She smiled at her boots. “You can do it, you know. I’m not one tenth the rider you are. You’ll be fine.”
I nodded noncommittally. I wasn’t at all sure.
“We don’t have to do it now. You’ve both been through a lot tonight, and you need to process some things. I’ll come back in a day or two. We’ll do it then.”
“Okay,” I said, relieved. “That sounds good.”
“I should get home,” Erica said, glancing around at the looming darkness. “It’s been a long day.”
I remembered she’d been to a horse show and dealt with Maggie before riding Harry with such finesse and understanding. Now I felt even more incompetent.
“Good night,” I said.
She smiled briefly. “Same to you.” She turned to leave.
“Wait. Erica?” I called out almost involuntarily.
She looked back at me.
“Thank you,” I said with my whole, incompetent heart.
“Oh. No problem.” She walked away.
There was something else I wanted to express. I couldn’t have articulated it if I’d tried.
I took Harry to the barn. Fed the horses. Then I sat alone in the house, trying to process things, but really just looking through the wall. When Amber finally came home, she stared at me. “What’s with you?”
I shrugged. Vaguely, I realized this was the first time she’d spoken to me since our blowout about my depravity. “I’ll tell you when I know.”
Erica
I saw a flash of blonde hair, and then I streaked out the front door and tackled my brother. He somehow managed to stay on his feet, and started laughing as I hugged him fiercely. "I missed you, kid," I murmured into his hair.
"I can't breathe," he said in a strangled voice.
I released him. His eyes were ice blue and warm, and his masculine yet pretty face was just as I remembered. From my higher stature, I reached out to ruffle his hair.
He dodged away. "I've been holding my own against the Germans. Can't I get some respect around here?'
I sighed. "You take all my fun away, Lou." I put my arm around his shoulders, and we walked up to the house we'd grown up in.
Through the door, which was made almost entirely of hand-etched glass, I saw my mother pacing in the foyer, still wearing her Victoria's Secret nightgown. It bothered me that she couldn't just own up to her advancing age and wear an old T-shirt to bed. Who is she kidding? She has two kids over eighteen. I don't even wear Victoria's Secret.
I twisted the door handle and flung the door open. For once, my mother didn't gasp and tell me to "Be careful, Erica! That door is an heirloom." She was too preoccupied with rushing over to Lou and smothering him. I glanced away, feeling my mood darken. Why do I feel like this? Lou's back for a visit. I haven't seen him in months. I should be happy.
Deep inside, I knew the answer to that question. I love my brother, but I hate being the forgotten sister.
It had always been like this. He'd been the cuter baby, the adorable, golden-haired toddler. He'd shown riding talent at a young age. And even when he struggled in life, somehow he was still better than me. My straight A's went unnoticed while they hovered over his failing grades. His weight problems and eating disorders made my issues invisible. They forgot that I might have needed reassurance, too. Maybe I should have been more vulnerable. I had never been good being vulnerable. We balanced each other out in every way possible. I was always stronger, more capable, driven. He was insecure, needy, self-destructive.
But somehow, seemingly without any considerable effort on his part, he’d gotten it all together. He had the horse to get him anywhere he could possibly want to go. He was riding in Europe and winning on his lovely, finely built Thoroughbred mare who was dwarfed by the massive Warmbloods but moved so freely and stunningly she could not be overlooked. If he kept this up, he would undoubtedly earn a place on the US Olympic dressage team. He was in love with a girl who put up with his intense training and long departures. They were going to start a family as soon as he reached his competitive goals.
Of course he deserved it. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer kid. He had the talent, he’d put in the slow, careful, considerate training time with his mare, and everything else had just come with relative ease. It didn’t always work that way. It almost never worked that way. On some level, I felt the universe figured he’d suffered enough in his teenage years, and it was about time to cut him a break. Whatever the reason, it was wonderful. It was great for him.
It was just…a lot to take. And when I thought about where I was in relation to him, the resentment did creep in, unwanted.
