Fadedwords

Home on the Ranch (part 1)

*Prologue*

            It was a loud crash that awoke him that cold January night, followed by a scream.  He hugged his teddy bear tighter and jumped at the next crash.  He crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, his footed pajamas making a soft “swoosh” sound on the carpet.  There was yelling coming from the living room; mommy and daddy were fighting again.  He walked slowly down the stairs, stopping at the bottom and trying to see into the living room from there.  He could hear his parents clearly now.

“You’re not going anywhere!” daddy bellowed.

“OK, ok!  You’re right.  I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me,” mommy said.  He tiptoed to the doorway that led to the room, and could see them.  Mommy was backed up against the wall, her lip bleeding.  Daddy was standing in her way, waving something around in his hand.

“You’ll never live without me.  You wouldn’t know what to do you stupid cow,” Daddy said, pushing her again.

“Yes, I know that.  Please, let’s just go to bed.  We’ll wake Joe… you don’t want him to see us like this do you?” she asked, her eyes wide and frantic.

“No.  Joe will never see us like this.  And you will never leave.  We’ll always be together.” Daddy raised his hand, and it was then that the little boy could see what was in his hand.  It was Daddy’s gun.  Mommy held up her hands, and there was a deafening bang.  She fell to the ground and the boy screamed.  Daddy turned around, and he could see the blood on his face.  “Go back to bed Joey,” Daddy said, turning back to Mommy.  He lifted the gun to his head, and pulled the trigger…

******************************

            The cell door clanked shut a sound that was all too familiar to sixteen year old Joe Lambert.  He sighed and plopped down on the bed, dragging his hands over his face.  Dirty blonde hair hung in his eyes, unwashed for days.  His grandmother was forever after him to do something about it.  He lay back on the thin mattress, thinking about his latest misstep that had landed him right back in a familiar jail cell.  He hadn’t been fond of school for years now… teachers were always on his case, all the other kids picked on him; gym class was usually the worst.

“Stupid god damn jocks,” he muttered to himself, letting his mind drift to that afternoon’s class.  One of the basketball players had pushed him.  “So I pushed him back,” he said to the empty cell.  The gym teacher had come over to break up the fight, and as usual had taken the other kid’s side.  “Punched that asshole right in the face,” he continued, smiling a bit as he remembered the look on his teacher’s face as blood trickled from his nose.  The police had arrived not long after that.

“Joseph Lambert?” a voice asked.  Joe sat up on his elbows, glaring at the officer standing at the cell door.

“What the fuck do you want?” he muttered.

“Watch your mouth.  Someone’s here to see you,” the large man said.  Joe sighed, but stood and went to the cell door.

“You gonna’ let me out or what?’ he asked sarcastically.  The officer glared at him as he unlocked the cell door.

“Hold out your hands.  We don’t walk around here with no jewelry.” Joe rolled his eyes but did as he was told, groaning inwardly as the handcuffs were cinched into place.  They walked down the dank hallway silently, passing other cells holding men and women who had been picked up that morning or the night before.  They reached the visitors’ area and Joe sighed.  His grandmother was sitting at a table with another woman.

“What the hell’s she doing here?” he demanded.  The officer smirked.

“Afraid of a little old lady?  A tough guy like you?  Now that’s one to write home about,” the officer replied, leading him to the table.

“Joey!” his grandmother exclaimed when she saw him.  His new black eye, dealt at the hands of the basketball player, seemed to make Joe look even younger and somehow fragile.

“Gram, what’re you doing here?  You know not to come down to this shithole,” he muttered.  She frowned.

“You watch your mouth around me young man, and sit down,” she ordered.  Joe had to smile; his grandmother stood no more than 4′11″ but had an attitude the size of half the police department.

“Sorry,” he said, sitting down across from her.

“This is your lawyer Joe.  Her name is Susan Cross.” Joe cast a sidelong glance at the other woman.  She was dressed in a black business suit, and her hair was pulled back in a bun.

“I don’t need a lawyer.  I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.  His grandmother glanced at Susan.

“Well… this time it looks pretty bad Joey.  Your teacher, you broke his nose… and there are witnesses.  He’s pressing charges Joe, and so is the other student you assaulted.” Joe slammed his hands down on the table, and his grandmother jumped.

“I didn’t assault that asshole!  He pushed me.  I was defending myself,” he yelled.  He saw an officer step forward out of the corner of his eye, and sighed.

“Take it down a notch son,” the man ordered, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.  Joe glared up at him.

“Yeah, whatever you say man.” The officer stepped back and Joe returned his attention to the women across the table.

“Joe, you’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning.  Tonight you’ll be moved to the Eastham Juvenile Detention Center.  Do you need anything?” Susan asked.  Joe shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Nothing you can help me with,” he muttered, standing up and glancing at the officer.

“Joey, wait,” his grandmother began.  He didn’t look at her.

“I’ll be fine Gram.  Go on home… I’ll see you soon,” he said, walking away with the officer.

Joe was led into a courtroom early the next morning and stood beside his lawyer.  The judge banged his gavel.

“Come to order.  Ms. Cross does your client plead guilty or not guilty to the charges?” the stern looking judge asked.

“Not guilty your honor,” Susan replied.

“Your honor, Mr. Lambert has a lengthy juvenile record and we believe he is a danger to the community at large.  We also believe he could be a flight risk.  We request bail of $45,000,” the district attorney said.

“With all due respect your honor, my client has only one living relative and has never proven himself to be a flight risk.  The bail requested by the district attorney is an unfair punishment, as his grandmother would not be able to afford it,” Susan said.  The judge held up his hands.

