about Ted.
YOU KNOW THAT EXPRESSION, "poetry in motion," but you never
really understood what it meant until you watched Erika ride.
Ted stood by a painted white fence, resting his arms on the top
rail, one sneakered foot propped on a lower rail and his eyes
squinting in the late-afternoon sunlight. On the other side of the
fence was a long oval track of sand and sawdust framing a grass
field interspersed with wooden structures that looked like highjumper's bars at a track meet. They were painted white and red,
and he could tell from the structure that if Erika's horse caught
one of its hooves on the bar, the entire barrier would simply fall
over and not tangle the horse up or endanger the beast or the rider.
Erika's horse didn't catch its hooves on any of the horizontal
bars. She spurred it to gather speed as it approached each fence,
and then, with ballet-like grace, the horse sprang into the air,
leaping over the fence and landing on the other side without a
thump or a jerk or a missed step.
The horse was beautiful, but Erika was even more beautiful.
Despite the speed and power of the animal, her upper body
seemed perfectly still, posture straight, arms bent symmetrically
at her elbows, eyes and chin pointing forward. A form-fitting black helmet with a little visor covered her skull, but her hair,
pulled back into a pony-tail, streamed behind her like a rippling
gold-brown flag.
He wanted to draw her.
He had already drawn plenty of pictures for her. He'd drawn
some before they'd become a couple, when he'd been secretly
nursing his crush. But now that they'd been together for a few
weeks, he'd started giving her his drawings. Not drawings of her;
they came nowhere close to capturing everything he loved about
her. But drawings of Greta and Garfield, the geese who shared the
barn with Ba Ba and Bunky. And the ducks, Donald and Donna.
He'd drawn a great caricature of Spot, his randy golden retriever,
with his tongue drooling out the side of his mouth and his eyes
glazed with lust. Ted had been a bit leery about introducing Erika
to Spot, afraid the dog would try to hump her leg or something.
But Spot had behaved well, nuzzling her knees and using his
snout to direct her hand wherever he wanted scratching. Spot
could be bossy, but Erika hadn't seemed to mind.
Today it was Ted's turn to meet her animal, Five Star. "He isn't
actually my horse, but his owner loves to let me ride him," she
had explained when she'd escorted Ted into the stable and over to
Five Star's stall. "It's good for the horse-he's a jumper, he needs
the exercise. And good for the owner, because every time I win a
ribbon it increase's Five Star's value."
"So you don't own your own horse?"
"I wish I did," she'd admitted, "but it makes more sense this
way. Owning a horse is so expensive. You have to pay to board
him, pay for feed and grooming services and shoes ... and the vet
bills can be staggering. Anyway, I don't have to own Five Star to
feel like he's mine. I depend on him, and he depends on me.
We love each other, don't we?" she'd cooed to the horse, stroking the creature's nose and the flat expanse of his cheek before she'd
fitted a bit between his teeth.
She'd let Ted hold Five Star's reins as she'd strapped a saddle
onto him. The horse was huge. Not huge huge like those Clydesdales pulling the beer wagon in the Budweiser commercials, but
when Ted thought of Erika seated on Five Star's back, so many
feet above the ground, he felt queasy. He knew she was a champion rider, but if something went wrong, she'd be falling a long
way before she finally hit the ground.
He was still wearing his caddying clothes from a gig earlier that
day. He'd untucked his shirt as soon as Erika had picked him up
in her Wagoneer, but he'd kept on his Sommerset Country Club
cap because the brim cut the glare of the sloping late-day sun.
Even with the hat, he had to shield his eyes as Erika galloped to
the far end of
YOU KNOW THAT EXPRESSION, "poetry in motion," but you never
really understood what it meant until you watched Erika ride.
Ted stood by a painted white fence, resting his arms on the top
rail, one sneakered foot propped on a lower rail and his eyes
squinting in the late-afternoon sunlight. On the other side of the
fence was a long oval track of sand and sawdust framing a grass
field interspersed with wooden structures that looked like highjumper's bars at a track meet. They were painted white and red,
and he could tell from the structure that if Erika's horse caught
one of its hooves on the bar, the entire barrier would simply fall
over and not tangle the horse up or endanger the beast or the rider.
Erika's horse didn't catch its hooves on any of the horizontal
bars. She spurred it to gather speed as it approached each fence,
and then, with ballet-like grace, the horse sprang into the air,
leaping over the fence and landing on the other side without a
thump or a jerk or a missed step.
The horse was beautiful, but Erika was even more beautiful.
Despite the speed and power of the animal, her upper body
seemed perfectly still, posture straight, arms bent symmetrically
at her elbows, eyes and chin pointing forward. A form-fitting black helmet with a little visor covered her skull, but her hair,
pulled back into a pony-tail, streamed behind her like a rippling
gold-brown flag.
He wanted to draw her.
He had already drawn plenty of pictures for her. He'd drawn
some before they'd become a couple, when he'd been secretly
nursing his crush. But now that they'd been together for a few
weeks, he'd started giving her his drawings. Not drawings of her;
they came nowhere close to capturing everything he loved about
her. But drawings of Greta and Garfield, the geese who shared the
barn with Ba Ba and Bunky. And the ducks, Donald and Donna.
He'd drawn a great caricature of Spot, his randy golden retriever,
with his tongue drooling out the side of his mouth and his eyes
glazed with lust. Ted had been a bit leery about introducing Erika
to Spot, afraid the dog would try to hump her leg or something.
But Spot had behaved well, nuzzling her knees and using his
snout to direct her hand wherever he wanted scratching. Spot
could be bossy, but Erika hadn't seemed to mind.
Today it was Ted's turn to meet her animal, Five Star. "He isn't
actually my horse, but his owner loves to let me ride him," she
had explained when she'd escorted Ted into the stable and over to
Five Star's stall. "It's good for the horse-he's a jumper, he needs
the exercise. And good for the owner, because every time I win a
ribbon it increase's Five Star's value."
"So you don't own your own horse?"
"I wish I did," she'd admitted, "but it makes more sense this
way. Owning a horse is so expensive. You have to pay to board
him, pay for feed and grooming services and shoes ... and the vet
bills can be staggering. Anyway, I don't have to own Five Star to
feel like he's mine. I depend on him, and he depends on me.
We love each other, don't we?" she'd cooed to the horse, stroking the creature's nose and the flat expanse of his cheek before she'd
fitted a bit between his teeth.
She'd let Ted hold Five Star's reins as she'd strapped a saddle
onto him. The horse was huge. Not huge huge like those Clydesdales pulling the beer wagon in the Budweiser commercials, but
when Ted thought of Erika seated on Five Star's back, so many
feet above the ground, he felt queasy. He knew she was a champion rider, but if something went wrong, she'd be falling a long
way before she finally hit the ground.
He was still wearing his caddying clothes from a gig earlier that
day. He'd untucked his shirt as soon as Erika had picked him up
in her Wagoneer, but he'd kept on his Sommerset Country Club
cap because the brim cut the glare of the sloping late-day sun.
Even with the hat, he had to shield his eyes as Erika galloped to
the far end of
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