Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Competition

Looks like we're gonna make it -”

I startled and nearly dropped my bottle.

“Oohh sorry, I forgot you probably wouldn't hear me coming...”

“How convenient,” I offer along with a wry glance to acknowledge her poorly executed attempt at concealing amusement.

Our conversations are rarely without consequence. There are times when we simply convey textual information, following the script word-for word, but, hardly ever does it lack some sort of context...or is it pretext? Something, some sort of knowing that surrounds and transcends our words. Her eyes stay on mine forever and a day. Sometimes I look away, in disbelief, and she stubbornly beckons me to believe anyway.

From a lonely patch of paddock fence we have a side view of most of the action, stick figures in black velvet helmets, mounted and roaming about, some with game faces ignoring all but their sheer concentration, some constantly in need of a parent's or coach's reassurance and some with parents in need of someone to fuss over, most but not all are adolescent females. The horses and ponies catch a snack when their humans provide the leisure of standing still near fencepost weeds or slip the occasional starlight mint, otherwise heeding commands via reins and boots. This is the day. Fifth-wheel rigs have hauled man and beast to this place to compete for ribbons and honor.

“How 'bout your group? I just got here...” I ask after a couple sips of water in as many minutes.

“Not bad. Not sure how many placings to expect since they're a young group, but it's experience and they seem to be having fun.”

I take a deep breath of sweet summer evening country air and turn towards her.

“Remind me, did you ever train?”

She half-smiles.

“Thought about it, but...ihh...it's a lot.”

Another sip to buy time, or let her finish her thought, seeing as I'm not sure what to do with that just yet.

I glance back to find her in a slightly agitated nostalgia. “Seems you're just glad to provide rides for these kids.”

“I am,” she finally smiles convincingly. It's amazing how much that smile can say, and a little unnerving at how much of it is beyond me. Yet some things are beginning to make sense. Usually in a barn setting you have families who own horses that their own kids ride and some own more and let out ridership for a fee, or else the trainer owns and lets as such. But here's this gal who owns quite a number, at least a dozen, but never charges for kids to ride.

“May I ask you something?”

She turns toward me deliberately that curious smile. Whether I'm unnerved by that act or just by the fact that I'm pressing in to her life with the next question, I am still unsure.

“So...when....” which fades into a sigh as I look the other way.

“Yyyyyyyyyyyessss?” I can hear the smile. I take a deep breath and bellow it out.

“If this an appropriate thing to ask, how do you choose which kid gets to ride?”

Her smile brightens and brings her eyes into the act as a pair of luminescent blue hounds following a scent into my depths. She breathes deeply and looks away, into her head, as though life itself depends upon the accuracy of her answer, despite the fact that we had stood around and talked many times throughout the weeks, about the weather and our crazy schedules and getting called to work at all hours, and now we stood in a paddock next to a corner of the ring.


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