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by Melody Edwards
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I see him standing behind me in the mirror as he manipulates the elastic tie into intricate turns around my long brown ponytail. He gives no thought to the graceful ease with which he bends bone and muscle at will. I’m mesmerized by the ritual as I lay my prosthetic on the vanity in front of me. I guess that’s why it’s one of the few activities I have fully relinquished to him.
Luke sighs as he gently twirls my long brown locks through his fingers: “Don’t forget, Jon and Silvia invited us to dinner tonight.”
I rise and wrap myself in a light, camo jacket, intentionally ignoring the reminder.
“Are we going, hun?” He persists.
I no longer have the patience to field his incessant attempts to socialize me. “I don’t know. Have you even been to their house yet?”
“No, babe, I haven’t.”
“Well why would you want me to go there then? Did you ask them if we are eating indoors, or out? Is the dining room closed in? Are there a lot of windows in that house?”
“I’m not really sure what neighborhood they live in, but we can work it out when we get there. We can explain your special needs. I’m sure they will understand…”
“Special needs! Oh! like that’s not going to be awkward for me.” I snatch my phone from the bed with my good hand and shove it into my jacket pocket. All the way to the car, I have to endure babbling about how hard it is for him to understand.
“I don’t know what to tell people, I thought it would be better if you explained it when we got there.”
Luke pleads for audience as I sit in the passenger seat and reach my good hand across my body to pull the door in. It slams loudly enough that I get relief from his hounding. As he wearies himself in the background, I look at my handless nub peeking out from the right sleeve of my camo. The rim of the cuff has stray bits of string twisting out of the cloth. It looks like the material is unravelling in an effort to get away from the deformity.
=As I look at what’s not there, I realize that Luke can’t see what I see, what’s missing in my head now. He doesn’t know how there is always some part of me trying to get away from what I can’t see behind the walls. How what I fear might be there, once was there. How it caught me off guard in a strange place and left me in the rubble. How it took my hand. And most of all, how I think it’s still hiding behind the walls everywhere I go.
I try to tell him how I feel, but I hear myself say: “You wouldn’t understand,” instead.
“How can I? You don’t talk to me!”
I try to reassure him that I am just protecting him. “Well, you would have to roam around in a third-world desert waiting for an IED to explode around every corner, so, no, I don’t want you to understand.”
I feel like I need to run back in and get my prosthetic and drive to the stables alone. But the car is in gear and we are moving, so I settle in and watch Luke’s angry body tighten around the wheel as he drives. His blue eyes are always intense, but now they are tracking the street ahead with a sharpness that I expect to splinter the windshield. His black hair frames his temples in slick, ebony locks. The time I spent overseas betrayed me in making this man even more beautiful than I remember. I wonder how much longer it will be before the desert takes him from me too.
We reach the long driveway into the stables. My mind wanders into the fields where I can see myself out there on a horse, far away from walls and people, closer to freedom. Out there in the dandelions seems so far away from the cage of the car, but my logic reminds me that my head will be out there with me on that horse.
Luke breaks the silence that has fostered my daydream. “Do you think they will let you ride on the first day?”
He has a way of ruining these moments for me, but I remember that he did drive me here and that this is what I’ve been wanting for a long time, so I let a softness creep into my voice, “I hope so.” And almost reluctantly I add, “Thank you for bringing me.”
“Well, I didn’t know if they might have some kind of orientation or something.”
“I already went to that,” I remind him as I reach for the door handle and feel the tactical placement of a warm caress on my cheek. I turn towards him and see the sternness of his brow melt as he closes his eyes slowly. They open again with a fresh vulnerability that I want, terribly, to deny.
“Can I have a kiss?” he sighs.
Luke can’t stand the thought of us parting without some kind of token. He wasn’t like this before my deployment, but then, neither was I. I know it is just a band-aid, but I oblige. It is not pleasureless. I think he is telling me he loves me as I close the car door.
A sprawling oak covers the southwest corner of the barn, its branches ramble with those of smaller trees in the pasture. Horses rest slack-jawed in their shade. I can see the director approaching. She introduces herself to me again as “Kathy” and pretends to be happy to see me.
