Chapter Ten (Tucker)

Our first day in Kentucky is spent surrounded by the bright blue sky, lots of sunshine, and the unforgettable smell of horse poop on the Bluegrass Horse Farm Tour. It’s better than the stench of pig manure, but it clings to everything. In the heat, it’s absolutely suffocating. Cj doesn’t seem to mind though. She’s paying much more attention to the horses, mostly because she’s beyond terrified.

“I can’t believe you brought me to a f*****g horse farm,” she hisses for the tenth time, putting as much distance between herself and the fence as possible.

“Cj, how was I supposed to know you had a fear of horses?”

“Common sense. Horses killed Superman.”

“Christopher Reeve had been riding for ten years when that accident happened. Not only that, the injury didn’t kill him. It paralyzed him from the neck down. He died like, nine years later. He had an adverse reaction to a medication.”

“That’s f*****g great. So, if I get on a horse, I have the potential of missing a leg AND being paralyzed? Great choice, Tucker.”

We follow our tour guide Becky into a huge stable with beautiful wooden walls and ceilings. Hay litters the ground all around us, cement underneath. My boots echo off the floor as we walk.

“I think you’re being a drama queen.”

“Drama queen? Jesus Christ, these things are three times my size! Imagine being 5’2” and then being on top of an animal whose shoulders are above your head. There’s a whole world up there I’ve never seen.”

“First of all, their “shoulders” are called withers. A horse’s height is measured in hands, a hand being roughly four inches. Second of all, they’re probably only twice your size. Third, you’d be fine.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Why don’t you just pet one? Horses are usually pretty friendly.”

“Yeah, until they bite your hand off.”

Right now, she’s giving the stink eye to a huge Appaloosa swishing flies away in his stall. He glances at her for a moment before returning to munch at his grain bucket.

“See? He doesn’t like me.”

“You’re being pretty hostile yourself.”

“You’d be pretty hostile too if horses killed Superman,” she mumbles, kicking at a piece of hay in the center of the aisle.

“For all things good and holy, a horse DID NOT kill Superman. Shut up and listen to Becky,” I snap, glaring down at her.  

This woman is going to be the end of my patience.

For once, she keeps her mouth shut, peeking into all the different stalls. About five minutes later, she approaches one hesitantly, a trembling hand extended towards the mouth of the stall. Staring inside, I see a chestnut foal wobbling by the front, curiously inching towards Cj. The mare stands in a corner, warily watching everything unfold. After a moment, the foal pushes its nose into the palm of her hand, nickering softly.

“I like this one. It’s my size.”

“Yeah, but he’s not going to stay that small for long.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“A male foal is called a colt. And I know because I can see his penis.”

“Oh.” She looks down and examines the colt’s nether regions. “I couldn’t even tell. It’s not very big.”

Snorting, I reach down and rub the colt’s muzzle and tousle its mane. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw a gelding or stallion.”

“Why?”

“There’s a reason why there’s a phrase called ‘hung like a horse.’”

Her cheeks and the tips of her ears flush scarlet, making all of the freckles on her face disappear. The colt cranes his neck over the gate and nibbles on a strand of her hair, flaring his lips and pushing air out of his nostrils.

“That’s hard to believe. It’s so....little.”

“It’ll grow right along with him, believe me.”

“How do you know so much about horses?” she questions, changing the subject.

“My aunt and uncle used to own a farm. They had an old gelding named Pretty Boy and a mare called Sunny Side Up. I used to spend every summer over there.”

“Why did you stop?”

I shrug, nudging a blue pail with my boot. “My uncle passed away of a heart attack when I was fifteen, and my aunt didn’t want to keep up the farm, so she sold all the livestock and moved into town.”

“Ahhh.”

“Yeah. I used to love going out there. I rode Pretty Boy almost every day. Over the years though, he developed a pretty bad sway back, so I stopped riding him. He actually passed away a few years before my aunt sold the farm. I think he was twenty seven.”

“I didn’t realize they lived to be that old.”

“It’s not uncommon for a horse to live to at least thirty, provided that they’re in good health and were taken good care of their whole lives.”

Cj’s about to say something, but Becky signals for us to join the others so that she can conclude the tour. Cj reluctantly pulls her hand away from the colt, messing up his mane one last time. The echo of my boots fades as we step back out into the green pasture and the sunshine of a cloudless afternoon in Kentucky.

***

“I can’t believe how beautiful and peaceful it is here. I feel like I’m in God’s country.”

Cj kicks a small pebble into a stream, watching as it quickly sinks to the bottom. She’s currently holding onto a small sapling at the edge of the water, but she lets go to venture out onto a collection of large rocks in the middle of the stream.

“Be careful. The last thing you wanna do is hurt yourself. Or mess up you prosthesis. That’d put a damper on our trip real fast,” I call out, watching warily as she dances from rock to rock like a fairy.

