I don't remember how I decided to move to Trina's, it wasn't the first place I looked. Originally I wanted to move back to Pierce Park but, the boarding cost was about the same as Gretchen's around 300 a month. I couldn't afford it, my parents couldn't afford it, the economy was still hanging over our heads, running a cold finger down our spine with ever penny we spent on luxuries, such as owning a horse.
I had met Trina once before, during on of the periods of time when Gretchen had been nomadic and had not been teaching lessons my mother had suggested we try a new instructor. I was opposed from the beginning.
Trina was not a woman who took time to let you feel your horse, to find some sort of connection, riding was a business for her, technical, physical, straight forward. I felt like a fool, I had never learned technical names for actions on a horse. When Trina asked if I new my diagonals, I started guiding the twenty year old plug horse she had me riding across the arena, she explained very slowly and firmly that diagonals was following the outside shoulder of the horse while posting, rising as the shoulder extended and sitting as the horse brought their shoulder back in. I was in tears by the end of the lesson, but firmly set in believing that I would never leave Gretchen again.
And here I was almost two years later, leaving and going back to the woman I had decided to never see again.
I told Gretchen and Risa I was leaving, because I could not afford the price of boarding. I lied and said my parents were not helping me pay for boarding, which was not true, they were paying but, the price was still to much. I couldn't take the bitter chill I felt at the barn, the loss of companionship.
As horrible as it sounded, I didn't mind leaving Gretchen at that time, I was mad at her for proving to be a fickle as my mother had always claimed she was. For being human and putting her own financial/ lively hood before our friendship, our bond of struggling with depression, of struggling with life in the past was not as powerful as the present need to survive. We were now both human, I was running away from the pain and using money as my legitimate excuse.
I was going to miss Mateo, I could picture him screaming as I took his mother away. The hate he would feel for me, the panic in his throat as Twilight was led away. I could imagine him calling after her for days, till his voice gave out, refusing to eat till he was gaunt. . .that was almost to much to bare.
I was leaving anyway.
I called up Trina, I don't think she remembered me, I hope she didn't remember the tearful stubborn girl she'd given a lesson to. I told her I had a skinny horse that needed a lot of food, and that my horse was currently a pasture horse. She replied in her gruff matter-o-fact voice that she had space in a pasture called the 'skinny horse pasture' for horses who needed more food than the rest, and that boarding was 140 dollars a month. She would also come collect Twilight for free. I just needed to provide Twilight's medical records. I went to Gretchen and collected a paper sparsely filled with a small record of vaccines, and de-worming since Twilight's arrival at Bishops.
Then we set a date, December 1st Trina would come and collect Twilight, and I would leave the only riding teacher I'd ever had since my move to Boise. It was ironic, I'd moved to Boise in December, and now I was moving the center of my life again.
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"I want to give Gretchen a Christmas present," I said suddenly, it surprised me and mother. We stopped and looked at each other, we were in the middle of some sort of preparation to leave, grabbing our coats or some other pointless thing. "Okay," she said perplexed.
I don't know what compelled me to decide to give Gretchen a gift but, it felt right. I could feel the rock of ice that had been in my stomach slowly begin to melt.
We filled a bag with random things we found in the closet, I could tell my mother was still mad at Gretchen, by the way things were dropped in the bag. A CD of Christmas songs, a scented candle, they were shallow, stereotypical, and meaningless. I couldn't let this bag be the only thing I gave her. This was the end of Gretchen and I, this would be the last time I saw her, a candle wouldn't remind her of me, christian songs were not me or her for that matter.
I went into my room and stared long and hard at my wooden box of jewelry, I could see it, a purple beaded bracelet with Navajo designs. It was Gretchen, it was old, and worn, but mystical. I loved that bracelet, it had been my great grandmother's, who had passed away that year. I had other mementos of my great grandmother, but I didn't know if it was right for me to give it away, but I wanted to, I snuck the bracelet into my pocket, took the bag from my mother and went and met my dad at his truck.
It was snowing, large flakes that had already coated the roads, everything was in shades of white and grey.
I directed my father to Gretchen's house, a place I'd only been twice before, we got there just as Gretchen did.
I had not expected to see Gretchen, I'd thought I would just leave my gift on her door step and be gone, silent and uneventful. But now we were looking at each other, and no words were coming, and the snow was falling and I could feel the rock in my chest beginning to freeze again.
Luckily Claire was there to break the silence between us, Gretchen's new carmel colored Great Dane puppy. She yapped and licked at the window, and Gretchen broke eye contact with me to open the door and explain, "This is Claire, a new friend for Derek. . .I have a cat to."
She invited me in, my dad stayed in the car, and I met the little cat who I remembered from the vet's when I worked with Gretchen. With the puppy frolicking about, and the warm grey cat with luminescent yellow eyes curling in between our legs, it almost became easy to talk.
"I move Twilight today," I said
"I know,"
"I just wanted to come and say goodbye, and to give you this." I suddenly felt awkward, and quickly handed the gift over, after slipping the bracelet from my pocket and plopping it in the bag. "Merry Christmas." I added weakly.
Her arthritic hand found the candle, the Cd in quick succession, she lifted them out and set them on the counter, they appeared as worthless to her as they did to me. Then her hand closed on the bracelet, and she brought it out, her wrinkled lips began to tremble, and she looked at me, truly looked at me for the first time in months. I could feel my own eyes threatening to spill over. "I'll see you again," Gretchen suddenly gushed, "I know I will, you'll check back in with me as you improve, as you go places. . ."
We were still wandering down different paths, but now we were no longer strangers.
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