Training Harry

by Meghan Namaste

  Slightly muffled, Amber said, “I already took twenty.”

  Erica

  I sat on my tack trunk beside my trailer, taking a moment to reflect on the day. The first show since the clinic. My first chance to use what I’d learned.

  I’d gone home after the clinic, and once I had a chance to eat something and rest for a while I went over everything I’d learned. I focused and studied my recollections. I took notes so important bits and pieces wouldn’t slip away. And I really thought about what I’d been doing with D.M. all this time. I picked apart our journey together, and while I didn’t push my accomplishments with D.M. aside, I stared down my training with a critical eye. I questioned myself, and I found an answer.

  I loved D.M. so much. I wanted him to succeed. I had been fighting to make him a Grand Prix horse, and sometimes it felt like a fight. Sometimes, when we faced a desperately hard course, I felt like I was picking him up and carrying him over the jumps. I set him up, I balanced him, I micromanaged his every step to make it easier for him. To enable him to do what I wanted him to do.

  I couldn’t carry D.M. It was stupid, unbelievably foolish to even try. But somehow I had gotten sucked into helping him all the time. Without even realizing it, I had taken away all of his responsibility. I took his initiative, and then I expected him to jump a four foot course.

  Lawrence was right. D.M.’s talent was exactly what it was. He was either a Grand Prix horse or something less than that, and no amount of training would make him any better than the best he could be. But I had gotten this far, and I needed to see what he was really capable of. The only way to know for sure was to stop holding him back.

  Which was why I made the decision to move D.M. back a division. I had abruptly stopped helping him, and I wanted him to find his way. He would find it easier when the fences were lower. I knew others might see it as a surrender, but I didn’t see it that way. I rode into the ring without shame, and I let the critical faces around me blur and seep into the scenery.

  This show hadn’t been a glory show for me. Jennifer had obviously lived through Lawrence’s rejection, and his advice had worked so well that she and Pointer were now looking like serious competition. I had collected my usual ribbon on Assault after a volatile warm-up, but the most important thing was that I’d set my plan in motion. I believed in my horse, and I believed in this new strategy. I could give up control. That I could do. I just didn’t know how to give up.

  Lawrence

  The wind slapped me across the face. The trees at the edge of the field shuddered and swayed. I was back on Harry and he shot across the uneven ground, ears locked on the ball. I kept finding more speed in him. Every time he was sharper, better, eager to the point of obsession. He was fit now and so good on his feet. Even at top speed he could cut himself in two and change course in an instant.

  I hit the ball, and Harry went after it no matter where it landed. Hillsides, dips and tall grass didn’t faze him. He handled every shift in footing, every slope. His balance was incredible.

  I let the world become a blur, and I gave my entire focus to the game. I didn’t need a team to make it a game. Everything went away, and the only thing I was still aware of was sensation. Harry’s footfalls, his energy, the lurch and flow of his back underneath the saddle. And the weight of the mallet in my hand, the jolt of each shot I made radiating up into my arm. The satisfaction.

  I struck the ball again, bringing it into the air. I kept it there for two strides, giving it a tap when it started to sink. And then I sent it the way I wanted it to go. Harry whirled in the new direction. I looked up and felt my heart freeze solid.

  Amber was standing there, not ten feet away. I saw her face and panic overtook me. Somehow I hauled Harry to a stop. He shook his head, fighting me.

  Amber’s mouth was open. Her face was dark. She just shook her head for a moment, too enraged to speak. Then her hands went to her cargo pants.

  “I’m calling her,” Amber said as she tore at her pockets. “This is….this is enough! I’m ending this. Right now.” She pulled out her phone and started dialing. “I’m fucking calling her, and I’m telling her that you’re a -”

  Without even thinking I was off Harry. I got to Amber and I ripped the phone out of her hands.

  Amber stared at me in shock, anger and even slight fear. I was breathing like I’d run from across the field. We stood there a moment. The whole universe had jerked to a halt.

  “Oh, my God,” Amber said. “I knew it.”

  I stared. I had no idea what she knew, and I was afraid of what it might be.

  “I fucking knew it,” Amber said again. “I just didn’t believe it.”

  “Knew what?” I finally snapped.

  Amber looked up at me. She looked almost gleeful, which didn’t make any sense. “You love her.”

  All my anger, all my adrenaline evaporated. I was laid bare. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t deny it, because it was so utterly true it was almost a part of me, like an appendage or a vital organ.

  Amber was beaming up at me. I looked away from her. My left hand was still clutching Amber’s phone. Pathetic. I handed it back to her. “Call her,” I said. “Tell her I’m an asshole. Go right ahead.”

  Then I walked away. I only did that because I knew she wouldn’t make the call.

  Amber

  I stood there feeling the weight of my phone, back in my hand. Lawrence turned away and went straight to Harry. He mounted up and galloped off, disappearing into the wilds of the field. He ran.

  I stayed for a while until I got sick of standing around in gale force winds. Then I went back to the house and flipped through the three channels. I waited for Lawrence to stop hiding. He had to come up for air eventually.

