Chapter Thirteen
posted in Novel |
This may be the only chapter I will be able to get up on the blog this week. Some of the issues with my health have been making themselves a little too obvious, so I haven’t been doing as much writing as I should.
You will see as you read this chapter where I reference a song. I tried desperately to find an .mp3 of it somewhere on the Internet so you could hear the tune. I was also tempted to record it myself but thought I’d spare you having to listen to me sing.
However, I finally caved — so I did sing it for you. Please don’t pay attention to the lousy pitch and breathing problems. When you get to that part of the post, just click the little play button — it’s right above the box here it says, “Audio MP3″.
This song was the theme of the old Judy Canova radio program “back in the day”, as we old-timers like to say. She would always close her show by singing this tune.
Enjoy the chapter — and as always, I’d love to have more readers. I do learn of people who are reading who didn’t sign up on the “New Chapter Notice”, so those are nice surprises. The more the merrier, though.
Be well — be in peace,
Ron Rink
==============================================================
Unknown to my parents, I was spending more and more time working at the racetrack in the mornings during the summer. They figured I was nearby in the neighborhood riding my bike or playing with friends. It was an excellent way for me to earn a few extra dollars my father wouldn’t know about. I never lost sight of my goal to get away from home permanently, so any way I could find to stash more money away was important.
As I spent more and more time at the track, the people who worked there got accustomed to seeing me around, so doing chores for some of the people other than just the old guy I had been working for, became easier.
My love for horses was growing stronger each day I spent at the track. Everything about them was appealing to me. I loved their smell. I loved the way they walked and ran. I loved the sound of their whinny, and when they snorted, it would make me laugh. The animals which were boarded there were young, well cared for, graceful and beautiful.
One of my favorite jobs, and one I didn’t get asked to do very often, was to help groom the horses. Unless I stood on a stool I wasn’t tall enough to reach the upper regions of the head, neck and back, but the act of brushing the chest and flanks allowed me to feel a calm peacefulness I rarely felt otherwise. As I think back, I wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that, to the best of my recollection, I had never personally experienced any of the stroking and gentleness which was such an integral part of the grooming process.
The horses would just stand there, almost mesmerized, as I ran the brush over their bodies. You could see their flesh quiver with what I imagined was the pleasure they were feeling. After a few minutes of brushing, the horses would slowly lower their heads and their eyes would sometimes close. They would often make small noises that sounded to me like little groans of pure pleasure. The process was soothing to me, especially compared to the loudness of the crashing pins and rolling balls at the bowling alley, or the tension and fear that I felt at home. It was almost as though the horses were transferring their pleasure back through the brush to me.
There was something about the freedom of being at the track which added to my sense of well-being. No one knew I was there and I was anonymous among the people who worked there. I experienced feelings and emotions I didn’t experience at home unless I was at the piano — I could get lost inside myself when I was practicing. In so many ways, the grooming and the piano practice gave me similar feelings.
One beautiful, warm, sunny day, I was helping a woman that worked at the track groom one of the horses. She had asked me to do other jobs for her from time-to-time, like hauling hay to the stables or carrying water, but I think she sensed that I loved grooming and often asked me to help her. She was always kind to me even though her mannerisms were rough and manly. She rarely ever spoke more than a few words whenever I worked for her—just enough to tell me what she wanted me to do. She wasn’t a lot taller than I was. Her appearance was hard, stern and tough. She wore the same western clothes that most of the men around the track wore; cowboy boots, ten-gallon hat, shirt, vest and denim dungarees. I had never seen her without a cigarette hanging from her lips. Her face was dry, wrinkled and weathered although she didn’t appear to be very old. She wasn’t a heavy woman, but she did have a large bust.
She was on one side of the horse, and I was on the other as we brushed. On that day she did something she hadn’t done the other times I groomed with her. She began to softly sing this song as she stroked her brush along the horse’s flank:
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you patty-patty cake,
and ride a shiny little pony.”
Daddy’s comin’ home to baby,
Daddy’s comin’ home to baby,”
Stop your cryin’, Daddy will be buyin’,
You a shiny little pony.”
[display_podcast]
She sang it so quietly and gently. I listened to it as she sang it over and over again, and then I started to sing it with her as I brushed. We would sing it in time with our brushing strokes. It felt strange to be singing, but it also made me feel a new emotion, an emotion of inner warmth and peace. Other than the hymns in church, I rarely ever sang, and this was so much more pleasurable than singing hymns.
After a few minutes, I was so lost in the soft beauty of what was happening, that I didn’t notice her coming over to my side of the horse. Her cigarette was gone. She was still singing as she took me into her arms and held me close to her. She rocked me back and forth while we sang this simple, but beautiful song together. She felt so soft and warm. I felt so safe and comfortable. We stayed like that for a while — just singing softly and rocking with our arms around each other.
Finally, she stopped singing, looked at me with those weathered eyes and smiled. She had a tear running down her cheek.
That was the first time I had ever been hugged.
I looked for her every time I went to the track to work, but I never saw her again.
========================================