“Hi Nisa, so glad to get started with you today, and for future reference, your husband is more than welcome to stay with you while you are in therapy.”
Oh great, there goes plausible deniability. “No, he’s good. This is more a time for me to do my thing, you know…but thank you.”
She smiles at me, showcasing a suspicious twinkle of optimism “I understand, Nisa.”
I ponder how she could possibly have the nerve to say that to me as she signals to follow her into the barn.
“I have a great horse in mind for you. He neck-reigns really well.”
“Okay.”
“But…he is having a bit of a performance problem right now.” She pauses in expectation of a response that I refuse to give. I’m too distracted by the barn. The walls are flanking me on either side. They are high and long, but the large open doors at each end do bring some comfort. Kathy is saying something about the horse resisting his saddle right now.
“We are working with him.”
“Okay,” I answer, noticing that every other stall has an outside window.
“Well, he is just getting over a few hang-ups…I mean, we are working with him and I’m sure he’ll recover soon, he just can’t be ridden at the moment.”
“Okay, so which horse will I work with today, then?” I watch expectantly as we pass each one down the long stretch of stalls.
“Well, I guess, that’s what I’m trying to get at. I think he is the right horse for you and it would be best to stick with him. The next few weeks will be a good opportunity for bonding. I’m thinking you can get in some grooming and exercise time.”
I can feel the frustration crawling into blood vessels on my face. “Okay, whatever you think is best.”
Kathy stops in front of his stall. “His name is Charlie.”
I notice the window behind him, “Is this his regular stall?”
Yes, this is Charlie’s.” Kathy’s clarification brings me reassurance. I can handle this if there’s a window. I pull my jacket off and lay it over the rail as Kathy clucks Charlie to the gate.
Without an introduction, Charlie approaches me. I offer my good hand which he gently inspects for hidden treats. He looks to be an average-sized chestnut quarter horse with unusually round, large eyes that give him a cartoonish quality.
“Well, that’s a good start.” Kathy comments. “There is a brush next to his bucket and we left some alfalfa cubes in the container by the entry.” She points me to a stand where his tack is kept. “I will leave you two to get acquainted.” She pats Charlie on the neck, “Let me know if you need anything.”
Kathy lets me in the stall before she leaves. Charlie’s ears are bent forwards and he is standing at attention. I have to get this nagging anxiety out of the way, so I walk over to the window and lean my head out in both directions to obtain a visual. “All clear.” I announce. When I turn around, I find him standing directly behind me with moon-pie eyes. I have to step aside to regain personal space. “Whoa boy.” He moves a hair back in my direction and lowers his head as if offended by my retreat. “Well, we might as well get this out of the way.” He lifts his head in response and I offer him my exposed nub. Charlie twirls his warm, velvety muzzle around my empty wrist socket. He seems disappointed that it lacks the capacity to hold a treat. With a heavy sigh, he walks back over to the feed bucket as if to say, “Let’s try it this way, then.”
I drop in a few cubes of alfalfa and pick up the brush. A ray of light falls through the window and illuminates the course of my strokes across Charlie’s back. Flecks of copper shimmer in his coat. I can feel us both relaxing in our sunlit corner of the dark, cool barn. I inhale and savor the fragrance of fresh straw and sweet- feed. At this point, I am not minding so much that we aren’t riding today.
On the morning of my next therapy session, I awake in a curious state of mind. I think maybe it is optimism. I sit patiently while Luke puts up my hair. The tension between us has diminished as of late, and my only anxiety right now is that he is going to point it out, and thereby, ruin it.
“I was going to run to Publix while you are at the stable, do you need anything?” He searches my reflection for a reply.
“You know, I can put my own hair up? Right?” I cringe at my response, realizing where this could lead.
“I know, and it’s so sexy that you let me do it.” I watch my face grow pink in the mirror, a bit startled by the hue.
