Page 54 of Maverick
But then we are in the arena, and I know that I have a job to do. It’s been so long since I’ve done this. Saddled up in this way, focused on this kind of style, these routines. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by insecurity. What if I can’t show him what he needs to see? What if I don’t give exactly what he needs me to? It’s entirely possible that I won’t be able to.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.
“What?”
“I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just want to see what your chemistry is with him.”
“Oh.” I realize then that I don’t know how to not be perfect. I mean, I do. I’m imperfect often. But I guess I don’t know how to do it for an audience. Or at least, I’m always going to have that anxiety, particularly around something like this.
Dressage. Oh, the dressage of it all. It’s just going to be loaded. Always. There’s not a whole lot that I can do about that.
Except heal, I suppose. Which is the one thing I haven’t really been doing. I’ve just been pursuing this kind of excellenceon a different plane. Trying to make myself as essential and important as possible in my new venue.
Not making friends, not taking lovers.
Nuance. It’s something I really struggle with. Apparently.
Of course, now I’ve jumped into having a lover headfirst.
I take a deep breath, and try to still my nerves as I take over leading Frank. I bring him into the center of the arena, and Maverick walks to the periphery.
Then I mount the horse and let out a long, slow breath. The first thing I do is urge him to walk. Nothing more. A clean high-step around the arena. His gait is beautiful. His movements are flawless. It doesn’t take long for me to feel like it would be easy to ease him into a trot. We move back and forth like that in the arena, and then I attempt a passage.
He does it. Exquisite.
He executes a flying change perfectly.
It’s like I’m discovering something beautiful again. A dance that I forgot the steps to, and I relish the relearning of them. Without my parents watching me, judging me. Maverick is, but for some reason, that feels different.
I’m not perfect. I can feel all kinds of little form and technique things that are slowly coming back to me, but feel like they are rusted. Hinges that haven’t been moved or used in far too long.
But I’m getting it back. I’m getting myself back.
And this horse is a dream.
I feel giddy as we move through the arena, as time loses all meaning. As I make music in my head and a routine on the fly, performing for myself and no one else.
My eyes are stinging with tears, but I choose not to focus on that. I just want to live this moment. I just want to feel it.
My throat aches. My chest feels bruised. I forgot that I loved this because my parents loved it, but only when it was perfect.I forgot that I loved this because I forgot that I was allowed to enjoy myself. I forgot that I loved this, because I could only compare myself to Harmony, and then I came up lacking, and if I couldn’t be the best, I couldn’t understand the why of it.
But this is all just to see if I can work with Frank. And hopefully… Maybe, we can take this into competition. But if all we have is right now, then it’s kind of beautiful. Because maybe that’s all I have with Maverick.
Yes, it’s tempting to imagine a whole future. It’s tempting to imagine marriage and children and being a rancher’s wife – but also, it can just be this. It can just be now. Pleasure for the sake of it. When have I ever done that? When have I ever just allowed myself to be in the moment? When have I ever allowed myself that kind of glory?
Never.
That’s the answer. Pure and simple. I’ve always had to build something. I’ve always had to be in a process of becoming the most excellent. Everything I’ve ever done has had to be a building block in the whole project.
But not this. Maybe not this whole next couple of months here. Assuming that he decides to keep me.
Maybe it can just be about feeling. About existing. About who Stella Lane is in these months, not forever.
I didn’t expect to have a whole moment of self-realization on the back of this horse, but here I am.
And then, it seems fitting. Because my whole life has really taken place on the back of a horse. It’s a horse that brought me here. This horse. And when we finish, I bring him to the center of the arena, breathing heavily, a sense of triumph shimmering in my veins.
“That was amazing,” he says.