“I have reviewed your client’s record Ms. Cross.  Assault, harassment, possession of drugs, drunken disorderly, theft… his sheet goes on and on.  I am remanding Mr. Lambert pending his trial, three weeks from today.” He slammed the gavel down one more time and Susan glanced at Joe.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there as soon as the trial comes around Joe,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.  He shrugged her off.

“Don’t do me any favors,” he shot over his shoulder as officers led him from the courtroom.  Susan sighed, watching the tall, slender boy go… wondering why he was so angry.

Almost two weeks later Joe walked down the hallway in the Eastham Juvenile facility, on his way to lunch.  It had been a long two weeks, full of veiled threats and barely contained physical altercations with his fellow incarcerates.  As he walked he kept his head down, hair in his downcast eyes.  His hands were shoved into the pockets of his standard-issue, orange jumpsuit.  He came around the corner and ran into someone.

“Watch where the hell you’re going!” the person exclaimed, shoving him.  Joe looked at him, frowning.  It was Sam, one of the bigger guys in the center.

“Fuck off man,” he muttered, moving to go past him.  Sam grabbed the neck of his jumpsuit, pushing him against the wall.

“What’d you say to me?”  Joe glared up at him defiantly.

“I said, fuck…off…man,” he replied slowly, putting emphasis on every word and syllable.  His dad had always taught him never to back down.  He saw Sam’s fist coming from the corner of his eye, but could do nothing to avoid it.  It collided with his jaw, and as he fell Sam brought his knee up hard into his stomach.  Joe grunted, rolling out of the way and standing up.

“You’re new here, so I’ll give you some advice,” Sam said, shoving him again.  Joe lunged in, swinging and missing.  As he stumbled forward Sam caught him again, sending another fist into his side.  He held on, even as Joe sagged forward, and lifted him up to glare into his eyes.  “Don’t fuck with me, or you won’t live to regret it,” he muttered, shoving him against the wall and continuing down the hall.  Joe sat where he was for a moment before forcing himself to stand.  He limped to the cafeteria, trying to hide his swelling jaw behind his hair.

“Joe you’re late!” one of the group leaders called.  He simply nodded, grabbing a tray and moving to the food counter.  He felt someone’s hand come over his shoulder and he spun around, swinging wildly.  His fist connected with something hard, and he backed off a step.  A group leader was on the floor, and two more were running over.

“I didn’t know it was…” Joe began as the two group leaders grabbed his arms and started pulling him from the room.

“Save it for Michael,” one said.  Michael, Joe thought with a sigh.  Michael was the director of the facility, and was known as a “hard ass”.  They walked up the hallway and went upstairs.  He was pushed into a chair and one of the group leaders sat down beside him.  The other went to Michael’s office and knocked on the door.  There was a sharp response and the leader went in.  Moments later he came out and motioned for Joe.

“Let’s go Joe; Michael wants to speak to you.” He stood up and went into the office, looking around.  There were bookshelves around the whole perimeter of the office, filled with books on things like adolescent psychology and reality therapy.  Michael sat at his desk, a large and serious looking man.  He pointed to a chair across from him.

“Have a seat,” he said.  Joe plopped down and glowered across the desk at him.  They sat in silence for several minutes.

“Are you waiting for me to say something?” Joe muttered.  Michael frowned.

“You’re here pending a trial relating to another assault, are you not?” he asked.  Joe nodded slightly.  “You realize, don’t you, that I provide the judge with a report regarding your conduct during your stay here.”

“So?”

“So, many of the staff has reported that you’re defensive, easy to anger… and today you have assaulted one of my staff members.  How do you think the judge will look at this type of behavior?”

“I don’t give a shit what he thinks,” Joe said, looking down at his lap.

“For the next two days you’ll be spending your time in seclusion.  I expect that you will be on your best behavior for the rest of your stay here,” Michael said.  Joe merely nodded.  “You can go now.  Chris and Eric will escort you to your room.” He stood up and left the room.  Michael sighed, taking out Joe’s file and jotting down several notes before putting it back in his file cabinet.

Joe was led into the courtroom nearly a week later.  Susan smiled at him, but he just plopped down in his chair.  She sat down next to him.

“I’m very hopeful Joe.  Our judge tends to see children with a history like yours in a very sympathetic light,” she said.  He looked at her, a frown on his handsome face.

“History like mine?  What the hell does that mean?” he demanded.

“Well, he’ll be aware of your parents and…” Joe stood up angrily, throwing his chair out of his way.

“Who the hell do you think you are, talking about my fucking parents?” he yelled.  Two officers hurried over and led him quickly from the courtroom.  They pushed him into a chair and looked down at him seriously.

“Son if we take you back out there you’re going to have to behave yourself,” one said after he was sitting in a chair in the holding room.  Joe nodded slowly.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered.  The helped him to his feet and led him back into the courtroom.  This time he remained handcuffed.  Moments after he was seated, the bailiff called for order and the judge entered the room.

“Mister District Attorney, I’m ready to hear testimony,” he said.  The D.A, a tall, lanky man stood up and straightened his suit jacket.

“Your honor, Joseph Lambert sits before you today due to an assault in a long line of thefts, assaults, and harassment issues.  He has been nothing but a problem in his school and community, and we feel that it is time for him to receive a harsh punishment.”

“Your honor, my client is a troubled boy that just needs help with decision making.  I’m sure with some counseling…” the judge cut Susan off.