  Lawrence

  I shut the door behind me and went into the kitchen like everything was normal. Nothing had really changed. I poured some cereal, because that was what I would do if things were normal.

  I heard Amber rise up from the couch. I could feel her eyes on me from across the room. I flinched away from her stare and leaned stiffly against the counter.

  “So,” Amber said coolly. “Are you going to tell her?”

  I didn’t say anything. I kept my eyes on the cereal I wasn’t eating.

  “’Cause it might help if you told her,” Amber said. Her voice dug into my skin. “Just a thought.”

  I tried to think of something to say. Leave it, Amber. Or, You don’t understand. Something that would make her stop. I couldn’t think of anything that would.

  Amber was quickly getting impatient. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She said sharply. “Just tell her. Problem solved.”

  She laid it out there, so simply. She tore down all the complexities of how I felt, and it made me feel stupid. I couldn’t explain it to her, how it really was, and that made it even worse.

  Amber kept staring at me. She kept the pressure on, and I felt cornered. I stood there as long as I could, pretending it didn’t affect me. And then I left. I went out into the open air where I could breathe properly. Everything was different. Amber knew.

  That was how it was now. I spent most of my time outside with the horses. I rode Harry and Vegas, and when I couldn’t ride them anymore I worked on Elle and Soiree. They needed careful conditioning work to bring them back into shape and harden up their bones and tendons again. To prepare them for whatever their purpose was now.

  My house was a hostile environment. Amber wouldn’t stop. She worked on me endlessly, and I shut down. So Amber worked harder, hit me with the same thing over and over. She shoved me flat against the wall and wouldn’t let me go. I had to stop myself from lashing out at her. I didn’t want to lash out at Amber. I never wanted to raise my voice again or lay a hand on her, but she made me want to. So I removed myself. I spent as little time in my house with her as I could.

  It went on for days. I stopped talking entirely and eventually Amber did too. We moved around each other, closed off and hardened. It was hor
rible, but it was better than the constant fighting.

  I came in from the barn late one night. I thought Amber would already be sleeping, but she wasn’t. She was huddled at the kitchen window, and her eyes didn’t flicker toward me. She just stared bleakly through the wall. I watched her for a while, and I knew this was a bad night for Amber. I just knew.

  I stayed where I was and waited for her to say whatever she needed to.

  Amber was quiet for a long time. The struggle was visible on her face, but only because I knew her so well. Eventually her whole body walled off. Her emotions were stowed away somewhere. And she started talking.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be anything special,” Amber said as she hunched over, tracing some pattern on her leg. “My parents never talked about my future or anything. They were more focused on my brother. He was bright and he did everything well. Jeffrey was my dad’s pick to take over the family business, the family name, everything.” She looked down. “I think the pressure got to him, and he started doing stupid stuff. Drinking, partying, not coming home. My parents didn’t care what he did. They thought he was perfect, and they wouldn’t see what was happening to him.”

  “Jeffrey and I were close. He was a good kid. He was kind to me. I tried to be there for him, but he kept pulling away from me. He was pulling away from his life.”

  Amber pulled her arms tight around herself. She started to rock gently. “This one night Jeffrey was gone again, and I called him. He was drunk, just really smashed. I found out he was driving, and I told him to pull over. I said I’d come and get him. I said I’d take him to a friend’s house or wherever. Not back home. I kept talking, trying to get him to listen to me. I tried.” Amber’s voice started breaking. “I tried, I really tried, and then I heard this crashing sound. It was so loud, just this horrible grinding crunch, and then Jeffrey screamed.”

  Amber shuddered and ducked her head. “That was the last thing I heard. I couldn’t hang up the phone right then, I just kept talking in case he could still hear me. I don’t even know what I said. God, it was so stupid. Finally I hung up and called 911.”

  “He was on an isolated back road. It took them hours. It was a head-on collision. They thought he probably died on impact. The other guy was in a coma, or something. I don’t know if he lived.” Amber shook her head. “When we found out Jeffrey was dead my dad lit into me. He was screaming at me, saying that I shouldn’t have been talking to Jeffrey. That I distracted him while he was driving.” Amber started shaking. She shut her eyes tightly. “I went home and threw a few things in a bag, and I left.”

  “That’s why I left,” Amber said quietly. “My dad blamed me for Jeffrey dying. Because I was trying to get him to stop driving drunk.” She went silent. She didn’t need to say anything else.

  I stood stock still for a second, and then I went to Amber. I didn’t say I was sorry or some shit like that. I just took her in my arms and held her while she broke down. I held onto Amber as she convulsed and sobbed and vibrated with pain. I stayed with her as long as she needed, because Amber had gone long enough without someone who really knew her story. We all have our stupid little traumas, but Amber had been through something indescribably worse than me or any other asshole who ever misunderstood her.

  After Amber lifted her head, straightened up and went on with her life, like she was so good at doing, I stayed at the window for a while. I couldn’t stop the scene from playing in my head. The death was bad, but what happened after it was even worse. It was unbearable.

  That was what happened to Amber. That was how she got that way.

