“Why didn’t you say so,” he said, “I got just the thing!”
“Is it medical-grade marijuana?”
“Nope.”
“Then I don’t want it.”
The cart was coming closer to me. For a second, I wondered if he might hit me with it. Maybe that was his plan. To put me out of my misery.
“You don’t even know what it is,” he said.
The golf cart was chugging away right next to me now.
“I don’t need to. I don’t wantjust the thing,” I said. “Whenever anyone says that, it’s something terrible.”
I finally opened my eyes and looked back at him, smiling in his miniature car.
“Come on, now,” he said, “get in the dang cart. It’s on the way back.”
¦¦¦
Fifteen minutes later we were speeding toward a barn. You couldn’t spit without hitting a barn in this place, and the one we were approaching was the usual burnt red color. Skip pulled the cart up and parked it beneath an overhang. Then he got out and walked over to the entrance, waiting for me to follow.
When we stepped inside, I immediately breathed in that hay-and-pee smell of animal barns I’d walked through at the state fairs of my youth. I made my way down the middle of the stalls in a dim, dust-choked light. From around me came a few high-pitched whinnies and the occasional muffled snort. I found myself walking closer to Skip. The animals seemed to surround me on all sides.
“She’s just down here,” said Skip in a hushed voice that made me even more nervous. What the hell was in this barn?
“What the hell is in this barn?” I asked.
“Just relax,” said Skip. “And see for yourself.”
Skip came to a stop a few steps ahead of me and then juststood there with his arms folded over his chest. I walked up and peered through the slats of a metal gate into a large stall strewn with fresh sawdust.
First I saw the sleeping body of a large mare, its chestnut coat expanding with breath. Then I heard a soft rustling, and out of the shadows of the far corner something small stirred and came forward.
It was a little creature. The tiniest horse I had ever seen.
“This is Linnie,” said Skip. “Our newest foal. She was born just two days ago.”
I slowly bent my knees and met the foal’s eyes in a low squat.
“Linnie,” I said.
The little horse took an unsteady step toward me, its bulbous black eyes searching my face. It was piebald, spattered with white across its forehead, black along the muzzle and ears. It walked closer to me, right up to the metal bars.
Without thinking much, I reached out my hand and unfolded my fingers. Linnie extended her muzzle and began to explore my hand with her lips. They were spongy and delicate, like a baby’s, as they moved over my fingertips. I closed my eyes and waited for the clamp of teeth on my fingers.
“She doesn’t have her milk teeth yet,” said Skip. “She can’t hurt you.”
I looked over at him and found him grinning as usual. But, this smile seemed like more than his usual display of life satisfaction. He looked heartened. His faith in the beauty of the farm had persevered in the face of a crazy girl’s skepticism.
I traced my fingers over the foal’s forelock and then down her muzzle. Though I guess I had gone through a brief horse phase as a girl, I’d never had the desire to own one until now. I wanted to take this wobbly beanpole and smuggle her home in my duffel bag. That was all I needed to be happy. A pony.
I watched as Linnie gamboled around her stall, kicking up sawdust, eventually scrambling up her mother’s flanks until she found a place to suckle.
“Just so you know,” said Skip, behind me, “I have some weed, too. If that’s what blows your hair back.”
9