“Ms. Cross I have reviewed this case carefully, and I share the district attorney’s concerns.  Mr. Lambert assaulted a teacher and a fellow student this time, but in the past there have been fistfights, shoplifting, harassment of neighbors, vandalism… the list goes on and on.  He has been arrested 7 times in the last year.  Previously, my colleagues have taken a more lenient approach, but that seems ineffective.  Mr. Lambert do you have anything to say?” Joe glared up at him and simply shook his head.  “Very well.  I have received reports from a Michael Jenkins, director of the Eastham Juvenile Detention Center.  His reports indicate that Joseph was a continuing problem at the center, and that he was responsible for breaking three ribs in one of the group leaders.  Do you deny this Mr. Lambert?” Susan glanced at him.

“Joe, you can speak up,” she whispered.  He glared at her and the returned his attention to the table in front of him.  The judge let out an audible sigh.

“I have little choice in this matter but to find you guilty of assault Mr. Lambert.  Unlike my predecessors I will not be lenient.  I am sentencing you to the Ridgeport Outreach Program in Green River, Utah.  This program is at its minimum one year in length, but counselors there have the ability to hold you there pending your twenty first birthday.  You will be escorted to the home of your legal guardian, Mrs. Rose Lambert, where you will be allowed an hour to collect your things.” The gavel banged down and the courtroom began to empty.  Joe turned slowly and looked at Susan.

“What just happened?” he asked.  Susan was frowning slightly.

“The judge has sentenced you to a program designed to rehabilitate kids your age… a program that focuses on building positive decision making skills, anger management, and utilizes group exercises, teamwork… you’ll be living on a working cattle ranch.” He looked at her incredulously.

“A fucking cattle ranch?  Who the hell is he kidding?  I’m not going!” he exclaimed.  The two officers were back again.

“You don’t have any choice Joe,” she said.  The officers each put a hand on one of his arms and escorted him from the courtroom, ignoring his yells back at his lawyer.

Rose Lambert opened her front door, smiling softly when she saw her grandson.  Two officers and Susan were with him.

“Ma’am, we’re here to help Joseph collect his things.” She looked at Susan with wide eyes.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.  Joe pushed past her and went to his room, with the officers close behind.  As he went up the stairs he could hear Susan start to explain:

“Rose, the judge has sentenced Joe to a program…”  Joe kept walking and went into his room.  Clothes were strewn all over.  He glanced at the two officers.

“Can I have some privacy?” he muttered.  They glanced at one another.

“We will be outside.  The door stays open,” one said.  Joe nodded and watched as they went into the hall.  He plopped down on his bed, looking around at all the clothes, books, posters, and pictures.

“What the hell am I supposed to take?” he muttered.  He got out a duffle bag and started folding clothes.  Most of them were dirty, but he didn’t care.  He filled the bag until no more could fit, and then took out another.  When it was half full he took down a couple of his favorite books.  He glanced around and picked up his knapsack from the floor.  He put his tattered sketchbook inside, and then opened the drawer in his nightstand.  A worn picture was there.  He picked it up and frowned at the image; it was his father, mother and him the Christmas before it had all gone wrong.  With a sigh he slid it inside the sketchbook.  He put his pillow in the bag and glanced over his shoulder.  When he was sure no one was watching he reached down between the bed and the wall until he felt what he was looking for.  He pulled out his tattered and torn teddy bear and slid him into the duffle bag under the clothes.  With another sigh he zipped up the bag and slipped the backpack on to his shoulders.  He picked up the duffle bags and went to the door.

“I’m all set,” he said.  The officers led him downstairs.  His grandmother was in the kitchen, packing food into a brown paper bag.

“Joey I’m packing you a nice snack,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.  He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Gram you don’t have to do that,” he said.  She turned and he could see the tears running down her cheeks.  “Jesus Gram, don’t cry.  I’m sorry,” he muttered.  She turned back to the counter and added another sandwich to the bag before bringing it to him.  She handed it to him and put her hand on his cheek.

“I love you Joey.  I’ll miss you so much honey.  Write to me and let me know how you’re doing,” she said.  He swallowed hard and nodded a little.

“OK.  Gram, this… you didn’t do anything wrong with me ok?  I’m just messed up,” he whispered.  She smiled.

“Everything’s going to be just fine Joey.  You write to your gram and do what they say.  You’ll be home in no time,” she promised.  He nodded and followed the officers out of the house.  They loaded up the car and he was put into the back seat.  He looked out the window and could see his grandmother on the front porch, and it was clear that she was crying.  He let his head hit the back of his seat as they pulled away.

“It gets easier kid,” one of the officers said.  Joe gave a bitter laugh, turning to look out the window and thinking, When?

The plane touched down at nearly ten p.m. in Utah.  He was escorted by an officer to a waiting van.  The side panel said ‘Ridgeport Outreach’ on it in forest green letters.  There was an outline of tall trees on either side of the name.  A stout, friendly man was standing by the passenger door wearing a pair of faded jeans and a fleece jacket.

“You must be Joe,” he said, stepping forward and holding out his hand.  Joe looked at it and then up at the man.

“Yeah.  Who’re you?” he muttered, adjusting his duffle bag on his shoulder.

“I’m Mark Harper, one of the counselors at Ridgeport.  I’m here to bring you back up to the ranch,” the man replied.  “Can I take one of your bags for you?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Joe said.  Mark nodded and led him to the back of the van, opening the doors.  Joe tossed his duffle bags in the back and Mark slammed the doors closed.

“Hop in the back seat and we’ll head out.” Joe went to the back door and climbed in, sliding across the seat to the window.  There was a woman in the passenger seat and she turned and smiled.

“Hey Joe, I’m Karen,” she said.  Joe nodded.

