For The Love of Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center)

by Diana Vincent

  “Easy, let’s warm up a bit,” he said, laughing as Cory pranced and tossed his head, clearly indicating he was ready for a run. Cory obediently responded to River’s deep seat and legs, and the occasional squeeze of his fingers on the reins, asking him to stay at a walk. “Just five minutes.”

  When they climbed the first hill on the trail and descended the other side, River figured, enough warm-up. His signals were subtle; a lightening of his seat and almost imperceptibly moving his legs back with slight pressure, and his hands a fraction forward, and Corazón jumped eagerly into canter. “I really just wanted trot,” River said out loud, laughing, for in his mind he had been thinking, can’t wait to gallop, and Corazón had given him what he wanted. So he let him canter on and didn’t restrain him as the black extended his stride into a gallop. This section of the trail wound through woods in gentle curves and with only a few very slight hills, and River and Corazón covered the ground with exhilarating speed. River felt as if it were his own muscles bunching and reaching as they galloped; and that Cory sensed the weight of his rider as part of his own body, responding to every shift of River’s weight. It was an incredible sense of merging his body and soul with that of his horse.

  Too quickly, they reached a sharp incline, and although River knew Corazón could manage the uphill gallop, he didn’t want to risk any injury. The winter months served as a time to let the horses back off on conditioning, and let muscles rest and repair wherever they may have been strained last season. So he signaled the big black to come down to a walk, and then giving him all the reins, leaned forward over the withers to encourage Cory to stretch his neck as he climbed the hill. At the top, he kept his horse to the walk, and having had the opportunity to stretch his legs and blow out his lungs, Cory was content to walk along at a brisk pace, snorting his contentment, and his ears flicking as he took in all around him.

  With his horse relaxed and walking forward on a loose rein, River’s thoughts drifted; thinking about Sierra again and thinking about Mrs. Montoya’s advice. He had to admit, Laila had been right when she told him Mrs. Montoya was not like the other counselors at their school. There were no lectures, no looks of disgust, no pre-judgment, or the sense that the adult sitting on the other side of the desk already considered him a lost cause.

  He considered the possibility of telling Mrs. Montoya just a few of the things that had happened in his life. What would she think if he told her how often his father had broken his heart with promises when sober - to take him with him to the race track or take him out to eat, just the two of them - and then to forget every promise within hours as he drank almost non-stop whenever at home. How would her expression change if he told her how his father had broken his arm when he was nine by throwing him against the wall…or the times he suffered broken ribs and bruises from kicks to his side after he had been knocked to the ground…or concussion from being hit in the head? What kind of disgust would he see if he told her how his aunt used to lock him and even his cousins, her own sons, out of the house when she had a boyfriend over; the three of them huddling together in the barn trying to keep warm…or how many times he went to bed hungry before Warren was old enough to buy food? He shivered at the memories.

  Or maybe he would see on Mrs. Montoya’s face the familiar look of pity that he had so often seen on past counselors’ and teachers’ faces; pity was worse than the disgust.

  Corazón suddenly flung his head up and shied at something – that branch swaying ahead or the stick on the trail that might look like a snake – who knew? River realized how his thoughts had caused his body to tense up, alerting his horse that danger lurked. He took several deep breaths to release tension, and stroked the black’s neck. “Sorry, hermano,” he reassured him. Cory snorted and stepped forward again.

  No, I don’t think I could tell Mrs. Montoya, and I could never tell Sierra.

  He had too much pride to chance the loss of her respect.

  With a conscious effort, he forced these unpleasant thoughts back into the deep place of his mind where they belonged, and focused all his attention on Corazón.

  It wasn’t until he had finished his ride and was leading Cory back to the stable, and he caught sight of Sierra helping Manuel and Enrique bringing horses in, that it occurred to him, she thinks you lied to her. You’ve already lost her respect.

