It's about the ride

I have a guardian angel, whom I ignore. But she is ever vigilant. She whispers to me about faith and trust, and I turn up my iPod. I then turn it down, because my phone rings.

“I’m going to tell you something- I don’t want you to get upset”

I hate conversations that start this way. Especially when it’s one of my kids who is speaking to me. “I won’t get upset, what’s the matter?” I say. I’m starting to get upset. This is my daughter, calling me from college, she’s been sick for over a week. I went up to see her four days ago because she was sick. She seemed a little better; she promised me she would go back to university health services if she felt worse.

She felt worse.

We went back and forth over the phone. I told her to go back to the health services again. She does, and they give her antibiotics. I am relieved she has done this. I tell her several times. “You need to take the entire course of antibiotics; you have a sinus infection and bronchitis. Unless you want pneumonia on top of this, you’ll take every bit of those antibiotics.”

“Okay mama,” she says.

Done deal, I thought….

“You promise you won’t get upset,” she says again.

“Yes,” I say. I have just gotten out of the shower and dressed.

“Well,” she says, “I had to go back to university health services last night, because my throat started to swell up.”

I feel the blood pumping in my ears.

“Anyway,” she says. “I guess I’m allergic to amoxicillin now. They had to give me a shot, and then I had to stay there forever,” she says.

“Was it Epinephrine?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but I felt a lot better afterward,” she says. She still sounds like a bear cub when she talks, raspy and vulnerable.

“I’m coming up to get you,” I say.

“You don’t have to, they gave me another antibiotic, some prednisone, and told me that if I feel that feeling again, I’m supposed to call 911,” she says.

Jesus H. Christ.

“I’m coming to get you,” I say.

“You don’t have to,” she says. “I feel better.” The prednisone is talking.

“No,” I say, “I think I’ll go get a pedicure today.”

“Cool,” she rasps.

“I’ll be there in an hour and a half,” I say.

“Oh, okay,” she says.

I call my husband, because I want to yell at someone, and why not him, he’s just handy that way.

“Are you going to get her?” he asks.

“What? Of course I am,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “Go get her and call me when you calm down. She did exactly what she should have done. Think about it, Jane. ”

“This could have been really, really bad,” I say.

“But it wasn’t. Just calm down and go get her,” he says.

“I am calm,” I nearly scream into the phone.

I pick her up. She looks thin and pale. I pop the trunk and hear the duffle bag slightly list the car. She comes around and plops in the front seat. “I haven’t had anything but Gatorade for over four days,” she says.

Her pupils are like pin points.

“Did you take the prednisone this morning?” I ask.

“Yup,” she rasps. “That and the rest of the drugs they gave me. Tylenol, ibuprofen, Benadryl, a decongestant, and something else. I feel pretty good. You want me to drive?”

“Ahh no,” I say. “I’m glad you feel better, honey. I hug her and kiss the top of her head four times. “Let’s go home for a couple of days.”

I am trying to think of what Dave said. She did the right thing without me there. She’s okay because she knew what to do. I practice my deep breathing. I still feel like I’m going to hyperventilate.

Dave meets us at home, gives her a big hug, slips his laptop bag off his shoulder and says to her, “Need a Rock Band partner?”

He looks at me trying to get a read, before he says anything. She’s gone in the house; we stand in the driveway. A rusty basketball hoop hangs over us like the arm of an old friend.

“Don’t you have a riding lesson tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, “but…”

“Don’t start, Jane,” he says. “She did the right thing. How could you possibly have known that she would have a reaction to a drug she’s taken before with no problem?”

“I should have just brought her home with me on Friday,” I say.

“She didn’t want to come home, plus she was feeling better. She wanted to see the boyfriend over the weekend,” he says. “If you want to torture yourself about this go ahead. She did the right thing in an emergency situation without you standing there holding her hand. Why can’t you understand that?”

“You’re right, I know,” I say. “It’s going to take awhile for me to process this.”

“Process,” he says. “Good, go process; ride the horse. I will watch her every minute you’re gone.”

“Dave I just…”

“You need to think about something else for awhile—just go,” he says.

I go to the farm. I bridle Flash and begin to lead him out of the stall.

“THE CAT!!!!” A woman shrieks immediately to my left. “WATCH OUT FOR THE CAT!!”

I freeze. I am wedged between a wall of horse and the stall door. I don’t see any damned cat. I don’t see the source of the shriek. My heart starts to pound. “Don’t worry,” says a girl from the tack room. “The cats are quick, and know how to get out the horses’ way.” She nods her head over toward the direction of the shriek and rolls her eyes.

“Go ahead, Mrs. DeWitt,” Amber says. You’re fine.”

I love little Amber. She walks down to the ring with me and Flash. “There are some ladies who come here just to talk to the cats,” she says. “That lady, she gets nervous about them-the cats.”

“Well, I get nervous about her. Can I hit her with the crop so hard that she never comes back?” I ask. Amber laughs, “I think you’d get in trouble Mrs. DeWitt.”

“Yeah, but it would feel so good,” I say. “Besides, people should not shriek when someone is trying to lead a very large animal out of a small stall.”

“Yup,” says Amber. “I always think adults are smart, you know, and don’t do dumb things.”