“Great,” he muttered, slipping his headphones on and looking out at the darkness.  Mark got in and started the van.

“We’ve got about a two hour drive Joe, so get comfortable!” he called.  Joe nodded again and sank deeper in his seat.  Mark and Karen glanced at one another, exchanged a smile, and drove off into the night.

Mark walked upstairs in the bunkhouse the next morning at around 10.  Joe was still sleeping, and it was time to get him up.  He went into the room Joe was sharing with one other boy, and gave the bed a little shake.

“Rise and shine Joe,” he said cheerfully.  Joe groaned and rolled over.

“What time is it?” he muttered.

“Ten a.m.  Up and at ‘em partner,” Mark said.  Joe sat up, looking around the room with a grimace.  “You shower up and get dressed, and then I’ll show you around the ranch and we’ll go over the rules and what we expect of you.” Joe nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.  Mark walked downstairs to the porch and sat down, looking out across the prairie.  It was a beautiful day, sunny and not too warm; May was always a nice time on the ranch.  He could see kids riding, carrying bales of hay, and doing all of their other chores.  He smiled, took off his cowboy hat to run his fingers through his hair, and then put it back in place.  The door to the bunkhouse opened and Joe came out wearing sneakers, jeans, and a white t-shirt.

“What now?” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I’ll give you a tour of our ranch… or most of it anyway.  We have a lot of land that you’ll get to see as you start riding more and doing more with the cattle.  Follow me.” They walked down the porch steps and toward a huge barn.  “This is the horse barn.  We have two more barns on the grounds and they house the cattle, and then we have one more that we use for storage of equipment.” Joe nodded and looked around.  They were standing in a long aisle that had stalls on either side.  He could see horses swinging their heads out and he sighed.

“I hate horses,” he grumbled.  Mark smiled and nodded.

“I did too when I first got out here.  They grow on you, I promise you that.” Joe gave a little snort but said nothing else as they walked down the aisle and past the many stalls.  “This is the western tack room.  It’ll be the one you use most once you start riding.  There’s a smaller tack room down at the other end… English tack in there.  One of our group leaders rides, does all that jumping and stuff.  Anyone who’s interested can ask her if they can try it too.” Mark picked up a big saddle and put it on a sawhorse.  “Everyday the kids here are assigned chores in the morning.  You got a special privilege today… sleeping in early I mean.  Our day usually begins at six a.m., Saturday and Sunday it begins at seven.  We do chores until usually noontime, then we have either a group session or there are individual sessions with your counselor.  There’s free time in the afternoon and a lot of kids like to go on trail rides or spend time doing whatever it is they like doing.”

“Napping?” Joe asked sarcastically.  Mark gave a big laugh and nodded a bit, his blue eyes twinkling.

“You can nap if you like.  We work off a point system here.  When you do things right and according to the rules you get points.  If you don’t we take them away.  Points give you privileges.  Losing points makes you lose them.  A lot of today you’ll spend going through the ropes with your buddy Craig.  We’ll run into him at some point.  He’s been here about a year now, and he knows what he’s doing.  He’ll take good care of you.  You’ll have some time to go down to the supply area and find some boots that fit you, and later today you’ll have time to unpack.  Follow me and we’ll finish looking around.” They walked out, and Mark pointed to this horse and that horse to ‘introduce’ them.  Joe rolled his eyes, glancing over his shoulder.  As he turned back forward a flash of black caught his eye, nearly hitting his shoulder, and he jumped back.  Mark chuckled, moving to stand by a stall.

“What the hell was that?” Joe demanded.

“That was Broch… he’s got a bit of an attitude problem,” he explained.  Joe looked into the stall and saw a huge black horse.  “He was abused for a long time, doesn’t trust people too much.  We’re working on him.”

“He almost got me!  Jesus,” Joe muttered.  Mark smiled a little.

“Ain’t no almost with Broch.  He was just saying hello… no harm done.  Come on, let’s keep going,” he said.  Joe gave one last look into the stall.  Broch was standing in the far corner, head low, glowering up at him.  Joe frowned and jogged to catch up with Mark.

Craig Miller was a tall, strapping guy with black hair and a tan.  He glanced up when Mark and Joe walked up.

“Hey there Craig, how are things going down here today?” Mark asked.  Craig smiled and hefted another bale of hay up into the loft.

“Hot as hell, but alright.  Got about half of it up and stacked… taking lots of water breaks.” Mark nodded and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder.

“This is Joe Lambert.  You’re going to be his buddy and show him the ropes around here.  Joe, when you’re with Craig he’s in charge.  We expect you’ll listen to him the same as you’d listen to any of us.” Joe nodded, but the frown on his face was clear.

“We’ll be fine,” Craig assured him.  Mark glanced between them and then smiled.

“Staff won’t be far away.  We’ll see you at lunch,” he said, sauntering off.  Craig smiled at Joe and picked up another bale of hay.

“So, did you get the dime tour this morning?” he asked, tossing the bale up.  Joe nodded.

“Yup.” Craig nodded, picking up an extra pair of gloves and tossing them to him.

“Here ya’ go, these will keep you hands from blistering up too bad.  Just take the bales and toss ‘em up.  We’ll climb up after and stack.” Joe looked at the gloves for a moment before putting them on and picking up his first bale of hay and struggling to toss it up.  “They’re fuckin’ heavy,” Craig said with a grin.  Joe gave a little laugh.

“Yeah they are.” They tossed hay in silence for several minutes.

“So why are you here?” Joe paused for a moment and then tossed another bale up, ignoring the pain in his arms.

“Umm… I got into a fight.  Hit my phys ed teacher… it was kind of an accident though.” Craig nodded.