  *****

  Chapter 10 Appearances

  Every command and movement by the rider must come from kindness and love, otherwise, there will be no harmony. – Egon von Neindorff

  *****

  “It’s been a week, Sierra. Can’t you and River resolve this disagreement? You’re acting like spoiled children,” Pam chided her daughter as she watched her mope over her dinner plate.

  “In other words, I’m acting like a spoiled child,” Sierra answered obstinately, moving food around her plate with her fork. She had been in a dark, grumpy mood all week.

  In a soft voice, Pam asked, “Are you?”

  Sierra shrugged her shoulders, keeping her eyes down.

  “Do you have any idea how it hurts me to see you so unhappy? Sierra, I have my nursing boards coming up in just two weeks and thinking about my sad daughter is making it very hard for me to concentrate on studying.”

  “Sorry; if you fail your exam then I guess it will be my fault,” Sierra stated, clanking her fork down on her plate and folding her arms tight against her chest. She looked up at her mother, her face drawn into a tight frown.

  Pam slammed her own fork onto the table, barely managing to swallow down an angry retort. With only a few weeks left before she graduated from nursing school, and her future ability to get a job dependent on her passing the state nursing examination, her own emotions were wound tight from stress and her mood verging on explosive. Pinching her mouth tight to keep from shouting, she glared back at her daughter as she counted to ten in her mind.

  Sierra’s angry expression dissolved into a scrunched up attempt to keep her face from collapsing into tears. She sucked in a breath and managed to say in a quivering voice, “A spoiled child is not what I feel like. But I do feel jealous. I feel betrayed. I feel confused.” Then with the tears spilling uncontrollably, she sobbed, “And I want River back.”

  “Oh, baby,” Pam cried, all her anger dissolving into compassion. She pushed out of her chair to go over to her weeping daughter and hug her around the shoulders. Sierra turned to grab on to her mother, burying her face against her middle, and cried the tears she had been fighting back all week.”

  “Come; here with me,” Pam guided Sierra into the living room and they collapsed onto the sofa where Sierra buried her face into her mother, who rocked her gently until her sobs ebbed into sniffles.

  “What should I do?” Sierra asked in a choked voice.

  Pam smoothed the back of her daughter’s hair, searching for words of comfort. Finally, she asked, “What do you think you should do?”

  “I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking you.” Sierra tried to laugh to lighten her heavy mood, but it came out as a half-laugh-half-sob.

  With a deep breath, Pam said, “Okay, you’re the one who broke up, right?” Sierra nodded. “You think River lied to you.”

  “He did lie,” she answered in a muffled voice.

  “Do you think he was intentionally lying to cheat on you, or do you think he might have avoided telling you because he didn’t want to face your displeasure?”

  Sierra pulled away from her mother and sank back against the sofa cushions. “Most of the time I think, yeah, he just didn’t want to face my jealousy. But then I think about how she is so much sexier than me, and she’s so much more sophisticated, and I’m just so ordinary.”

  “Oh, Sierra, do you really think you are ordinary?” Pam asked in a soft, dismayed tone.

  “Of course I’m ordinary,” Sierra answered with a pouty expression. “Maybe I’m not ugly, but I’m not exotically beautiful like Allison or Hollywood beautiful like Katrina. And I’m not as well-developed and mysteri
ous like Laila.”

  “Do you think it’s your looks that determine whether you’re ordinary or not?” Pam asked sternly.

  “Well…”

  “Do you think Einstein was an ordinary man?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What about Mother Theresa? Or Mrs. Bernstein?” Pam mentioned an exceptional teacher that taught Sierra in second grade; a woman Sierra had idolized. “Are any of those people exceptionally beautiful?”

  “Mom…” Sierra said in an annoyed tone.

  “Sierra…” Pam answered in the same tone of voice. “Kitten, I thought I raised you with better values than that.” She watched her daughter’s face cloud up (perhaps a hint of shame?) as she absorbed her mother’s words. After a few minutes watching Sierra with her slumped posture and a pouty expression, Pam continued, “Who is it in the top ten academically at her school? Who is it that’s always been in the ninety-ninth percentile on her Iowa tests? Who won top prize for her science project two years in a row?”

