Lessons from Horses

Nothing. That’s what he saw when he stepped off the bus. He had arrived in a place that had nothing to offer. After stretching out his stiff limbs, he picked up his backpack containing everything he owned. He removed a cigarette from his pocket and enjoyed the first drag that filled his lungs. He became aware he was being watched, and not by friendly eyes. The old men sitting on the patio outside what he was certain would be the only restaurant in town, were watching him, judging him. His reputation had traveled here faster than he had; he realized grunting with a big smile on his face. No invitations to the Christmas potluck would be coming his way. 

“Point the way to Greenway Ranch, if you could,” he said as he approached the old men who were still watching him. They looked at each other waiting for the other to respond. “We don’t need the likes of you ‘ere, son,” the response came. “I’m not your fucking son,” he spat, suddenly furious. He had given them a clear instruction, not wanting to engage in conversation. An old woman appeared out of the swinging doors holding a tray with big coffee mugs on them. Joe’s mouth watered as the aroma of the black, strong coffee hit him. He was hungry, and in great need of a shower. Looking at the men sitting, faces drawn in disapproval, she smiled and said,”Don’t you mind them, son. You must be the lad McKinley sent up here. Now you be good to old Miriam. You’ll find the ranch if you continue down this road here.” He fought the urge to point out that he wasn’t her son either, but decided it was pointless. He had the information he needed. He gave the old men one last look, turned and started walking away. “Riffraff, that’s wha’ he is. A bad tempered asshole that made so much trouble in his own hometown that McKinley had to send ‘im here. Now we are stuck with ‘im,” one of the old men grumbled as he strode away. He clinched his fists. He knew he had to step in line here. McKinley had made it clear that this was his last lifeline. He needed the job. Being an ex-convict at twenty-four didn’t make your CV shine, and he knew if he lost this gig, he would be most probably end up begging or selling his body, and he didn’t have the personality for either of those things. So he took a big drag of his cigarette, and walked away.

His body ached as he walked down the road. Even in the early morning, it was hot, scorching, the sun burning through his t-shirt. His bag was cutting through his skin, not designed to carry such a heavy load. He walked for what felt like hours, before throwing the bag to the side of the road, and sitting down in the grass. He was exhausted, annoyed, and angry. He thought back to the night that landed him here. He didn’t know she had a boyfriend. It didn’t matter anyway. He would still have hit on her. He was a man, plain and simple. If he saw a woman he desired, he wanted her. He enjoyed the fight that followed and felt more alive then ever when her boyfriend’s head cracked open on the sidewalk. Looking back, he knew how lucky he was that McKinley was willing to take care of things. An episode like that was guaranteed to get his ass back in the slammer.

He lit another cigarette, wiping the mixture of sweat and dust from his face. An old Land Rover stopped next to him. “Joe? Is that you? I’m heading to the ranch now. I can give you a ride, son,” an old woman called from the half-opened window. Joe rolled his eyes. What was it with everyone here? His own parents never even called him son, but then again, they hardly called him anything. Realizing that he might not have to walk any further he jumped up, grabbed his sack and headed to the car. As he leaned in to open the passenger seat, she shook her head and pointed to the back. “You must be fucking kidding, lady,” he said making no effort to hide his irritation. “On the back, or with your own legs, child, you decide,” she responded. In one swift motion, Joe threw his belongings over the side of the truck and followed. He landed hard, his lips losing their grip on the cigarette in his mouth and it sliding down into the road. The drive was bumpy and long. He was thankful for the lift as the sun glared down on him. Finally he saw the wooden farm sign proudly stating, “Welcome to Greenway Ranch.”

Joe jumped off the back and looked around. The ranch was beautiful, lush, and green. He saw the farmhouse, horse stables, and a small cottage on the side of the stables. “That’ll be you,” the old woman nodded in the direction of the cottage, then adding,” I’m Miriam. I’ll give you ten minutes to put your things down and have a shower, and then we’ll get started.” Joe looked down suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment. He was sure he stank, smelling of sweat and traveling.

Ten minutes later they approached the stables. “Here you go,” Miriam said passing him a broom,” the day’s not getting any younger, lad.” Joe opened his mouth unsure of how to respond. He scoffed uncomfortably before saying, “I’m not a farmhand. I work with the finances.” Miriam clapped her hands with gleeful delight as she laughed at a joke he didn’t hear. “Son, you will do any job given to you. My nephew has given you too much credit and looked what happened. Do you want some advice?” She looked at him seriously. He met her gaze and shook his head ever so slightly. “Watch out for Gia. She bites,” she laughed again as she pointed in the direction of the horse. Well, this was it, a low point. He looked at her hoping she’d crack a smile and admit she was just having a laugh. Instead she slid the gate open, gesturing him to enter.

Later in the day Miriam returned with a tray of sandwiches and iced tea instructing Joe to wash up before digging in. The tea was sweet and cold and he gulped it all down. As he bit into the first sandwich, Miriam started talking watching him suspiciously,” Why are you so angry, anyway, child? Always trying to fix things with your fists,” Joe swallowed, shrugged, and replied, “Well, my dad was a bastard that way. I’m just following in his footsteps.” Joe could feel her eyes on him, but he continued to dig into the sandwich, his hunger demanding. “I’m sorry. I never read that book,” she replied. “What book?” he asked confused. She glared at him, “Which book, young man. If you are going to converse in the English language, show it more respect than you do the ladies on a Friday night at the pub.” She stared at him, daring him to make his next move. “Fine,” he sighed exasperated,” Which book?” Her eyes lit up as she responded, “Things Losers Say.” She smacked her leg in delight and gave a loud boisterous laugh. Here, covered in horse shit with an old woman laughing at him, prison suddenly didn’t look that bad. Finally when she had calmed her laughter, she added with a sparkle in her old eyes,” You can learn a lot from horses, you know, son. Just keep your eyes open and your fists down.”

Joe smiled as his old hands smoothed over the photograph of him and Miriam at Greenway. It was wrinkled, withered, and faded now, much like he was. The end of his life was fast approaching and he thought back to his time with Miriam and her horses every day. He did learn from the horses. They taught him to take a step back when he was frightened, and to have a gallop if he was angry. They changed his life, the horses, but mostly Miriam. She was someone who believed in him when all others had lost hope. He was a lowlife, scum, but she saw something else in him. He thanked her one last time, and closed his eyes, exhaling for the last time.