It was a clear day in June. The weather report had predicted scorching afternoon temperatures, so I woke up at six AM to school the horse I was preparing to show later that month. He was a tall, slab sided bay gelding named Ambush. Just another sale horse that I'd learn from, try not to get attached to, and then forget.
I tacked up Ambush quickly, wanting to get out and ride before the pleasant early morning air turned oven-hot. Then I led the gelding to the outdoor arena. He stood politely as I tightened the girth one last hole and swung onto his back, but that was his nature: polite but very, very reserved. He was one of those horses that was a very nice ride in a very mechanical way. He obeyed without exception, never arguing or letting his personality show, which meant something vital was missing from the equation. There was no spark in him anymore. It had been extinguished by indifferent handling. I was trying to find the joy that hid within him, and bring it back to the surface. If all went according to plan, we would sell him in a couple weeks. He'd been with us for less than a month so far. His whole life had consisted of moving from barn to barn, but I was determined to leave an impression on him.
As I warmed him up, I tried to get inspired. Ambush walked along underneath me, staying on the rail and traveling in a perfect straight line. Even though I held the reins on the buckle, giving him ample freedom to look around, he held his head slightly above his withers, with his face perpendicular to the ground. A perfect frame. But a horse's frame is only a small part of the big picture.
There were some cones in the arena. I'd brought them out for a beginner lesson the night before and had forgotten to put them away. On a whim, I steered Ambush toward one of the cones. His ears pricked forward, and he stretched out his neck to sniff the object standing in his path. Encouraged by this sign of life, I halted the gelding and dropped the reins onto his withers. At first he stood square and immobile, but gradually his curiosity got the best of him, and he smelled the cone. Then he bumped it with his nose, knocking it over. He glanced back at me, looking concerned. "It's okay, silly," I told him, laughing softly. After a moment's hesitation, the gelding brought his head back down to cone-level and stuck his nose inside it. He snorted, and the sound echoed through the hollow cone. Ambush jumped back, startled, but he quickly went back for more. When he got bored, I let him move on to the next cone. Then I weaved him through the cones, bringing him up to a trot when I reached the last cone. His trot was bouncier, and his ears were flicking back and forth. He felt like a different horse.
I patted him, dismounted and moved the cones to form a basic obstacle course. Ambush followed close behind me. Whatcha doing? His pricked ears asked. I remounted and worked him through his paces. The difference in him was striking. I'd broken his pattern of robotic obedience, and gotten him interested in his work. All it had taken was a few cones.
After untacking him, I hand-grazed Ambush on the lawn to promote positive associations with being ridden. As I stood with one hand on the lead rope and the other resting on the gelding's back, a horse trailer pulled into our driveway. Immediately, it captured my full attention. Are we getting a new horse? Dad didn't say anything about that... I watched as my dad met the shipper at his door, signed some paperwork and paid the bill. The shipper lowered the ramp and then disappeared inside. When he walked back down the ramp, a grey mare followed him. Her lovely, refined build and kind eye showe
d through the shipping boots, head bumper and padded halter she wore. She gazed around the yard, taking everything in serenely. My dad removed the protective gear from her legs and poll as the shipper left. Then my mother came out of the house, exclaiming over the grey mare. She helped my dad replace her sheepskin-covered halter with a plain leather one.
The mare was noticeably uphill in her balance. Her neck was set high, with a nice arch and no lumpy, incorrect muscle development. My eyes followed the ideal slope of her shoulder, down her slim but strong legs. Her hooves were nicely sized and matched the angle of her pasterns. Her hind end was subtly, powerfully built. I could not pick her apart, hard as I tried. Each part of her was the absolute ideal, and they blended to create a textbook perfect horse.
My dad tied her to the merely decorative hitching post outside the house, and she began grazing daintily. My raging curiosity begged me to go see her, but I was strangely wary. I hung back.
Not a minute later, Lou came out of the house. The mare raised her head and looked straight at him. He went to her, and I saw his smile clearly from my distant vantage point. I stood there numbly, the tears starting. It was Lou’s birthday. The mare was his. Of course. I turned away and took Ambush back to the barn.