“Yeah.  I did a lot of that kind of thing before I came here… and after I came here.  It takes awhile to get out of your system.  It’ll take you a long time to get used to it here… lots of rules.  The staff really cares though, and when you’re sick of them you’ve got the horses.”

“You actually like horses?” Joe demanded incredulously.  Craig laughed and took his hat off to brush sweat from his brow.

“Yeah.  I didn’t at first… thought they were just big dumb beasts.  When I started to ride it was because the staff made me, and I hated it.  Thought it was a waste of time… ya’ know, why give your body another reason to hurt?  Then I started to spend time at the barn when I was pissed off at Mark or whoever had gotten on my nerves.  Horses listen and they don’t talk back… they don’t get pissed at you for swearing or for being angry.  They just listen.” Joe nodded, tossing another bale of hay up into the loft.  “I mean, how often does someone actually just listen?  I started riding a lot… and we’re allowed to go to shows and stuff if we get real interested.  You find a horse you like, and that’s your go to.  On a bad day… go to the horses.”

“If you say so man,” Joe said, tossing another bale up.  Craig watched him for a moment and then tossed his own bale up, smiling to himself.

Later that evening Joe was called into the main office.  Karen was sitting behind a desk and she smiled at him.

“Thanks for coming Joe,” she said.

“Didn’t have much choice did I?” he muttered, sinking into a chair.  She shrugged.

“There’s always a choice.  For example you could’ve chosen to not come and accept the consequences for that.  You decided you’d rather come here though, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I guess,” he replied.  She watched him for a moment and then smiled again.

“I asked you to come here today to go over what your schedule will look like for at least your first month or two here.  Starting tomorrow your day will begin at six a.m. in the barn.  You will help Craig feed and water the horses, and then move on to turnout and cleaning stalls.  At eight a.m. you come up for breakfast and then you go back to the barn to finish mucking stalls.  After that you’ll divide up your time cleaning tack, patching fences, keeping the water troughs outside full… that kind of thing.  Craig knows what needs to be done and he’ll be sure it gets done.”

“Can’t I work somewhere else?  I don’t really like horses,” he said.  Karen smiled broadly.

“They grow on ya’ kiddo, I promise.  Craig won’t have you do too much too quick… he’ll teach you nice and slow.” Joe sighed, but said nothing.  “So, at noon every day we have lunch.  On Mondays and Fridays you’ll go to individual therapy with your counselor at 1:30, and at Wednesdays you’ll go to group therapy at 1:30.”

“Therapy?  Why the hell do I have to go to therapy?” he demanded, sitting up straighter in his chair.  Karen regarded him seriously.

“Therapy is part of the program Joe.  Everyone does it, and after a time everyone begins to appreciate and value their sessions.  It’s a way to grow and change, when you’re ready,” she said.

“Bullshit,” he muttered.

“I understand you’re skeptical.  It’ll all come in time.” They were silent for several moments.

“What do I do after the stupid therapy?” he muttered.

“Well, at 2:30 you have the opportunity for some free time.  Some people go up to their room and relax, others go on trail rides… depends on the person.  You have free time until 4:30 and then there are rotating shifts of who helps set up for dinner.  You aren’t on the schedule for a month or two.  Something to keep in mind… if you lose points on the scale, you’ll lose free time first.  For your first few months here, you’ll spend every night six to seven with Beth learning how to ride.” Joe glared at her.

“I don’t want to learn how to ride,” he said.  Karen sat back in her chair.

“It’s a requirement.  We go on cattle drives every spring and fall… you need to know how to ride, at least the basics.  After Beth feels like you’re sturdy in the saddle, you can stop taking lessons.  We just need to know you’ll be ok when we go out on a drive.” He gave a huffy sigh, which she chose to ignore.  “So after you ride you go on up to your room, relax, and hopefully hit the sack early to be up for morning chores.  During the school year this changes a bit… you’ll have classes during the afternoon rather than freetime.” She slid a piece of paper across the desk to him and he took it.

“So this is all of it written down?” he asked.

“Yup.  Everywhere you’re supposed to be and what time.  Do you have any questions?”

“Nope.  Can I go now?” She nodded again.

“Of course you can.  Have a good night, we’ll see you in the morning.” She watched as he stood and sauntered from the office.

Joe was awakened early the next morning by his roommate’s alarm clock beeping.  He sat up a little and groaned when he saw that it was only 5:30am.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, getting out of bed and going to the bathroom.  He turned on the hot water in the shower and stepped in, letting it wake him up.  When he was done he got out, dried off, and pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt before going back into his room.  His roommate, a fourteen year old boy named Eric, was pulling on his boots.

“Sometimes it’s better to shower at night… you’re just gonna’ get filthy down at the barn,” he said, glancing up at Joe.

“Shower wakes me up,” Joe muttered, sitting down on his bed and pulling on his new work boots.  He stood and went to the closet, grabbing a sweatshirt and walking downstairs and out the front door.  He could see the barn from the front porch, and sighed.  The thought of spending all morning with horses was not a pleasant one.  He stomped down the steps and scuffed down the path, going into the barn and looking around.

“Hey Joe, you’re early!  That earns you some points!” Craig called.  Joe nodded and went to where he was standing at the end of the aisle.

“What do I have to do?” he asked, raking his fingers through his wet hair.  Craig handed him a piece of paper.

“This is the feed schedule.  It tells you what each horse gets and at what time every day.  You can use it as a cheat sheet as long as you need… but it’ll get stuck in your head after you feed a couple times.” Joe read down the list and wrinkled his brow.