  Marla

  The light was dimming, and the dark pink sky had given the white sand a subtle tint. The surf flowed in and out languidly. I kept my eyes on the bright white screen of my laptop. The blank document. I stared, and all I saw was a dotted line. Unending periods, no inspiration. I sat there, and nothing happened, and for once I had no desire to make something happen. I waited for something to happen, in my mind or on this beach.

  Maybe I should go somewhere. I’d been here a while. Maybe it was time to fly somewhere else. What I really wanted was to drive, but my car was in Florida.

  I leaned back, stretching, uncoiling. I felt the compression in my spine from all this sitting around. I should get up now. The thought was traveling through my brain, sending signals to all my limbs, when I became distracted by something.

  I peered out at the long stretch of sand that led to the hotel. A figure was walking across it. Walking with a purpose. As the distance between us lessened, features became visible. The warm tan, strong limbs, the short black hair and kind, beautiful face. The veins on his arms, pulsating with hot blood. Alejandro. I waited for him. I let him come to me.

  He stopped a short distance away. “Marla. Good evening.”

  “It could be better,” I said. I didn’t tilt my head up, and I let my eyes linger pointedly.

  Alejandro shifted in my gaze. “How is your project coming?” He nodded to my computer.

  Now I looked him in the eye. “It’s not,” I said. “I’m frustrated.”

  Alejandro nodded. “It must be hard to be so creative. To be a writer.”

  “It’s not,” I repeated myself. “Compared to a lot of other things.”

  “But when the ideas are not flowing, it must be difficult.”

  “Well, then you take a vacation.” I threw a smile at him.

  It took a second, but Alejandro smiled back. He was always so serious, so good that it pleased me to see him amused by something.

  It was getting darker. I couldn’t see him very well anymore. He was too far away; I wanted him closer.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  Alejandro hesitated. I knew he wanted to, but he was stopping himself.

  “Just sit down.” I looked right at him. “What do you think is going to happen?”

  He didn’t hold himself back any longer. He walked up beside me and sat down. We still weren’t touching. I might have to do something about that.

  Alejandro turned to me. There was a question on his face. “Why are you here, Marla?”

  I stared at him. Shaken, I said, “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been here a while.” Alejandro crossed an arm over his lap. “This is not a vacation for you, Marla. At least, I do not believe it is. So what made you come here?”

  I looked past his earnest face, out into the growing darkness. I felt a deep hole in my stomach. “Memories,” I said simply.

  Alejandro nodded. He didn’t ask me anything more. He probably assumed I’d come here as a kid or some sappy bullshit like that.

  I stared at the darkened sand. The night was taking over. I wondered if I’d ever stop feeling this way. I wanted to stop feeling this way. It kept coming back. I couldn’t seem to kill it no matter what I did.

  Alejandro was still beside me. His face, his body was blending into the night. The hotel lights spilled out into the surrounding darkness. I needed Alejandro. I craved him. I wanted nothing but to take off his clothes and ride him in the sand where the entire hotel could see if they looked hard enough.

  I was up on my knees. My laptop flopped onto the ground. “Alejandro -”

  He stood abruptly. “You should come back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be alone on this beach so late at night.” Alejandro reached down and took my hand, helping me up. Then he picked up my computer, flicking a few sand grains off. He handed it to me. “I will walk you back to the hotel.”

  I sulked at his side, with only the vague hope that he might still accompany me to my room.

  A minute later I stood alone, with the bright lights of the hotel lobby beating on my head. Alejandro walked out the door and disappeared to wherever he was spending the night. I watched him leave, and then I went to my room. The guy from late afternoon was still there. He made a rather poor substitute.

  Lawrence

  Amber and I sat across from each other on my bed. We didn’t start talking right away. There was no pressure, no u
rging or prodding from Amber like before. The air between us was calm and open. Neither of us had anything to hide anymore.

  I looked down at the faded beige of my comforter. “You don’t need to worry about my stupid problems, Amber.”

  “Why would you say that?” She asked.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “I just feel bad that you’re trying to help me. I feel like…”

  “Like your shit isn’t as bad as my shit? That I’m more fucked than you are, so we should talk about my problems instead?”

  I smiled a little. “Kind of. Yeah.”

  “We can’t do anything about Jeffrey,” Amber said flatly. “We can do something about Erica.”

  I took a deep breath. Okay.

  Amber leaned forward. “How long have you had these feelings?” She asked in a level voice.

  “I don’t know. A while. They kind of snuck up on me.”

  “So why haven’t you done anything about them?”

  I stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

  Amber rolled her eyes. She was quickly abandoning her calm shrink persona. “I mean why haven’t you asked her out?”

  “Oh.” My face was hot. “I thought you meant electroshock therapy, or something.”

  Amber snorted, quickly getting back on track. “So why haven’t you?”

  My brain was heating up too. The words were coming slow. “Because I can’t.”

  “What d’you mean you can’t? It’s very simple. You walk up to her and say ‘I regret to inform you that I’m fucking crazy in love with you. Want to get dinner sometime?’ Or something to that effect.”

  I kept my eyes low. “I know all that, Amber. I know what I should do.”

  “Then why haven’t you done it?”

  “Because I’m scared, Amber,” I answered without thinking. “Okay?”