“You worry too much. I’m fine.”

“You won’t be if you fall in. I’ll have to listen to you complain about it the entire way out of Kentucky.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and crouches down on a rock, grabbing a nearby stick to poke at a small frog sunbathing on a nearby tree root. It leaps away from her when she jabs its rear end with the branch.

“Do you always feel the need to torment forest animals?”

“No. It’s just nice to pick on something my own size.”

“You’re a thousand times bigger than the frog. Put the stick down and leave it alone.”

“You’re such a drag.”

“I’m not a drag. You’re just a sadist.”

Rolling her eyes, she climbs back over to where I’m standing, the water splashing around her feet. “I’m not a sadist. I don’t derive pleasure from torturing people or animals.”

“Pick on someone your actual size then.”

We walk down the trails for a while in silence, soaking in the peace and quiet of the forest. The running water is the only sound to be heard throughout the entire park, and the ground smells of damp earth and old, fallen leaves. Everything around us resonates in different hues of green, from the emerald of the leaves on the trees to the sage of all the different plants. It’s like being in the Emerald City.

I’m broken out of my train of thoughts by Cj grabbing my hand and heading towards a thicket down by another small creek. A shiver runs down my spine from the unexpected contact of her small hand lacing through mine. Glancing at a huge rock through the trees, she lets go of my hand and climbs up on it, patting the place beside her after sitting down. I settle down next to her and look over. She’s got a small pipe and a lighter in one hand, a mischievous smile crossing her face.

I suck in a breath. “You did not.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Where did you even find time to get it?” I question, narrowing my eyes.

“That’s for me to know.”

“C’mon woman. Here? If it was in the truck, I’d deal with it, but why here?”

In response, she takes the lid off of the silicone pipe and puts her finger over the carb, lighting it and breathing in. She almost dies of a coughing fit ten seconds later. Her face is cherry red, and it takes a while for her to answer me. At least now I know what the skunk smell is.

“Because. Have you ever gotten high out in the woods? It’s fantastic. You should try it,” she giggles, trying to pass off the pipe to me.

“Nope. I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

She takes another hit, this time turning to blow the smoke in my face. Laughing out loud when I turn my head the other way, she takes one more hit before stashing the pipe in her bra. “C’mon Tuck. Loosen up.”

“I’m loose enough.”

“That’s what she said,” she snickers, lighting up a Camel this time.

“I’m serious. I’m not a fan of that stuff.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need alcohol or drugs to have a good time. Not only that, weed is still illegal in quite a few states, including this one.”

“You don’t need shoes for running, but it f****n’ helps.”

“Fair point, but I still don’t need a substance to have a good time.”

“You drink beer though.”

“Beer’s different. I don’t drink enough of it to get drunk, or even to get a buzz. I just like the taste.”

“You smoked a cigarette in the truck.”

“Once again, different. Like I said, I have a cigarette once every few months.”

“Okay. S**t in moderation. But why is hard liquor and pot any different?”

Sighing, I push up the sleeves of my flannel and run a hand through my beard. “My brother Colt died of a heroin overdose when I was seventeen. He was twenty. He fell in with the wrong crowd at school, and it started with marijuana. Started smoking it when he was fifteen. Progressed to LSD, then onto cocaine, and then heroin. I found him in his truck in an abandoned Hardee’s parking lot at one o’clock in the morning. The frickin’ needle was still in his arm.”

“Ahhh.”

“Yeah.”

She’s silent for a minute, hugging her knees and resting her chin on them, a cigarette between her fingertips. Her hair falls in curly ringlets down her back, the only blaze of fire in an eternity of green. “Do you know why I smoke weed?” she asks quietly, gazing over at me.

“No idea.”

“I have severe depression, anxiety, and a super s****y self esteem. Initially, I was completely against even trying it. But once I came back from California, I hit rock bottom. Joe was the one that I first tried pot with. Smoking was the only thing that really helped. The high ironically cleared my head and made me feel like life was worth living, even if that euphoria was only for about an hour at a time.”

“How does this relate to Colt though?”

“I’m not saying that I had it worse than Colt did, but just imagine for a minute. If a marijuana high lasts for an hour or more, how much more potent and addicting a much more powerful drug would be, like LSD, cocaine, or heroin.”

“What are you saying?”

“Jesus f**k, you’re dense sometimes. What I’m saying is that Colt might have struggled with something you didn’t know about. Maybe it was depression and anxiety, or maybe it was that he was molested as a child. Perhaps it really was that he fell in with the wrong crowd that thought drugs were ‘cool.’ Either way, that high from the marijuana probably wasn’t good enough to destroy the demons he fought with. So, he wanted more.”