At the stables, Kathy is waiting for me under the big oak. She explains that Charlie still isn’t ready to ride, and we can continue bonding. I am mildly disappointed, but then I see Charlie hanging his head over the gate, nodding in approval as I approach. I take a moment with my forehead pressed into the white blaze on his long face before I enter his stall. I know he wants his treat, but I remind him, “First things first.” I walk over to the window and lean out as far as I can to check for…well, you never know. First, I look to my right, and as I turn my head to search in the opposite direction, I almost slam into Charlie. He has, for some reason, joined me at the window. I watch him arch his strong penny-colored neck and look left down the length of the barn. He then pulls back into the stall and walks over to his saddle. I watch him nudge it and paw at the wood chippings. I wonder, “Is this horse trying to tell me something?”
“Do you want to go for a ride, fella?” I scratch his neck and mane as his muzzle relaxes into my shoulder. Breathing in, I appreciate the not unpleasant; sweet, salt-of-the earth smell that is horse.
At the end of the session I question Kathy about Charlie’s behavior. I explain to her how he acted with the saddle and ask her if she thinks it might mean he is ready to ride again.
“Wow! I am glad you told me that. He has been wary of the saddle since a few weeks ago when one of the trainers was cinching him in. We think a bee stung him. Now he associates that pain with the saddle. We can’t get it near him. He is such a smart horse. We figured he just needed time to let the memory fade.”
“So, do you think, maybe, the way he acted today means he is ready now? Can I just show you what he does?” As I plead with Kathy, my voice sounds unfamiliar. I feel eager and out of control as Luke pulls up under the sprawling oak.
“Well, I guess we can go back in and give it a try.”
I run to Luke full of hope and let him know it might be a few more minutes. When I reach Charlie’s stall, Kathy already has him bridled. I notice he is very energized. When he sees me, he leaves Kathy’s side and heads for the window, where he looks out in both directions.
“What are you doing, Charlie?” Kathy asks.
I’m holding back the knot in my throat as I watch Charlie. He then walks to his saddle and nudges it, pawing the floor like before. Kathy tilts her head and looks at me, “Hm, maybe you’re right.” She holds the reins and gently lays a blanket across his back. As she moves for his saddle, Charlie perks his ears and stiffens the strong curve of his neck. She lifts it from the stand and Charlie takes a careful step back, looking at Kathy expectantly. Without hesitation, she tries to lift it on him. Charlie flinches. He backs into the wall and rears, almost falling. He squeals at a pitch that unsettles my core.
“It’s okay boy.” Kathy comforts masterfully, as she puts the saddle down and lays reassuring hands on his neck. I feel a wet weakness threaten to escape my eyes as I walk away frustrated and silent. Kathy’s calls for me are ignored.
Getting in the car, I wipe the shame away from my cheek. Before Luke can say a word, I tell him “Just leave.”
“Okay.”
Once we are on our way and I have carefully replaced my disappointment with adequate self-loathing, I begin. for some reason, to talk about my feelings. “So, the horse they matched me with got stung by a bee, right?”
“Okay”
“Well, now, he won’t let them put a saddle on him because he thinks that the saddle bit him or something like that.”
“Okay, so I’m sure he’s scared of it. So, that’s got to be pretty frustrating for you.”
“No that’s not what it is.” I put my head down between my good hand and my nub. “He is asking me for help. I can’t explain it. Even though I’m a person and he’s a horse, he has some kind of faith that I can do something. I know it sounds crazy, but you know my thing with the walls?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he saw me checking out the window every time I went into his stall and…I promise you Luke, I know it sounds freaky…but now when he sees me coming, he checks out the window for me.”
“Wow! Really?” Luke seems genuinely impressed.
“Yes, but this is the really amazing part; after he checks the window he keeps walking over to his saddle and nudging it like he wants me to do something with it.”
“That’s great babe! He probably wants to ride.”
“No. It’s not.” I put my head back against the seat. “Because I told the director about what he was doing and she tried to saddle him again, and he went nuts.”
Luke fills the car with a long “Hm.” After a substantial period of silence he offers an interpretation. “So it’s like the horse understands what you’re afraid of, and he is trying to help you, but maybe he is trying to tell you what he is afraid of too…truly amazing.” Luke looks at the road with eyebrows raised. “So he is willing to try to communicate with you, even though you are two different kinds of animals…and you don’t want to let him down. Well, maybe you didn’t get it this time…but, he won’t give up on you.” Luke stops at the red light and sets his intense blue eyes into my soul, “I promise you that.”