“Oh honey,” I say “Look who you’re walking with.”

“You said you were going to stop saying stuff like that about yourself,” Amber reminds me.

“Amber, why are you here so late?” I ask, changing the subject.

“My mom works late tonight,” she says. “I like it here; I can do my homework in the room next to the tack room. There’s a table in there. Mom comes and gets me when she’s done.”

“Aren’t you hungry, honey? It’s after six.” I say.

“My mom packs me extra snacks,” she says and taps her cell phone. “She calls me to make sure I eat them."

“I bet she misses you when she has to work late,” I say.

“Uh huh,” Amber says. “But we order a pizza and eat it in our pajamas when we get home.”
“A pizza pajama party? Can I come one night?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll ask my mom.”

“No, no, Amber,” I say. “I’m just kidding.”

Amber slides the ring door open for me.

It’s like some kind of switch goes off in my mind when I enter the ring. My legs start trembling. Pam gives me a smile and says “You ready for your lunge lesson?” I nod and walk Flash slowly over to the mounting block. I’m really trembling now. What is the matter with me? I tell myself to just get on the horse, and stop this foolishness. My body’s not responding to the command though. I’m shaking like a damned leaf.

“Are you okay?” Pam asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m just-I’m just afraid today. Really afraid, and I don’t know why.”

Pam smiles at me from under her Red Sox cap. She has the prettiest face, why she wears that cap down low to cover it—I don’t know. This thought distracts me for a few blessed seconds.

And people knock ADD.

“Jane,” she says. “Just get on Flash. Just take him for a slow walk around the ring. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m really afraid today. I’m just really afraid.”

I’m starting to sound like Rain Man, and worse, I’m acting like him. I mount Flash and walk him around the ring. I like to nudge Flash by squeezing my legs. I just can’t kick him. I’d love to tell you it’s about my great humanity and love for all creatures. It’s not, sort of. I don’t want to set him off to too fast a trot. And well, yeah, I just don’t like the idea of kicking him. He’s very nice and sweet, and couldn’t we find another way?

There’s a woman in front of me. She’s wearing some funky, high tech riding helmet. She’s holding her crop and watching me as I amble by on Flash. My legs are relaxing. I pet Flash, “that’s it boy, mama needs a xanax cocktail right now,” I say. “I know you understand; I can feel it.”

“You need to make him understand who’s boss,” says high tech helmet woman. She’s holding a crop at a right angle like some kind of scepter. “He senses your fear right in your seat,” she says. High Tech points her crop at my legs.

She’s spooking me big time. I wouldn’t put it past her to whack me with that thing.

I almost ride Flash into the wall. I pull Flash’s reins in, and speak very softly to him. “Let’s let the dominatrix from Crazytown get way ahead of us, okay love?” I stroke Flash’s mane. Pam walks over to us.

“Better, Jane?” Pam asks. “Yes,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

She puts Flash on what looks like a long dog leash and ties up my reins. She tells me we are only going to build up a trot in small, slower circles. “Remember,” she tells me, “Move with the horse.” We begin to move in more rapid circles, Flash begins to trot and I bounce out of the saddle and land down hard. I try to thrust forward. It’s a subtle hip thrust. But my timing is still way off. Flash moves forward, and I land down and pike forward seeing the ground under the horse’s feet. I start to feel hopeless again; my legs are stiff and sore.

Pam stops.

“Jane,” she says. “Don’t even move until he kicks your butt out of the saddle. Relax and follow his rhythm.”

Now I’m tired, frustrated and too angry to be scared. “Okay,” I say. We begin the circles; I relax myself in saddle, heels down. Okay boy, I think. You show me. I’ll follow you. I wait; Flash builds a trot and knocks me upward. I begin to move with him, dropping back down into the seat and then rising up. “That’s it, Jane,” yells Pam. “You’ve got it. You’re doing it!”

“He’s doing it,” I say over my shoulder.

“No Jane,” says Pam. “You’re doing it together. You’re following one another, not fighting one another.”

Flash thrusts me out of the saddle and I come down, and begin to follow his movements.

I’m still afraid, but I trust him, and I follow.

The more I held on and tried to control, the more I struggled and got nowhere. The more I relax and take the ride, the safer I feel on the horse. Secure your seat, and follow the rhythm of your ride.

Flash and I walk off the last part of this lesson. High Tech Helmet marches in lock step on the other side of the ring. Her seat and form are positively regal, but they never move.

I need to move. Where, I don’t know, because right now I have no road map for the rest of my life. I want control where there is none.

I cannot control that my life is changing. I cannot control the fact that my children have now grown up. I cannot be with them every second protecting them anymore. I cannot control the fact that I’m getting older. I can learn to trust, though, and maybe believe that someone somewhere is watching out for me.

When I ride this horse, however poorly, I learn to hold on and accept the ride, and all its uncertainties. This horse is over ten times my size and fifty times my strength. I have to trust him though, and work with him. I just have to, if I want to ride.

And riding is fun, but scary too.

It’s kind of like life. However you delude yourself, in the end you have no control. You can only trust and have a blind faith, or a guardian angel that gets you through every day.

This is what brings me to this horse. I’m learning to ride him, but he’s teaching me how to live my life now.