  “So I’m smart,” Sierra said unenthusiastically.

  “What young lady had to make some very difficult choices a few summers ago…choices concerning basic right and wrong but could have potentially ended her dream of riding horses? That was no ordinary person.” She watched as Sierra’s pout softened and then as she struggled not to smile. “Hmm?”

  “Okay,” Sierra said in a tone of surrender, as the corners of her mouth uncontrollably lifted up.

  “I’m not saying that appearance doesn’t play a part in a relationship. Of course it’s often one’s looks that first attract us to a person. There does need to be that magnetic attraction between couples…a chemistry I’ve heard it described. But that chemistry can develop as you get to know another person so that even plain looks become attractive to you.

  “Think about what it is about River that attracts you…is it his looks?” When Sierra didn’t answer, Pam persisted, “Seems to me there was a time when you thought Dean Clark was the handsomest boy around.”

  “Yeah, well now I can’t stand the sight of him,” Sierra admitted. “River seems much better looking to me now than Dean.”

  “Tell me what it is about River that takes your breath away.”

  Wrinkling her brow, Sierra considered and after a few minutes said, “It’s when I watch him work with a nervous horse, how gentle he is and how they respond to him, or anytime I watch him ride.” She thought for another minute. “It’s how he looks at me when he moves his face in closer to kiss me…it’s anytime I look into his eyes.” She felt her face flush as she thought about kissing River, and she laughed, trying to hide her embarrassment. “Okay, Mom; it’s your turn. What is it that attracts you to Ron?”

  “Fair enough,” Pam answered with a smile. Ron was a pharmacist she had met during her training at the local hospital, and they had been dating for almost a year. “He certainly isn’t exceptionally handsome. I guess you’d have to say he is ordinary-looking. But, the more I get to know him – his kindness, intelligence, his quirky sense of humor…his integrity – the more attractive I find his face. It’s interesting how his inner character shines through so the more intimately I come to know him, the more attractive I find his exterior features.”

  “He has a crooked nose,” Sierra said, but not unkindly.

  “Yes, isn’t it adorable?” They both laughed. Pam hugged her daughter again, but then as they recovered from their mirth, her expression altered to very serious. “Sierra, my darling daughter, I’m going to give you my motherly advice.”

  Sierra made a face and groaned but then softened the grimace into a smile.

  “I see all of us living in a society where we are barraged with how important our appearance is – that our looks determine our worth,” her mother began her lecture. “How ridiculous that is, but it’s very difficult for even adults not to get caught up in wanting to look like the perfect model put before us on television and in movies, and in all the fashion magazines. Believe me, I do remember how it feels to be a teenage girl. I spent a lot more time in front of my mirror than I’ve ever seen you do. And just like in your school, the most popular kids in my school were the best looking, and most came from families that were well off. I suspect that is the way it has always been; that society ranks one’s worth by exterior appearances and wealth.

  “You know I still keep in touch with Sarah, my best friend from high school, and she keeps me informed about past classmates. Claire, the most popular girl in our school, married into a very wealthy family. Just a few years ago Sarah told me she divorced her first husband and had remarried one of her husband’s business associates, the CEO of some big company. Last year her beautiful home was featured on the cover of an architectural magazine. I remember another girl, Maria, who was constantly teased and shunned because she was overweight and she wasn’t very pretty. She was also Hispanic which was looked down on where I grew up. Now she teaches in a school for children with disabilities. Sarah told me that Claire has two children and the oldest at age fourteen has already been in and out of drug rehab. Maria has had many of her students participating in national youth programs and winning honors.

  “Now which one has contributed the most to society? Which is the most admirable human being?”

  “Of course Maria,” Sierra answered.

  “Yes, of course; you and I recognize that. But I’m ashamed to admit that Sarah and I used to envy Claire, and looked up to her as who we wanted to be like. And although neither of us ever teased Maria, we both laughed at her behind her back, feeling smug that we were so much better than her.”

