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290 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2013
That old Ford truck had the biggest cab - felt like a tractor-trailer in there. The window handle was so big, sometimes I'd pretend I was cranking the winch on a big ship out in the ocean, raising the mainsail or whatever it's called.
We went camping up on Loft Mountain and looked for wildflowers, having a contest to see who could find more. I always won. I found some Indian Pipes the last time we went, and then Doll's Eye. I was pretty proud because only real hillbillies found Doll's Eye - the kind of mountain people who knew where the ginseng and the chanterelles grew but didn't tell anyone. I'd hoped we'd do all kind of things together, like going on trips. Maybe one day we'd go to the beach. I'd always wanted to see the ocean.
I was a rider who could ride anything. I'd ridden burros, mules, draft horses, ponies, racehorses, gaited horsed. I'd driven a team, and I could drive a four-in-hand by the time I was ten....the one thing I'd never ridden was a "made" horse - a pushbutton, a horse that did everything for you. A made horse had been schooled until it was near perfect. You pointed him at a jump and he just jumped it. I couldn't imagine what it was like to rely on a horse this way. When I was riding a green horse, I felt like I had to damn near pick the horse up and carry him over the fence myself.
My room was a mess. I liked the idea of it being neat and clean, but some part of me wanted it messy. I liked the dirty clothes on the floor and the horse books everywhere. I liked it because it was mine. Sometimes I felt like a dog who brought things back to my dog bed, things that no one else was allowed to touch. Sometimes I wanted to scratch around and curl up with all my things and fall asleep, alone. Sometimes I wondered if I was a terrier in a former life, growling at people and scratching around for food.
"Since when do you care so much what other people think?" he asked....
Deep, deep down, I really didn't care. I thought about the people I admired, like Eileen Cleek, like George Morris, like Beezie Winants. My father. And Wayne. [these are all great characters in the story, by the way. Well, except for George Morris]. They didn't give a royal sh** what anyone thought about them. What had happened to me, that I suddenly cared how much people looked at me? As a little kid, I'd walk into the supermarket with dirt in my hair, and I didn't give a damn if someone thought I was living in a car. But being in ninth grade, and going to Oak Hill, and being around people like Dee Dee and Kelly, I'd started feeling their eyes on me and wondering if they were right about me, that they were better than me.
Then I pretended I was twelve and I was jumping some crazy pony, not caring what anyone thought. Not worrying, not thinking of all the things that could go wrong. Just imagining it working.
Sonny got in deep and jumped it, ears straight forward, as though he were saying to himself, Damn, she's serious....We landed, and Sonny dropped his head, got behind the bit and thought about bucking but didn't. He was happy. I wondered who was a bigger mental case, him or me.