I let his words comfort me as I vaguely sense that I am missing something big here.
The next therapy session arrives with more apprehension than anticipation. I sit fidgeting in my seat as we round a bend of rolling hills stitched-in with black fence boards. I don’t know what to expect. The way I left last week…I can’t handle the thought of never seeing Charlie again. Luke is beside me inhaling the kind of breath he needs when preparing for a potentially toxic encounter.
“I know you hate this question, but…has everything been okay this past week, I mean, between us?”
I roll my eyes. “Luke, we haven’t fought once, is that what you mean?”
He snickers, “I don’t know, maybe?”
“I’ve just been thinking about Charlie. I don’t know if they will even let me work with him again.”
“Nisa, I’ve been thinking too, and I want to offer a suggestion…if it wouldn’t make you mad?”
Knowing he was raised in an equestrian family, I agree to listen. He delivers some meaningful insights and offers a very plausible explanation and solution. We pull into the stables as he details a plan that, I am sure, he has spent some time on. But, nonetheless, I must point out the negative.
“Well, what if I ask Kathy and she won’t try because of what happened last time?”
“Hm.” Luke has that piercing stare again. “What if I stay? What if we go in together? I will be really careful, and if you or Charlie don’t feel comfortable, we will just stop.”
The confidence in his voice is particularly convincing. I’m somewhat perplexed by, but definitely impressed with his scheme. “Well, Kathy did tell me, on the first day, that you can stay for the sessions.”
Kathy greets us as if nothing is out of sorts. Apparently, she says, wounded vets tend to have glitches like mine often, and “it is expected.” She acts excited for Luke to join me and gives me this annoying wink. Luke explains his theory to Kathy. We are both surprised by her willingness to let us try. She consents to the effort under her supervision.
As we approach the barn, my remaining hand trembles as it reaches for Luke’s. We find Charlie hanging out of his stall as if expecting us. Before I can introduce Luke, Charlie is already leaning out of the window checking the perimeter. Luke is amazed.
We walk into the stall and Luke offers him an alfalfa cube. As I watch Charlie’s cues with the saddle, I become more convinced that Luke is right about his theory. Kathy remains at the gate ready to assist. We brush Charlie together and Luke helps me bridle him. I place the blanket carefully on his back with my good hand. Charlie is patient as I awkwardly slide it into place.
When Kathy gives us the go-ahead, Luke lifts the saddle off the stand. He is careful not to sway it in Charlie’s direction. Charlie perks. We stand in front of him as Luke raises the saddle up slightly into the air. I make sure Charlie is watching as I make an obvious inspection of the saddle. I look underneath and in-between all the latigo. Luke turns the saddle slowly as I search, demonstrating to Charlie that we are checking it on all sides, top and bottom. “See Charlie, no bees.”
Luke holds the saddle close to Charlie’s nose and a long sigh deflates weeks’ worth of anxiety from Charlie’s body.
“Okay boy,” I whisper confidently, holding the reins as Luke comes cautiously to his side. We wait for a reaction. Charlie rounds his neck towards Luke as if to say, “Get on with it.”
I watch Luke move with poetic grace, he is committed, but ready to disengage if Charlie shows even a hint of discomfort. With controlled strength, Luke rests the saddle softly on Charlie’s back.
Luke pauses to look at me and whispers, “How am I doing babe?”
Salty medicine slips from my eyes as I tell him, “You are doing fine.”
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Melody Edwards is wife to a combat-wounded veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. She is a Florida native and recent graduate from UCF’s Creative Writing program. Melody enjoyed serving as an original co-founder, writer, and creative contributor to Micanopy Matters; a briefly circulated magazine highlighting historic communities. Earlier in life, she enjoyed seeing her poetry published in anthology and has since branched out into reflective writing and short stories. Her more recent work has been published in Horse Nation. She hopes to utilize the experience and knowledge gained from her education to continue to contribute to the art of writing.
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