Okay, I guess I don’t hate her. She’s just as oblivious as I was, not knowing there was another woman in the picture.
Correction,anothergirl.
I guess, I hate myself most of all.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I’m so tired of crying.
I look out my window, watching the raindrops run down the metal roof that covers the first-floor porch of our farmhouse. It’s a place where I used to like to sit during the summertime in the rocking chair with my little sister Shawna, watching as the farm vehicles do their work in the fields and listening to the loud moos of our dairy cows nearby.
The rain rushes toward the gutters, leading quickly to the ground and ending in a muddy puddle that’ll stick around for weeks this time of the year.
I’ve never snuck out of my house before. I wonder if I attempted to slide down one of the gutters, if they'd crumble in my hands or if I’d be able to make it down in one long, smooth slide.
The thought of free-falling to the ground below sounds oddly comforting. I wonder what I’d break first if I fell.
A leg.
Or maybe a rib.
I wonder if it’d hurt or if the pain in my heart would overshadow the physical pain that I’d feel.
Did I mention that I hate that I’m so emotional lately?
My eyes cast upward, away from the gutter, and back toward the barn, catching his familiar red Chevrolet truck as it leaves.
There’s his stupid truck, driving down my dad’s stupid lane, hopefully for the last time, since he’s finished his vet tech internship and will no longer be working with Dr. Martin, our farm’s vet.
I’m relieved I won’t see it anymore and at the same time devastated because I’m a teenager with a scorned heart, not yet understanding that there’s a world full of guys out there waitingfor me to explore.
I know I’m young and still have a lot of love left to give, but I’m still angry.
And I’m still heartbroken.
And I’m not done holding on to my anger and heartbreak just yet.
I storm out of the house, grabbing my raincoat and boots, and run toward the stables where my beautiful white horse, Riley, is eating her dinner. The rain is coming down heavier now and it feels like the sting of the pellet gun bullets Shawna and I used to shoot at each other before my stepmom took them away, telling us that little girls don’t play with guns, even if they are pretend.
The pricks of the drops feel good, and the water disguises my tears that won’t stop falling. No one knows the real reason why I’ve been so emotional the past few weeks. That my heart has been shattered by our twenty-year-old vet tech that I'd been secretly engaging in a relationship with.
I heard my stepmom tell my dad it was probably because ‘my period started.’ She knows about me and Harrison and that I got my period three years ago when I was thirteen. I don’t know why she’s lying except she’s probably embarrassed of me in the way that she’s always been for reasons that I don’t understand. Pushing me to the back in family photos, ignoring my questions, I’ve never been a daughter to her since she’s entered my life.
I mount Riley without a saddle, pulling my rain jacket down under my butt to cover as much of my body as possible from the torrential downpour. I’ve ridden her bareback before but never in rain this hard and I know it can be dangerous if I’m not careful though right now, I don’t intend on being.
Coaxing her gently, we head out of the barn, slipping undetected in the direction away from the farmhouse as I start her at a slow trot. Once we clear the line of sight from the house, we’re off on a gallop toward the fields.
It’s raining harder now. I’m gripping Riley’s sides tightly with my thighs, and tears are streaming down my face as I ride.
I’m too emotional.
I care too much.
That’s what my stepmom always says.
I just need to ride a little further into our property; maybe then the pain will dissipate, and I can forget that Harrison ever existed and that I ever gave him my heart.
I press Riley onward, knowing I should turn back since I can barely see the cleared field ahead now. The rain pelts my eyes and obscures my vision. I reach up, brushing the hair that’s sticking to my forehead back from my face as I try to see through the storm, but the movement causes me to lose grip on Riley’s mane.
