his head swiveled. As he came at a canter, you couldn’t help but admire the skewbald Daddy-killer. The old guy was fourteen now, but he still lifted his feet like a colt, and his eyes still sparked with the glory of performance.
At a twenty-foot gap, I held my hand palm forward and Frostbite stopped on a nickel. A dime. World’s greatest trick horse.
“Nobody’s rode him since Buddy,” Hank said.
Frostbite and I locked brown eyes on blue. Faith in each other leapt between us like lightning between a thunderhead and a mountain spire. Horse and woman became a unit.
Hank stepped next to me. “I advise against it.”
Shane said, “If you break your neck, don’t ask to use my chair.”
I gave the hand signal for Frostbite to turn around. Exhaling calmly, I said, “No problem. We haven’t lost a thing.”
My rear mount was smooth as water over a rock. The instant my jeans touched his back, Frostbite became motion, I became Frostbite. We’re talking exhilaration—the refinding of lost enthusiasm.
I grasped the mane with my left hand and did a right vault, then reversed it and bounced dirt on the other side. For the first time I wished I hadn’t cut my hair. Long hair streaming in the wind is a trip when you go fast. You should see Hank do the arrow-beneath-the-belly Indian trick. On a full-blast horse death doesn’t mean shit.
As he hurled toward the fence I gently tugged Frostbite’s mane and touched him with my left leg. He did a flying leftward U-ey, and ZOOM, we’re charging back toward Moby Dick. I placed both palms on his back between my thighs, straightened my legs, and lifted myself into a rear spin—same trick Mary Ellen McKenzie had been trying on the mechanical horse at Kimball’s before she mocked me.
Forward again, I made a crowd appreciation check. Hank watched with both hands on his hips. Shane knocked his harmonica against his dead leg. He would say something tacky, but I would know I’d shut him down. The slug couldn’t crap at me anymore.
I brought both feet under my body with my weight on my toes. Time for the free rump stand followed by the back flip dismount. This would knock their socks off—all except Lloyd, who wasn’t wearing socks.
***
I came to on the ground in the shade of the ambulance. This time the progression went in reverse—black spots turning to yellow turning to three round faces staring down at me. Hank’s was angry, Lloyd’s concerned. Shane was so entertained he practically bubbled.
Hank said, “I won’t bury another member of your family.”
In times of embarrassment, always fall back on bravado. “Fucking horse broke stride.”
Shane giggled. “That’s what Katharine said.” Hank knelt to manipulate my legs.
I must have landed on my shoulders because that’s what hurt the most, other than my already battered ego. “Frostbite jumped a chiseler hole. He’s lost his touch.”
Lloyd didn’t blink. “Would you have fallen if you hadn’t had a drink?”
Shane gave his hideous hoot. All three chins contracted like a frog’s neck when it croaks. “She’d have stayed up longer with more to drink, not less.”
I closed my eyes. I’d crashed any number of times learning the tricks. This didn’t mean a thing; I wasn’t a washed-up, twenty-two-year-old has-been.
Hank touched my ankle. “Can you move your feet?”
“Of course I can move my feet. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge, I’m tired of this godforsaken dump.”
***
Dothan trained Mae West to buck whenever she heard “Chewy Chewy” by the Ohio Express. Dothan loved the Ohio Express, which tells you as much about his depth of character as the calendar with Kiwanis meetings marked by a star.
He used to bring his portable eight-track tape player to the ranch and sit on the corral fence listening to music while I exercised Frostbite and a couple others. Dothan was only there waiting for me to get done so he could take me up the hayloft and get straw in my pubes. Every now and then
At a twenty-foot gap, I held my hand palm forward and Frostbite stopped on a nickel. A dime. World’s greatest trick horse.
“Nobody’s rode him since Buddy,” Hank said.
Frostbite and I locked brown eyes on blue. Faith in each other leapt between us like lightning between a thunderhead and a mountain spire. Horse and woman became a unit.
Hank stepped next to me. “I advise against it.”
Shane said, “If you break your neck, don’t ask to use my chair.”
I gave the hand signal for Frostbite to turn around. Exhaling calmly, I said, “No problem. We haven’t lost a thing.”
My rear mount was smooth as water over a rock. The instant my jeans touched his back, Frostbite became motion, I became Frostbite. We’re talking exhilaration—the refinding of lost enthusiasm.
I grasped the mane with my left hand and did a right vault, then reversed it and bounced dirt on the other side. For the first time I wished I hadn’t cut my hair. Long hair streaming in the wind is a trip when you go fast. You should see Hank do the arrow-beneath-the-belly Indian trick. On a full-blast horse death doesn’t mean shit.
As he hurled toward the fence I gently tugged Frostbite’s mane and touched him with my left leg. He did a flying leftward U-ey, and ZOOM, we’re charging back toward Moby Dick. I placed both palms on his back between my thighs, straightened my legs, and lifted myself into a rear spin—same trick Mary Ellen McKenzie had been trying on the mechanical horse at Kimball’s before she mocked me.
Forward again, I made a crowd appreciation check. Hank watched with both hands on his hips. Shane knocked his harmonica against his dead leg. He would say something tacky, but I would know I’d shut him down. The slug couldn’t crap at me anymore.
I brought both feet under my body with my weight on my toes. Time for the free rump stand followed by the back flip dismount. This would knock their socks off—all except Lloyd, who wasn’t wearing socks.
***
I came to on the ground in the shade of the ambulance. This time the progression went in reverse—black spots turning to yellow turning to three round faces staring down at me. Hank’s was angry, Lloyd’s concerned. Shane was so entertained he practically bubbled.
Hank said, “I won’t bury another member of your family.”
In times of embarrassment, always fall back on bravado. “Fucking horse broke stride.”
Shane giggled. “That’s what Katharine said.” Hank knelt to manipulate my legs.
I must have landed on my shoulders because that’s what hurt the most, other than my already battered ego. “Frostbite jumped a chiseler hole. He’s lost his touch.”
Lloyd didn’t blink. “Would you have fallen if you hadn’t had a drink?”
Shane gave his hideous hoot. All three chins contracted like a frog’s neck when it croaks. “She’d have stayed up longer with more to drink, not less.”
I closed my eyes. I’d crashed any number of times learning the tricks. This didn’t mean a thing; I wasn’t a washed-up, twenty-two-year-old has-been.
Hank touched my ankle. “Can you move your feet?”
“Of course I can move my feet. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge, I’m tired of this godforsaken dump.”
***
Dothan trained Mae West to buck whenever she heard “Chewy Chewy” by the Ohio Express. Dothan loved the Ohio Express, which tells you as much about his depth of character as the calendar with Kiwanis meetings marked by a star.
He used to bring his portable eight-track tape player to the ranch and sit on the corral fence listening to music while I exercised Frostbite and a couple others. Dothan was only there waiting for me to get done so he could take me up the hayloft and get straw in my pubes. Every now and then
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