The Canter (part one)

She lifted her dusty brown boot and stepped onto the mounting block. It was two steps from the ground, maybe 24 inches high in all, but it may as well have been 12 feet tall. Her breath caught in her throat and she reminded it to flow in and out again. She told herself that her ragged uneven breathing was the result of years of chain smoking- that was easier to believe than the truth. The truth was raw. The truth was- she was afraid.

Standing atop the blue plastic steps, she stretched her hand to grasp the white mane. Her fingers intertwined with the long grey hair on the mare's neck and she tried not to notice her pale knuckles as they clinched tightly around the strands. She lifted her foot nimbly and briefly caught the look of surprise on her classmates face before it disappeared behind a polite smile.

"All right, students," Charlotte, the riding instructor, spoke aloud from somewhere behind Judy. "Mount your horses," she commanded in a tone that was not accustomed to being questioned.

Judy hesitated for just another moment. But, before her nervous mind could mount an argument against taking riding lessons as a Senior Citizen, she sprang into action. She hefted her weight onto the leather stirrup hanging at the mare's side and hoisted herself into the saddle.

"Unnnhh," escaped through her ruby lips from the effort of swinging herself onto the back of the 1100 pound equine. She involuntarily reached up to pat her ginger-colored hair and found it to be unfazed. She scooted her bum so that it rested more securely in the heavy leather stock saddle. Much like its inhabitant, the dark brown seat was worn with time, miles, and experience. It harbored memories and secrets alike.

To get her bearings from this high perch, Judy looked to her left and right. Each Saturday she came to the busy stable nestled in the foothills of California to ride. The only beginner riding group which was available for her to join was comprised of 4 other students. Their names were Molly, Brittney, Emily, and Rachel. The other girls had formed a fast friendship with one another. They discussed the latest TV shows and pop songs. To Judy, that included Murder She Wrote and Neil Diamond. The six year old girls who shared her lesson watched her warily- not sure how to relate with the ex-nun, ex-alcoholic who came here because she needed to live this dream.

"Walk your horses forward," Charlotte drilled in her best instructor voice. Even she, seemed not exactly sure what to do with Judy. She tossed her blonde bob and glanced at her watch. She had a date this evening and was already weighing her apparel choices.

As the riders began to issue a series of clucks and chirps, the horses responded- more likely from habit than obedience- and moved with slow sure steps toward the outer railing of the arena. Charlotte looked her riders over carefully assessing them with her own mental checklist. Helmets, check. Elbows in, check. Heels down, check. Her eyes settled onto the lead horse and rider and she sighed. Beulah was the oldest and surest horse in the stable. Over twenty years in age now, she was nearly white with the exception of the occasional fleck of flea-bitten red sprinkled sparingly throughout her coat. The mare carried a russet-haired rider who despite her advancing age, brimmed with vim and vigor. Judy rode with her head thrust high and a posture stolen from royalty.  Behind her, the rest of the class marched along like an obedient legion of followers.

"Okay ladies, today we are going to add a little difficulty to your lesson," Charlotte projected her voice farther now as the horse/rider pairings were spacing themselves farther around the arena.  "After you get them warmed up, we are going to Trot your horses today."

A sudden wave of fear swept through Judy again. She tried very hard to calm herself. She looked forward to her lessons all week long. She used the money that she saved for her beloved Nicotine lozenges to pay for the lessons. This was the first thing that she had allowed herself to splurge on in a number of years and it felt better than any drink or cigarette had ever tasted. This was the best habit she had ever acquired in her full life.

It was dangerous and exciting. The day she had enrolled herself into riding lessons, she was overcome with a flood of memories and desires that had been neatly tucked away in her mind since she was a small girl. This was addictive and exhilarating in the same instant.

To be continued...