“I don’t know what half this means,” he said.

“That’s alright.  I’ll take you through all of it this morning… and we’ll just do it together every morning until you know what you’re doing.  After that we’ll be able to split it up a little more.”  Joe nodded and listened as Craig began to explain what each type of grain was, the supplements that went in each horse’s bucket, and how to measure everything.  “If you want, you can start taking hay to each of the horses.  They each get two flakes.”

“What’s a flake?” Joe demanded.  Craig went to a bale and cut off the twine, pulling two thick pieces off.

“See how they separate like this?  You take two pieces for each horse.” Joe nodded and started taking hay to each horse.  Soon he found himself at Broch’s stall.  The big, black gelding pinned his ears back and went to the back of the stall.  Joe opened the door carefully and put the hay inside, closing the door before Broch got a chance to come too far out.  “He’s got quite the attitude,” Craig said suddenly.  Joe glanced at him over his shoulder.

“Yeah.  I don’t like him,” he muttered.  Craig went into the stall with a can of grain and dumped it into Broch’s bucket.  The horse pushed his way past and eagerly started to eat.  Craig gave his muscular shoulder a pat and walked from the stall.

“Not many people do.  He’s not my favorite here either, but he’s had a tough life.  He’s had some real jerk owners… I can relate with that.  My dad used to beat the hell out of us kids.” Joe swallowed hard and fought to shut out the painful memories threatening to flood into his mind.

“That sucks.  I’m, uh, done with the hay.  What should I do next?” he asked, glancing away.  Craig sensed his discomfort and took the hint.

“There’s a hose down at the far end… it rolls out and reaches all the stalls.  If you want to start filling up water buckets, that’d be great.  By the time you’re done with that we can start turning these guys out.” Joe nodded and hurried down the aisle to the hose, still fighting his own painful memories.

Since it was Friday, Joe had his first individual therapy session.  He walked into the office and looked at the cheerful, redheaded woman behind the desk.

“I’m Pam.  You must be Joe,” she said, motioning for him to sit down.  He nodded and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.  “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?” she suggested.

“What do you want to know?” She seemed to think for a long moment.

“Well… what’s important to know about you?  What do you think I should know?” He gave a shrug.

“Beats me.  I’m a pretty normal kid,” he muttered.

“What’s a normal kid look like these days?” she asked.

“Umm… I like music and movies, TV.  I like hanging out with my friends.  You know, stuff like that.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“I like Anchorman a lot… it was pretty funny.” Pam smiled.

“I watched that with my husband… he loved it.  I thought it was pretty silly,” she said truthfully.

“That’s kind of the point,” he replied, looking at her seriously.  She nodded slowly.

“I guess it was.  Do you have any hobbies?”

“I draw a little,” he said.

“What kinds of things do you draw?” she inquired.  Joe shrugged and glanced away.

“Whatever.  If something looks interesting I’ll draw it… it could be a tree or a car… doesn’t really matter.”

“Do you ever draw things just from your imagination or your memory?”

“Sometimes,” he muttered, looking down at his hands.

“Drawing can be a very therapeutic activity… it can get things out of your head and out onto the paper,” she observed.

“Yeah, I guess so.  Are you a doctor?” he asked suddenly, the abrupt change in subject not unnoticed.

“No.  I have a masters degree in mental health counseling… I’m currently working on my doctoral thesis.  It’s a long process,” she explained.

“You must like school a lot,” he said, looking around her office at all the books.  She smiled a bit.

“Some days more than others.  Do you like school?” He gave a snort and brushed hair from his face.

“Hell no.”

“What don’t you like about it?”

“All the other kids suck… bunch of stuck up assholes.  The teachers are always on your case, saying you did something even though you didn’t.  It’s a waste of time.”

“What do you want to spend your life doing later… when you’re out in the world as an adult?”

“Not sure.  Maybe an artist or an art teacher or something… something with little kids.”

“You like little kids then?”

“Yeah.  They’re nice… when they’re little they don’t have that mean streak that teenagers get.”

“What do you mean by mean streak?” He gave another shrug.

“You know how kids my age can be… they talk shit and spread rumors, and they try to start shit all the time.  They’re just mean.”

“Do your classmates do that to you a lot?”

“Sometimes,” he said, his voice softer.

“What kinds of things do they say?” He was silent for so long that she didn’t think he’d answer.

“They say stuff about me being a trouble maker… how I’m stupid and the only thing I’m good at is fighting.”

“How do you feel when they talk about you like that?” she asked.  He looked at her seriously.

“I feel like shit.”

“That’s not an emotion is it?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.  He shook his head.

“It makes me mad… pisses me off,” he said.  She nodded.

“That’s understandable.  I don’t think anyone likes it when people are being negative about them… judging them.  How do you usually deal with being angry?”

“Depends.  Sometimes I just keep it inside and ignore it.  Other times I fight… when people start shit with me I’ll fight.”

“So you’ve been in a lot of fights?” she asked.  Joe thought back, thinking of all the fistfights he’d been in.

“Yeah, you could say that.  Why are you asking?  Don’t you have my file… filled with all the bad stuff I’ve done?”

“I have it.  I’ve only looked at the incident that resulted in you coming to Ridgeport.  What happened that day?”

“Some dumb jock pushed me in gym class… so I pushed him back.  We started to fight and when the teacher broke us up I could tell he was going to take the other kid’s side.  I got mad and I hit him.”

“So you felt like your teacher wasn’t hearing your side of things?”

“They never do,” he muttered.  She nodded slowly and thought for a long moment.

“That must be very frustrating,” she murmured.  He looked up, seemingly surprised that she hadn’t yelled at him for what he’d done.

