And, So, It Begins/Chapter 2

On January 31st, 1980, I received a call from a family friend who owned a large Quarter Horse breeding and training facility. I remember the date well, because it was the day after my seventeenth birthday. Wayne, who managed the facility, had a new trainer in, and, apparently, the trainer was so popular that he was unable to keep up with the number of horses he had in for training.
Wayne asked my parents if I’d be able to help him out, and, start colts out for the trainer, and my mother was eager for me to get my foot back in the door. So, on that bitterly cold winter’s day, my mother and I headed out for Wayne’s place, which was just north of town. We’d had a great deal of snow that winter, and, all around us, as we drove along the highway in our old family station wagon, was crystalline white snow cover. The beauty of it escaped me, that day, as I was all nerves, and my stomach turned restlessly with each mile that brought us closer.
Though I’d had steady employment since I was nine or ten, I’d never actually interviewed for a job before, and, the very idea had me shaking in my seventeen year old boots. Truthfully, I did not even want the job. I felt disconnected from the Quarter Horse community, and, I had already emotionally detached from the horse business. I had not seen Wayne since we’d moved back to Nebraska, and, was frightened about getting reacquainted, and about meeting this new trainer who was so popular he didn't have time to start colts.
My hands were actually shaking from fear, and, a small amount of dread. I dreaded leaving the warm car for an uncertain encounter in a cold barn with someone I hadn’t seen in years. I hadn’t spoken a word since we’d left the house; my mother had done all of talking. She’d been counseling me on what to say, how to say it…training me, as she’d done all of my life. In reality, however, she was making me more and more frightened. As we pulled into the evergreen lined drive of Wayne’s farm, the tires of the old station wagon crunching over the snow, I was in a state of near panic. Despite my disquiet, and, my need to get away from the sound of my mothers voice, I was also reluctant to leave the warmth of the car. It was thirty below outside, and, I could feel the wind pushing against the car door as I opened it.
Wayne’s place was large, with white metal buildings which almost disappeared into the heavy snow cover. We found our way to the familiar heavy, grey metal door, and, I struggled to pull it open. It opened with a familiar creaking sound, and, we stepped into the darkness of the indoor arena. It was so bright outside, I was nearly blind for the few moments it took my eyes to adjust, though the arena lights were all on inside.

The brown darkness of the indoor arena was in stark contrast to the white glare of the snow blanketed outdoors, and, as we stepped inside, my nostrils stung with the oily smell we called, “indoor arena smell.” That smell came from the footing that was used in the arenas, and, the odor seemed to adhere permanently to anything it touched. Every horse blanket, barn coat, glove and mitten in our home retained some remnant of this smell from years spent in indoor arenas.
I could also smell the strong ammonia smell from the heated show barn, which sat adjacent to the arena. The arena appeared empty of humans, though there were a few young horses tied in various places, some with saddles on. As we made our way to the door of the show barn, it swung open, and, Wayne emerged from the heated interior.
Wayne was a tall, slow speaking southerner in his forties whom I’d known since I was a young child. His teeth flashed white in the dim light, and, he hugged me so tightly my faced smushed into the heavy down of his winter coat. After releasing me, he shook my mother’s hand, and, I smiled shyly and focused on the brown dirt on the ground. “How have you been doing, young lady?” Wayne asked me gently. I met his green eyes shyly, “I’ve been sort of in hiding,” I answered self consciously, by way of an explanation for my absence from the Quarter Horse show circuit. I hadn’t been showing for about a year, and, before that, I’d lived in Minnesota for a couple of years. And, Wayne I knew mostly from showing. He’d always been very kind to me, helping me out when he could, offering advice, volunteering to haul me to shows and helping me to feel a part of the community.
Just then, the heavy metal door which my mother and I had just come through creaked open, and, a shadowy figure entered the arena. I could hear a muffled voice swearing, “Damned wind,” and, my eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to make out a slightly built man striding toward us. He walked bent over a bit at the waist, with his pelvis tilted forward, and, his legs were bowed as he walked with a slight jerking motion. As he got closer, I was surprised to see that it was a young man…older than me, but, not more than twenty five or six years old. He wore only a grey hooded sweatshirt, over thin rust colored Wranglers, and tan leather riding gloves to shield him from the Nebraska wind, and, wore a baseball cap on his head. He glanced at us briefly as he neared us, and, nodded a greeting as he passed by on impossibly long legs. Strangely, I could not take my eyes off of him, though I really couldn’t see his face at all, and, as he strode by, he actually backed up, and, I could feel him looking at me. He did the little backward step with a strange sort of grace that seemed incongruous on such a tall, bent individual, and I wanted to giggle.
I realized, when he came to stand in front of me, that he was very, very tall. He towered over Wayne, who was tall, and, of course, over my mother and me, who were…not…tall. He hadn’t seemed so tall from a distance. He was so slightly built, and, moved with such catlike grace that, at first glance, I had thought him to be somewhat diminutive. He thrust out a gloved hand and took my own mittened hand into his. Overcome with shyness, I could not look at his face, and, focused my gaze squarely on a point in the middle of his chest. I heard my mother say sharply, “Michele, you look at people when they are addressing you,” and blushed painfully. He hadn’t addressed me, but, had only taken my hand in his. I dared not correct my mother, however. I heard the tall young man say softly, in the most painfully exquisite Texas drawl I’d ever heard, “Aw, that’s okay, ma’am. She’s just a little shy. She don’t have to look at me if she don’t want to. Besides, I’m pretty sure I look a lot like a Prayin' Mantis, which is probably pretty darned scary!” As he said this, he bent way down, so that his face was level with mine, and, peered at me hopefully. I did look at him, then, as his face arrived directly into my line of vision, and, realized he’d spoken to me as if I was a small child. I met his eyes, then, and, felt my entire being soften, as if I were turning to liquid from the inside out. I could feel a fluttering sensation in my chest, and, I was having difficulty breathing, as if I’d been running a very long distance, and, I could feel a smile forming on my mouth that was irrepressible. I didn’t feel the cold, in that moment, at all. I felt only the warmth of his gaze, and, the thin stability of his hand through the layers of gloves. It was as if everyone and everything had disappeared, for the moment-everyone aside from the, “Praying Mantis,” who stood before me. I realized that he was still holding my hand, and, that I hadn’t tried to pull it away. And, he was still bent over, peering into my face, which peeked out from my white winter coat. I realized, as well, that both my mother and Wayne were looking at us rather carefully. I pulled my hand away, then, abruptly, and, stepped back away from him, and, with great effort, pulled my gaze from his.