A realization dawns on me. “So, once he tried it, that was the only way he thought he could escape. But it was a downward spiral.”

“Bingo.”

“Why couldn’t he just talk to me though? We told each other everything, and I mean everything.”

Cj shrugs, stubbing her cigarette out on the rock. “Sometimes it’s easier to pick up a pipe or needle or bottle than it is to tell someone that what you really need is help. People become so enveloped in their vices that they don’t want to tell anyone what’s eating at them. They feel like they’re a burden. So they feel it’s better to get drunk or get high than to bother other people with their problems.”

Feeling the tears come to my eyes, I look away from Cj and stare at a rock in the creek. “But if he would have just told someone what he was going through, he might still be here.”

“Yes and no. You couldn’t have made him tell you what was going on inside his head. Not only that, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. You and your parents could have tried sending him off to rehab, but he wouldn’t have quit the drugs if he wasn’t ready to. You have to want to stop and better yourself. Otherwise, you’re gonna be going back to the same old s**t. It all would have depended on what Colt wanted.”

“He probably didn’t want to be taking a dirt nap six feet under.”

“No, but actions have consequences.”

I feel the lump rise in my throat and constrict my breathing. When my voice comes out, it’s rough and cracked, full of raw emotion. “I’ve lived with his death on my conscience for almost thirteen years. I never told my parents about the little bags of white and brown powder I found in his dresser drawer. I never told them about when he would come home high out of his mind. I never told them about when I walked in and saw him injecting in the bathroom. And you know what the worst part is?”

I don’t wait for her response. Tears run down my face, soaking into my beard.

“I let them believe it was his first time doing it. Even when the cops administered Narcan. Even when they started doing chest compressions. Even when they pronounced Colt dead at 1:57 in the morning at the St. Maria’s Hospital August 6th, 2005. I still let them believe he hadn’t ever tried it before.”

Cj remains silent, scooting closer to me and laying her head on my chest, wiping away my tears with her slim fingers. Laying a hand on my knee, she rubs it in small circles before taking a deep breath.

“Tucker, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Colt.”

“But I do.”
“You can’t. You were what, seventeen? You were scared. Think of what would have happened if you’d told your parents or police about what Colt was doing. Unfortunately, he probably would have resented you for the rest of his life. He wasn’t ready to change and accept the person he was supposed to become without the drugs. He probably felt like part of his identity was the drugs, or the high it made him feel. You shouldn’t feel guilty because of the way things ended. It was ultimately Colt’s decision, not yours.”

“Yeah, but it was a crappy one.”

“Tuck, we all make s****y choices. That’s part of growing up. When I was eighteen, I made the decision to go across the country on a road trip to the coast right after I graduated high school. It didn’t cost me an arm, but it literally cost me a leg. You don’t think I’ve had that on my conscience for the last six years?”

“I guess you have, but you didn’t die over it.”

“I almost did.”

“What happened?”

She stiffens against me briefly before continuing to trace small circles against my jeans. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about it right now. I’ll tell you, but it’s gonna be a while before I do.”

“Why?”

Sighing, she shifts against me before replying. “Because no one except my Ma really knows the real story. Everyone just assumed what happened. After all these years, I still don’t like talking about it.”

“That’s okay.”

“Yeah.”

We sit in silence for a while, watching the sun sink lower above the treetops, fading from view. The sky is painted different hues of pink and purple, twisting into each other. The forest hums with activity, the sounds of night slowly coming alive all around us. Stars twinkle lightly in the deeper blue of the descending night sky.

Cj nudges me, slowly untangling herself from my chest before sliding down off the rock. Her tiny sneakers splash lightly in the water, flinging mud up on my jeans. She motions for me to follow her.

“I figured we should head out. It’s almost nine.”

“The park was supposed to close at seven. You better hope we’re not locked in here.”

“Hopefully not. We’ll have to cuddle together for warmth if we are.”

“Yeah, that’d be the most terrible thing ever, cuddling with me,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today.

There’s a Raven Run map key up ahead, showing us the different trails and how to travel out of the park. I have to shine my phone flashlight on it just to read what it says. Apparently we’re on the Meadow Trail, and the entrance should only be about half a mile up ahead. I’m just praying that we’re able to make it out of here.

While we’re walking, my mind flashes back to our conversation about Colt, making me feel the guilt and shame all over again. Cj doesn’t quite understand what holding something in for thirteen years does to a person. I never told my parents, but somehow, Pa figured out that I knew.

I don’t mean to, but the words slip out in a dull whisper from my aching chest. “It’s just not fair.”

Cj quietly laces her fingers through mine and pulls on my arm, stopping me. She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

“Honey, nobody said life was fair.”

Author's Note

Hey. Just to let you know, there's drug use in this chapter. It's a heavy chapter in general.