  Hope drove up in her truck, a long whip and a sturdy rope on the passenger seat. She stepped out of her car and looked at the horse. Ian walked onto the trailer.

  Hope said, “That’s a smart horse.”

  Curriculum Vitae (Abstract)

  Obsidian. Nicknamed Ian. Color: bay. Sex: gelding. Height: 16.2 hands (one hand equaling four inches). Excellent conformation (that is the symmetry of his bones). Service: River County Hunt; Fox Grove Hunt. Miscellaneous: Called handsome by strangers who follow the compliment with an offer. (He’s not for sale.) Ian is called a made horse. Has exceptional knowledge, has exceptional talent, is an exceptional athlete, is se
emingly vain and lazy. When jumping a coop (a triangular obstacle with closed sides, which is slat of wood touching slat of wood, built in a fence line to allow jumping from one field to another) three or four feet in height, he gathers himself early and leaves the ground from a distance away, sails above the obstacle, and touches down lightly on the other side.

  First Ride and Foxes

  Susanna explained to Teagan that she wanted Teagan to ride Obsidian, who was called Ian. Teagan wondered if her mother was nervous about him or if she simply guessed that, if anything happened, her daughter’s bones would knit faster than her own. When Teagan saw the horse in the field, he was holding his head high and he flared his nostrils, sniffing the air. If she had been braver, she would have refused to ride him. Hope pulled up in her truck. Susanna wanted Hope to evaluate Ian.

  Teagan was impressed by Hope, who could tack a horse in ten minutes, whose arms were ropes of muscle. Hope handled horses with authority and efficiency, and she could command her Jack Russell dog with a glance. Teagan tried to approximate Hope’s approach, but she always felt she was too slow.

  Teagan had heard her mother say that a horse could read a rider’s mind. She tried to feel calm when she went to mount up, but her heart pounded. She didn’t speak reassuringly to Ian or pat his neck. It seemed that would patronize him. She stepped in the stirrup and pulled up on the pommel of the saddle, but she didn’t sit down right away. She slipped gently onto the smooth seat on her inner thighs and settled on the small bones of her pelvis. She’d never sat in the saddle quite that way before. Teagan let the reins loop a little. The horse’s stride, even at the walk, was enormous. She sat easy in the saddle, trying to figure him out. To match his rhythm she had to let her body shift with the movement of his shoulders. In a matter of seconds she had adjusted. He was eager to go forward, and she felt he carried her.