“Yeah, it is,” he said truthfully.  She glanced at her watch and smiled at him.

“We’re about finished for today Joe.  Thank you for coming and telling me about yourself a little.  I’ll see you Monday,” Pam said.  He nodded and stood up, going to the door.  He stopped and turned around.

“Do you think horses are great?” he asked.  She laughed and nodded.

“Yes, I do.  Many of the kids here end up telling the horses more than they ever tell me.  There’s something to be said about the certainty that a horse can never ever verbalize those secrets.  Even though I tell all of you that I’d never break confidentiality, and that I don’t judge you… it’s hard to believe that sometimes.  Especially when you’ve seen how untrustworthy and judgmental people can be.  Horses can never tell… and they love you for who you are no matter what,” she said.  He nodded.

“I’ll see you Monday,” he said, walking out.

That night was Joe’s first riding lesson.  He walked into the barn and looked up and down the aisle, noticing a tall woman walking toward him.

“You’re Joe right?” she called.  He nodded.

“Yeah.  Are you Beth?” She nodded and smiled.

“Yup.  C’mon.  I’ll take you to meet your horse and teach you had to tack up,” she said.  He followed her reluctantly, taking the bulky western saddle she handed him.  They went to a stall and she walked in, putting a halter on the bay gelding and hooking him into cross ties.  “This is Brutal.  Don’t let the name fool you… Brute’s a big baby.  He’ll take good care of you.  First thing we do is groom him.” She handed him a brush and said, “Just run it all over and brush him off… make sure to get all the hay and dirt off, especially right around here.” She motioned to a spot on his stomach near his front legs.  Joe looked at the brush, then at the horse.

“He won’t bite me or anything?”

“Nope.  Jump right in, Brutal’s as sweet as they come,” she promised, going to the stall door.  She watched as he began to brush the big gelding tentatively.  “You can brush a little harder, he’s used to it.” Joe did as she said and moved all over the left side of the horse.  He glanced at her after a few moments.

“Is it safe to walk behind him?”

“Sure.  Best way to do it is so you closer to his rear end.” He looked at her skeptically.

“Closer?” he asked.

“Yup.  Brutal doesn’t kick, but if he did being closer would give him less room to pull back and kick out.  It won’t hurt as much.” When Joe still looked hesitant she laughed and said, “Trust me on this one.”

“OK,” he muttered, going behind the horse.  He groomed the other side, a bit more quickly, and soon came back around.  Beth was already holding the saddle.  She handed him a colorful blanket.

“Toss this up there on his back,” she said.  Joe put the blanket in the center of Brutal’s back and looked at her.  “Move it forward a little, so it comes up on his withers.  There ya’ go.” She handed him the saddle and said, “Put that up there, but be gentle.” Joe swung the saddle up and set it on the horse’s back gently.  Brutal shifted his weight and Joe took a step back.  “It’s alright, he’s just resting a foot.” She came forward and reached underneath the horse, grabbing the girth.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Showing you how to cinch him up.  Watch me,” she said.  He watched as she ran the girth through the rings and tightened it.  When it was done she undid it and handed him the girth.  “Your turn.  Give it a try,” she said.  He did just as she had and soon Brutal was girthed up.  “Nice job.  Not many people get that on a first try!” she said with a grin.  Joe smiled a little too.

“Thanks,” he murmured.  She walked from the stall, only to return moments later with a bridle.

“This part’s pretty easy.  You toss the reins over one side of his neck, like this.  Then you take off the halter, and just slip the bit into his mouth.” Joe watched as she did it, then took it off again and handed it to him.  He hesitated a moment.

“Are you sure?” he said.  She nodded.

“I’m positive.  You can do it Joe, trust old Brutal.” He stepped forward and tossed the reins over the gelding’s neck.  He stood and put his arm under the animal’s neck, reaching up and sliding the bridle on.  Brutal took the bit into his mouth and soon was standing, fully tacked up.  Joe glanced at Beth and smiled.

“I did it,” he said.  She laughed and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I knew you had it in you.  You’ve gotta’ trust your horse Joe… they’ll take good care of you.  Let’s go out to the ring and get ya’ up there.” He sighed.

“OK.” She handed him the reins.

“Follow me,” she said.  He glanced at Brutal, then gave the reins a tug to hurry after Beth.  There were a couple of kids hanging around the ring, ready to watch the new guy his first day in the saddle.  Craig was there too.

“Came to see your first ride man,” he said with a grin.  Joe shrugged, taking the helmet he was handed.

“Thanks,” he muttered.  He walked into the ring and stopped by Beth and a small block of steps.

“This is a mounting block.  Just walk him up so the stairs are on his left side, climb the stairs, put your left foot in the stirrup, and swing your right leg over his back,” she said.  He nodded and climbed the steps.  She took his reins and put one on either side of Brutal’s neck, crossing them over.  “Take the reins in your left hand, just hold them where they’re crossed.  When you put your foot in the stirrup, try not to jab your toes into his side.” He nodded again and put his foot in the stirrup, swinging his leg over.  He soon found himself sitting on Brutal’s back.  He glanced down, frowning when he saw how far down it was to the ground.

“He’s big,” he observed.  Beth smiled up at him.

“Yeah he is.  You’re a tall guy… needed to find you a big horse.  Now, when you ride western, your stirrups are kept pretty long.  I’m gonna’ put my hand on your lower leg for just a minute to help you find the right position,” she said.  She put her hand on his calf and pulled his leg back several inches.  “You keep your leg here, and the goal is to keep your heels down,” she said, pulling his heel down.  He nodded and pulled his right leg back, trying to push his right heel down as well.  “It takes awhile to get this to stay… your muscles have to build up.  We’ll work on it,” she said.