As it turned out, the young man, whose name was Tim, was to be my immediate supervisor. I would start the colts, and, he would finish them. He was such a sought after trainer that he'd become overwhelmed with the volume of horses he'd gotten in, and couldn't be bothered with the basics. That'd be left to me, apparantly.

So, The Praying Mantis and I began our relationship that frigid Nebraska winter--the coldest on record. He said little to me in those first weeks about what brought him to Nebraska, but, I learned, over the course of that winter, that he had dropped out of vet school, due to money problems. I, in turn, hardly spoke to him. He always left me tongue tied, and, speechless. He teased me, constantly, and, I, mostly, did not respond, for fear of saying the wrong thing. He seemed so wordly, so competent and self reliant--he frightened me! He also, as it turned out, was an amazing trainer, not in the least bit overrated(I, cynically, had discovered that, very often, these Big Named trainers were actually just lucky fellows that got a few good horses, now and again), and had a very precise way about him with a young horse which enabled him to finish a colt far more quickly than I could ever do. And he was very popular and outgoing so that, though he'd only been in Nebraska a short time, there were always flocks of people at the barn--from his roping buddies, to hangers on from around the area; they all buzzed around him that winter as if he was a celebrity.

One day, during a break, he asked me if I got high. "Yes," I told him, somewhat surprised. So, we snuck off to one of the other, little used barns on the property and smoked a joint, that afternoon, shivering from the cold, and, finally, talking a bit. We were standing very close, so that I had to lean back to see his face in the darkened barn, and I could smell fabric softener on his sweatshirt. He laughed softly, and, lifted me up onto a bale of hay. Then, let go. I was, strangely, disappointed. When his hands left me, it felt...wrong. It felt as if his hand belonged on me, lifting me. It also, finally, occurred to me where I'd seen him before. I said as much, and, he grinned, hugely, recognition hitting him, as well. "You were such a sweet little thing! I wanted to take you away from all that, right then and there! How is your mare?" I was touched that he remembered, and, that he wanted to, "take me away,"...I wondered what that meant, in the way only a teenaged girl can wonder about such things.

I realized, there in the cold, surrounded by bales of fragrant alfalfa, that I was very attracted to this cowboy, and, very much wanted him to notice me in the way that almost every other man I met noticed me. That, I discovered, proved to be more difficult than I had ever imagined.

The following weeks were filled with hard work, bitter cold, and, clandestine meetings in darkened barns, filled with the smell of horses, alfalfa, oily indoor arena dirt, and marijuana. Grudgingly, I believe(his nickname for me was often Princess)he began to realize that I was a competent trainer, in my own right, and, he even took my advice on some issues. He began to realize that I needed no help, that I was used to being little, and, had learned to compensate in my own way. For example, all of the colts I was working with dropped their heads waaaaay down to be bridled, and, knew how to stand next to a rail for mounting. Despite this, however, Tim was often right there when I needed something--reaching something before I could pull up a stool, giving me a leg up before I could pull up a bucket.
But, he had given no indication at all that he realized I was female, or, that I may be receptive to his advances. Not that I could see, anyhow. He never tried to grope me, never made lewd comments. I did catch him staring, in the moments I dared to sneak a look at him, however, mostly, I was simply too shy to risk even looking at him. And, we spent a great deal of time together. We had gone to a few movies(in groups), out to dinner, over to friends to play cards. I was always included in roping night(though I didn't rope), and, Tim was now a part of our secret reining society, where we met at another local trainer's place for beer, marijuana, music and riding. Mostly, Tim treated me like one of the boys, however, occasionally, he'd pay for my movie, or a cheeseburger, and, I always rode with him when we went somewhere as a group. It was a somewhat baffling time for me.

I was beginning to despair of ever getting him to look at me in that special way...and it seemed my mission was made more difficult because the layers of clothes I was forced to wear, due to the weather, made my slim frame look even slimmer, and I was already painfully aware that I had a very young looking face.