My parents had never been in a rush to buy a horse for Lou or me. We always had horses to ride, and they always said they would know when the time was right. Apparently the time was right for Lou, and not me. I knew why they did it. He’d had a hellish year, between the bullies and sadistic cheerleaders. But it still hurt. More than I could possibly express. I loved my interactions with the sale horses, and I treasured the special moments and the breakthroughs, like I’d had with Ambush. But it was impossible to just train and stay out of it emotionally. At least it was for me. It killed me every time I had to let one of my horses go. I didn’t wear it and advertise it for everyone to see, but it still killed me.
Four months later, D.M. arrived in a shipment of horses, and I claimed him. He was always mine, even before the words were officially spoken. I knew he would be a project. I welcomed his flaws and inadequacies, because I had grown to love simply training more than showing and ribbons and glory. And when I looked in his eyes and felt his goodness, I knew I would never tire of being around him.
I followed my family into the dining room and stood off to one side, instinctively distancing myself from the unfolding love fest. Helga was laying out her four-star hotel-worthy breakfast buffet. I went and snatched a muffin, unseen, and retreated to my sideline position. I stood inhaling my muffin as the crumbs fell. I shouldn’t even be here, I thought absurdly and accurately.
Somehow, Lou got away from our parents. He came over to me. “Are you okay?” He asked caringly.
Lou had always been a benevolent, sympathetic brother. He had an unusual, emotional sort of intelligence. He got how I felt. He really did. We had always been united against things like parental injustice and peer pressure. We fought for each other. Our relationship had always held steady, even when my connection with others in the family splintered.
I fake-smiled for his benefit. “I’m okay, Lou. I’m glad you’re back.”
He looked like he was in dull, needless pain. My pain. “I’m sorry. About…them. How they are.”
I let my eyes roll. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve been gone. They are allowed to beat you over the head with attention. And you’re allowed to enjoy it.” I shoved him gently. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It wasn’t like we could talk it into not being real.
Lou picked up on this. “How is D.M.?”
I smiled. “He’s really come on.”
“And your training? How’s that going?”
He obviously knew not to ask me about my last show. He didn’t know not to ask me about my career. He wasn’t perfect.
“It’s…..going,” I said vaguely. I tried to think of an actual anecdotal something to give him.
“Harry…is doing well. Not always, but we’ve had some exciting breakthroughs. He’s tough. I don’t quite know what’s going on in his head. But he’s making me better.”
Lou looked pleased. And surprised. “That’s good. I thought he sounded right up your alley. I didn’t think you’d still be working on him.”
Yeah, well, me neither. “I’ve got the time, and he’s a worthwhile horse. I don’t really like to do things partway.”
Lou chuckled. My dedication was well known. It was a gift and a curse. Sometimes, during bad times, I harshly analyzed it and saw the drawbacks. I put too much faith in mediocre, flawed horses and I gave them everything I had, for as long as it took. Intellectually, objectively, I knew I could easily lose years of my life this way. I knew I could break my own heart, and burn out, if D.M. never took me where I needed to go. I didn’t think much about that scenario. I couldn’t, really, without losing all momentum and the faith I needed to keep going. This was what I did, after all, for better or worse. I didn’t ride in on perfect horses and kill the competition with a modicum of effort. I chose to try and make something out of nothing.
The table was laden. Half of the family was already seated. Wordlessly, Lou and I made our way over. I really was glad he was back. He calmed me. He believed in me, and made it a little easier for me to face my reality. We still balanced each other out, but the balance had shifted. And that was okay.
I promised myself I would try not to resent Lou and his overwhelming success. He’d paid his dues already. Maybe I was paying mine now.
I would do what I always did. I would quietly, steadily get through it.