  “Mom, I can’t imagine you like that,” Sierra said in disbelief.

  “I was a very normal, shallow teenage girl; and I’m so proud you are so much more mature than I was at your age.” She leaned over and kissed Sierra on the cheek, smoothing her hair back away from her damp face.

  “Are you making up those girls, Claire and Maria?” Sierra asked, wrinkling her nose, suddenly thinking her mother’s examples were maybe just too convenient.

  Laughing, Pam answered, “No, I swear, they are both very real people.”

  “Okay, I get the message,” Sierra said, folding her arms against her chest. “But how did we get on this subject anyway? How is this supposed to help me with River?”

  “I guess telling you all this is a very round-about way of trying to get you not to worry so much about your appearance…and,” she held up a finger before Sierra could speak, “you are a very beautiful girl. There is nothing ordinary about your looks, as well as nothing ordinary about who you are.” She tapped Sierra playfully on her nose. “I guess I want to give you the perspective to think about your relationship with River beyond how each of you look…or to ever compare yourself to another girl.”

  Clenching and unclenching her fingers in her lap, Sierra considered for a few minutes, and then said, “I just want River to tell me things…or I guess I want him to feel like he can trust me, and not keep things from me. I don’t want secrets!”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Yes, I have, and he says there are just things he can’t tell me.”

  “Hmm…okay, remember that babysitter you had that shut you in your bedroom and even slapped you?”

  “Ugh, I’ll never forget her. What a witch.”

  “Have you told River about her?”

  “No, why would I tell him about that?”

  “Do you think you could tell him about her?”

  “Of course I could.”

  Pam raised her brow, and when Sierra scrunched her face in confusion, she continued, “What if I hadn’t found out and you had that woman abusing you for years? What if I hadn’t believed you? What do you think that might have done to your ego? Do you think you might have wondered if you deserved such treatment?”

  “You think maybe River doesn’t tell me things because he’s ashamed?”

  “I think so, yes,” Pam answered.

  “But it’s not his fault; he shoul
dn’t feel that way!” Sierra said indignantly.

  “Do you think people always react and feel the way they should?”

  When Sierra didn’t answer, but sat worrying her lower lip as she processed the question, Pam asked, “Isn’t River in counseling?”

  Sierra nodded. “Yeah, every Monday.”

  “Hopefully he’s getting the help he needs to work through his past abuse, and maybe you should be patient with him and give him some time,” Pam advised, and then added in a very soft voice, “abused children don’t always grow up to be very nice people. River may be an exception, but he’s very likely always going to be moody and…withholding.

  “You can’t change other people, Sierra, only yourself. Maybe you need to change your expectations of what you want in your relationship with him. You will have to decide if you can accept River as he is as your boyfriend, or if the best you can have is just to be friends.”

  Looking down at her hands, Sierra nodded. “I need to think about all this.”

  “That’s my intelligent, beautiful daughter.” Pam kissed her on the cheek again and patted the hands in her lap. “How about if we go finish our cold supper?”

  They returned to their seats in the kitchen and after determining they needed to microwave their plates, finished eating dinner.

  “I’ll do the dishes tonight,” Sierra offered as they both cleared the table. “I don’t have that much homework and there’s something about having my hands busy that helps me to think.”

  “Smart girl,” Pam said, and hugged Sierra again. “See what a sweet daughter I have? How many teenage girls actually offer to do dishes?” They both laughed.

  Pam retreated into the living room to begin her own homework. Sierra filled the sink with hot water, squirting in dish soap, and began to slip dishes into the water. As she mechanically wiped plates and silverware, rinsed them, and stacked them in the rack, she thought back over the evening’s conversation. Then she thought of the times she had suspected that River had suffered abuse – a black eye, bruised ribs, and then of course, shot by his father – and how many times he used to show up for work in the mornings in a foul mood, and moving sluggishly, as if he hurt. Oh my, and he blames himself for all that? It had never occurred to her before.