I remember being twelve, not all the specifics but just the general feeling of it. The days blend together in memory, but one weekend stands out. I still think about it most days, not ruminating but just that it happened. Sometimes it seems like it wasn’t real. I didn’t think to save anything. But I see Chase sometimes still, and if he’s wearing short sleeves, I can see the bottom of the scar.
That year I spent a late winter weekend at my uncle’s ranch. It was a two-hour drive. He was my mom’s little brother, and I never knew what he would say or do next. I sat in the car with knots in my stomach until my mom dropped me off, excited for whatever adventure might come but dreading it at the same time.
My cousin Chase always made the trip worth it. He was a year older than me, thirteen at the time. He was always stronger, more muscular. But I could beat him in a race.
He had just gotten a new horse and took me to the corral to show me. The ground was hard, frozen by the long winter, the uneven grooves worn in by the tractor last fall forcing my focus always on the next step. We climbed the fence for a better view. Inside the dirt was fresh everywhere that horse had been worked. He was on the far side standing perpendicular to us, so we could see his profile. He was a painted horse. White and burnt orange. Chase whistled and called him over.
“Tracker!”
He was as tall as us up there on the fence. His breath pressed through my jacket onto my chest. I’ve always been nervous around horses. Kind of like standing near the edge of a cliff. It’s exciting, but I feel small. Chase must have felt different because he’d pull Tracker in and scratch him behind the ears like he was a little puppy.
Chase looked at me. “Should we ride him?”
We went up to the barn on the north end of the corral. Uncle Jett was in there putting something away. He was tall and strong and always had his jeans just kind of stuffed into the top of his boots. He looked at me and nodded. “Aiden.” Uncle Jett talked in a friendly but distant way that always kept me from saying too much.
“Hey, Dad. Me and Aidan want to ride Tracker.”
Uncle Jett kept his eyes on me a moment, studying something. Finally he said, “You start lifting or something?”
“No. But I’m supposed to start next year.”
“Hmm. You look stronger.”
My chest swelled up. “I’ve been doing pushups. Fifty every day.”
“That’d be it then.”
That was how Uncle Jett was. Brief moments that could make you feel like a million bucks and then prolonged periods of absolute minimum communication.
He looked at Chase and nodded his approval that we could ride Tracker. Chase called him in, and Uncle Jett helped get the saddle on and cinched tight.
Chase started slow around the corral a few times and then picked up the pace. He looked natural. I always used to wonder why they lived so far out in the country away from ball games and theaters and fast food. But that day it made sense.
Uncle Jett leaned against the open barn door and watched. He didn’t give a word of instruction. Didn’t look proud or worried or happy or anything. Just stood there and watched.
Chase brought Tracker around and hopped down and told me it was my turn. He gave me the quick tutorial. Hold the reins firm but not tight. Use your legs to tell him what to do. Don’t be afraid to give him a little kick to get going. “And most important, it’s all about confidence. Think like you’re in charge, then he’ll follow you. Right, Dad?”
“Yup.” Uncle Jett was still leaning against the door.
The truth is I wasn’t confident at all, but Tracker didn’t seem to mind. A couple laps in I decided to go for it. At first he didn’t respond to the prodding of my soft, rubber-soled sneakers. So I tried again, this time with more conviction and better results.
We took off down the long side of the corral. That was the first time I ever felt like that, wind in my face, being carried along. The closest thing to it is a dirt bike, but those don’t move and breathe under you. This was a living magic.
I brought him back around and hopped off. Chase was smiling at me. “How was that?”
“Awesome.”
We had biscuits and gravy for dinner. Chase told me his parents would go to town in the morning. When they got groceries, it was enough to last at least a month. Tracker had been turned out to the pasture for the night. We had strict instructions not to ride him or any other animals until Uncle Jett was back around. That evening we played cards and went to bed, and all I thought about was Tracker.
By the time we turned off the lights, I knew I had never wanted anything as badly as I wanted a horse of my own.
Chase shook my shoulder to wake me the next morning. He was already dressed. They had a bare concrete floor in the basement that was so cold when my feet came down it made my teeth chatter. I got dressed as quickly as I could, made sure I had a long sleeve shirt and a hoodie. We went upstairs and had to cross the house to the front door. They had these big windows in the living room that let you see to the south and east borders of the ranch. It was winter still, so the sun was coming up late. Where they lived was kind of like the badlands. Lots of hills and bluffs and ridges. First light was coming, and all the edges of the land were black beneath it. The house was quiet, Chase’s parents already gone. It felt like something coming, or the start of it, though I didn’t know what.
We made it to the mudroom, and Chase pulled on his boots. I had a pair of insulated hiking boots my mom made me bring. They looked new and soft compared to everything Chase’s family wore. I followed Chase outside. There was two inches of fresh snow on the ground.
“Wait a minute,” I said.
I stepped back inside and grabbed my canvas shelled coat and threw it on. Chase watched me step out and laughed. “Don’t want that snow to get you.”
We got started on the chores: sweeping the barn, feeding the chickens, collecting the eggs. By the time we headed back to the house each with a basket full of eggs, my mouth was watering.
Their house sat at the bottom of a little hill with a shelf of shale rock up neat the top. Chase stopped by the side door that opened to the kitchen. “How’s your arm?” he asked.
“Not bad.”
“See that one white rock up there? Two eggs each. First to hit it wins.”
I grinned and said it was a deal. I threw first, a little short. He missed just to the right. I threw again, this time too long. He nailed it with his last egg. “Guess I’m the winner.”
I waited until he reached down for his basket, and then I took off. It was cheating, but I needed a win. Halfway up the hill I heard him just a couple steps back. I dashed to the top and thrust my arms in the air, lungs too tired to speak. He came up behind me, panting. “That wasn’t fair.”
It was light then. North of the house was a forested area gently rising up to low mountains on the west side. They were bright yellow now with the morning sun on them.
We took in the scene for a moment. But we heard something down the hill a ways and to our left. There was still some tall dead grass left from the previous fall and snow from the night bending it down. Something the color of dead grass was moving. There was disturbed snow and a pile of fresh dirt. Chase realized before I did and grabbed my shoulder like he was holding me back. I stepped and kicked a rock.
The mountain lion had its back toward us but heard the rock and turned around. Blood was smeared all across its face and teeth. When it saw us, its ears laid flat and it hissed, showing the red stained fangs. The sound grabbed me.
The lion turned and leapt into the grass and low trees. I’ve never seen anything move so fast or so silent, though I swear I felt its power through the ground. Chase made for the cache, and I followed him. He screamed when he saw it. I was too dumbstruck to move.
There was Tracker. Bloody. Covered in dirt. Dead.
To be continued…