Elaine
I had my freedom now. I was no longer shackled to my elegant charade of a life. But with freedom came time, and time wasn’t on my side. Time mocked me. Tortured me. Time allowed my many mistakes to creep into my vision, and once they made themselves known, they were relentless. And without a steady stream of alcohol to cloud my eyes and shut down my mind, I was powerless. I fought against them, and I lost every time. Some would label it karma, or poetic justice. I just called it hell.
I sat on the sun-warmed concrete and quietly shivered. A woman rushed past me, her painted-on face melting in the sun. Manolos covered her bandaged feet. A Prada minidress covered her body and the Spanx that held her together. I used to be you, I thought.
I felt brittle. I looked like shit warmed over. My hair hung around my head in filthy clumps. My skin chafed on my bones. Everyone who saw me looked away quickly, or looked through me. I was something they’d rather not cloud their day by acknowledging. I understood completely. I had done the same thing when I was up there looking down.
The raw, gnawing feeling of emptiness never went away. At times it faded to a kind of background noise, and I could ignore it, but sometimes it was more insistent. Like right now. I could feel it building inside me, working up to an overwhelming volume. I held myself tightly. Closed my eyes, and tried to block it out. I was too weak. Shaking, I let the memories take over. Take me to the place I didn’t want to go.
In the weeks after Lawrence left, I was a wreck, devoid of the ability to function. Smashed to pieces I had no hope of reassembling. My emotions wheeled and skidded around. I would sob violently for hours, and no outside forces, or anything within myself, could stop the crushing waves of emotion, until sheer exhaustion knocked me out. I would even become physically ill for no apparent reason. I couldn’t keep anything down except alcohol. I drank a lot; it helped a little. For a while, I assumed I knew what was causing all this, and saw no need to investigate further. I was an addict going through withdrawal. The only person I ever really loved had left me. Broken me. I had nothing to live for, nothing to keep me from going insane anymore. I felt those were all perfectly acceptable reasons.
As time went by, a dark, quiet, uneasy feeling settled into my stomach. It unnerved me. It was the first feeling I’d had in weeks other than despair or nausea. Eventually, it forced me out of my stupor. I showered, cleaned myself up. Put on my face and the designer labels that made me better some
how. I left my bedroom, left the house, blinked at the sunlight and got into my car when I could see again. Drove to the hospital, my heart banging away in my chest. My heart hadn’t beat that hard since…I couldn’t let myself think about that. Any of it. Any of him. I shook my head, blinking away the tears before they could ruin my mascara.
After they took my blood off to the lab, I sat in the exam room. Every part of me was moving excessively, nearly bouncing me out of the chair. I stared at the clock, almost in a trance. Please. No. Please. No. I listened to the mantra in my head, waiting for the results with impatience and dread mixing deep within me. I was in agony, sitting there not knowing, but there was a 50/50 chance of it getting even worse.
The doctor appeared. I bolted off the chair. “I have good news,” he said.
Relief slackened my muscles. “You mean I’m not pregnant?” I asked.
“No,” he said, looking confused. “I mean you are.”
Panic took over. I turned and fled on legs made of glue. The world around me slowed to a crawl. The colors blurred. My mind darted and whirled like a shying horse. Thoughts crashed, tangled together and piled up.
Somehow, I reached my car and drove to Marjorie’s. She was the best, most supportive friend I had. I didn’t know who I was anymore, but I knew I had been the closest to being myself when I was with her. I refused to think about the only person I’d ever really been myself with. He wasn’t about to help me.
I walked rapidly, shakily up the cobblestone walkway. Made a hasty left turn to the gazebo out back. Saw Marjorie and flagged her down frantically with my eyes. She looked shocked. She hadn’t seen me in over a month. She glanced nervously at her guests as she hurried up to me.
“I need to talk to you,” I rasped. I had the acute sensation that I was drowning. The air I breathed went down like saltwater.
Alarm registered on Marjorie’s face. She quickly led me away from the people she was entertaining. Shoved me into my car. She sat down in the passenger seat and shut the door. “What is going on?” She looked a little perturbed, but mostly disturbed.
Training Harry Page 21
