I recognized the girl immediately when she appeared at my house on a huge horse painted palomino. Merry and I were in the same class in high school. I’d seen her around and we shared a class or two, but we were far from friends. She had just moved about a mile down the road. Since I lived nearby and had a horse, she wondered if I wanted to go riding with her and Oakie. Little did I know what ritual these walks would become and the main role this new friend would play in my life.
There is little I remember of my first horse that did not involve Merry. He was fortunate to have received a horse at a younger age and even had a few 4H years under his belt. I was smart about horse books, but Merry had a lot more practical experience and education. Luckily for Cherokee, one of the first things he taught me was that while you could fluff a flake of hay to fill a manger, it wasn’t enough to support a horse.
Evenings when I didn’t have to work my part-time job were filled with hours on horseback. This was a time when dress codes in schools were becoming a thing of the past. Most of the girls still wore dresses, nice blouses, and pants to school, while Merry and I wore T-shirts, jeans, and boots. This gave us more time with our horses once school was over. It’s no wonder we weren’t popular with the guys in our class, although that point eluded us at the time.
We had a regular trail that we walked that wound behind my house, across the state highway, along dirt roads, and through fields. Sometimes we would role play, imitating our favorite TV westerns and calling out the dogs with names like “Bear” and “Wolf.” Sometimes we pour out our hearts about home life, siblings, and our lack of social life outside of our horse world. More than once, we dismounted long enough to have dinner at my place before heading out again. It was during one of these dinner breaks that Merry heard my mother comment to my father, “Do you think those girls will stop smelling like horses?” To which my father replied, “I think they will clean up well when the time is right.”
The summer between our junior and senior years in high school, Merry’s mom asked me to join them in Colorado to visit her sister. What an experience for me that included flying solo and my first long layover plane ride in Chicago and Denver. Colorado was heaven for Merry and me. His sister had two horses and lived in a small town in the mountains northwest of Denver. We were a bit confused where we fit into the scheme of things, the locals considered us “uncles” and the tourists thought we were cowgirls. The following spring we returned, expecting another great western adventure. We soon learned why everyone else was heading south to destinations like Florida for spring break. We couldn’t find a cowboy who would show interest in us and Colorado was sad, drab, and cold during that part of March. We were almost bored to death.
Back in Michigan, if we weren’t riding, we would visit western stores and test horses that were for sale, even though we had no intention of buying a horse. Sometimes we skipped school to start riding early. This was no easy feat, as the woman in charge of the attendance office at the school lived across the street from Merry. Spring, summer, winter, autumn … we didn’t care, we either went horseback riding or did something related to horses and riding. Many times all it took to prepare our horses for riding was a quick brush and a bridle. We learned that it was much warmer to sit on your hands riding through the snow without a saddle between you and your horse.
We did some smart things with our horses and we did some stupid things. It wasn’t smart to tie a large two-foot metal sign to my saddle and go home. Most of the horses wouldn’t have taken the bumps against his shoulder as they walked, but the Cherokee took it in stride. On another occasion we went from one car dealership to another, asking the salespeople what we could get for our horses. This was a lot of fun until my horse dumped a huge pile of apples on the road in front of the panoramic window at a large Ford dealership. The words that came out of the speaker of “One of you girls, come back here and clean that up!” he had no humor for them. It had to be my horse that made the mess. Merry’s horse would stop her efforts if she pushed down her raised tail, a trick she made a mess when she tried it on her next horse.
Probably the stupidest of all involved drinking alcohol. I’m sure there are a lot of stupid acts attributed to alcohol and we probably won’t be the first, nor will we be the last, to include a horse in our antics. Although Merry and I were of legal drinking age, we were still children in the eyes of our parents. All I needed was for mine to take a trip to California. There was a store next to my house that sold beer and wine. What mischief could two laughing girls get into while under the influence of alcohol? How about we take my horse home? Aside from the fact how funny it looked to see my horse around the house, standing in front of the TV in the living room, my little brother’s reaction made it even more fun. Of course, it definitely wasn’t funny the next morning when I was on my knees wiping hoof prints from the carpet while tending to a hangover.
Like best friends sometimes do, Merry and I split up after high school. I worked in the Forest Service for the first summer after I graduated. The following summer I was in Montana on a ranch. Merry went to New Mexico and took a dog grooming course. This was followed by a trip to Colorado where she met a boy, got married and left Michigan. I came across it in a western store a few years later. She introduced husband number two and I introduced husband number one and then we didn’t know what to say next.
More years passed. I lived in Arizona with my husband number two and Merry was in Michigan, still with her second husband. I planned a return trip and without my husband to bore me during my walks down memory lane, I agreed to meet up with some people I hadn’t seen in years. The Internet makes it easy to locate people from your past. I found Merry through a couple of club associations. Once I had his last name and address correct, getting his phone number was a piece of cake. I called her and we arranged a meeting at her home.
Merry remembered things that she had completely forgotten and had stories that she had forgotten. We talked about old times for hours, why was my mom so mad when I bought that chair? And do you remember the tablecloth Merry was in cahoots choosing for my birthday? Of course, she told me about it, and it was an even bigger surprise when my mother announced that for my birthday the driving lessons they were paying for would be my gift. I ended up buying the pad months later. Either I had forgotten or I hadn’t realized that it wasn’t just that Merry had played an important role in my life. My parents and brothers had become his second family. Time flew by. Before I knew it, I was running late and needed to get back to my mother’s house.
We have rekindled that dear friendship, thanks in large part to the Internet. Two best friends from high school united by their love of horses … and yes, we did “clean really well.” When we meet again, I hope we can saddle up, hike some trails, complain about our husbands, relive our past, and share our dreams.
© 2012 Kristie Allison