“OK.” She patted his calf gently and smiled up at him.

“Alright.  Hold your reins in your right hand… keep both ends on one side and even.  Just keep them like that.  Now I want you to squeeze gently with your legs and ask him to walk forward.” Joe did as she said, grabbing on to the horn of the saddle as Brutal moved forward.  “Great!  I want you to put a little pressure on his side with your left rein and move your right hand a little to the right to get him out to the rail,” she said, walking alongside them only a few feet away.  Joe did as she said, surprised when he found himself walking along the fence.  He glanced at Beth and she smiled.  “You look great.  Sit up straight and tall and keep your heels pushed down… good!”  They went around several times, and Joe soon felt like he was getting the hang of it.

“It’s a lot different than I thought it’d be,” he said.

“You’re doing great.” They went through how to do a figure eight and change directions, and soon they were going the opposite direction.  After several more minutes walking Beth said, “Would you like to try a jog?”

“What’s that?” Joe asked skeptically.

“It’s a bit faster than the walk… it’ll take a lot more getting used to, but I think you can handle it.  If you want to stop all you have to do is pull back on your reins and tell him whoa.”

“I guess I can try,” he muttered.

“That’s what I like to hear.  To get him to jog you’re going to squeeze with both of your legs, lift up and forward a bit with your reins, and give a little cluck of your tongue.” He nodded and did as she said, gasping as Brutal moved forward quickly.  He bounced in the saddle, hanging on to the horn to keep his balance.  “Good job Joe!  I want you to do a little pull back and release with your reins to slow Brutal a bit… good.” They went around the ring once before Joe pulled back on his reins.

“How was that?” he asked.

“You looked great for your first time.  Come on into the center and we’ll ask him to back up.  Halt right in front of me,” she said.  He did and she said, “I want you to gently pull back on your reins and move your legs back behind the girth and squeeze at the same time.” Joe did it and Brutal backed up several steps.  “Great job Joe,” Beth said.

“How do I get down?” he asked.  Beth grinned.

“Stand up in your stirrups, and take your right foot out of the stirrup.  Swing it over the saddle and kind of lean on the saddle.  Kick your left leg free of the stirrup and slide down to the ground,” she said.  Joe did his best, and soon was standing on the ground.  She patted his shoulder, then put both hands on his shoulders and turned him to the fence where people were standing.  “He survived his first ride guys, give him a hand!” she called.  Everyone at the fence cheered, and Joe could feel his face growing warm.

“Thanks,” he muttered.  She handed him his reins and smiled.

“You did a great job Joe.  Take Brute into his stall and get him untacked… groom him up real good too.  I’ll come show you how to pick out his hooves in a minute,” she said.  He nodded and led Brutal into the barn and back to his stall.  Once inside he took off his helmet and looked at the big horse.

“Thanks Brutal,” he murmured, giving him a pat on the shoulder.  The gelding gave him a nudge and rubbed his forehead against his shoulder.  Joe laughed and moved to take off the bridle.  “Big lug,” he muttered.  He got all the tack off and hooked him back into the crossties to groom him.  Craig came in and leaned against the wall.

“What’d you think?” he asked.  Joe glanced at him and shrugged.

“It was ok… hurts your ass,” he said.  Craig laughed.

“Yeah it does… first few times.  Wait till tomorrow, your legs’ll be killing you.” Joe nodded and turned back to Brutal.

“How long’ve you been here?” Joe asked.  Craig picked up a curry and started to help groom.

“Almost a year now… seems longer,” he said.

“You miss home?” Craig gave a shrug and patted Brutal’s neck.

“Sometimes yes and sometimes no.  All I have at home is my Aunt and my cousin… mom disappeared a long time ago, and my dad is in jail.  It’ll be hard to go back there, and I’m thinking of just staying out here.  I’m almost eighteen.”

“What would you do out here?”

“I might get offered a job working here in the barn… or I could apply at any of the ranches in the area.  I think Karen would give me a good recommendation.  I know I don’t want to go back to Chicago.  Now that I’ve had horses in my life, I don’t think I can do it without them.” Joe nodded.

“I can’t wait to go home,” he said.

“Got a big family?” Craig asked.  Joe didn’t answer right away.  “Hell man, I don’t mean to put you on the spot.  I’ve only known you a day.  Pam’s always telling me that I push the new guys too much.” Joe smiled.

“It’s alright.  I’ve got a small family… just me and my Gram,” he said.  Craig nodded, sensing it was time to back off.

“That’s cool.  She’ll probably send you lots of goodies and stuff, my Aunt is great for that shit.  Be sure to send her lots of mail… she’ll be worried about you.  That’s just my little bit of advice.”

“It’s good advice,” Joe said, unclipping the crossties and walking from the stall.  Craig slid the door closed and picked up the saddle.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said.  They walked to the tack room together in silence, each thinking of the families they’d been forced to leave behind… and the families that had left them behind.

The weekend went by quickly, much too quickly for many of the residents at Ridgeport.  Joe didn’t mind; the weekend brought much more free time, and free time always ended up with thinking.  Thinking never seemed to end very well.  It was late Sunday night, and Joe rolled over for what seemed like the thousandth time.  He sat up briefly, hitting his pillow in frustration.  After a few more minutes he sat up and reached under his bed for his sneakers.  He put them on and crept from the room and out into the darkness.  It got darker here than he had ever seen it in Boston.  He managed to find his way to the barn, and let himself in.  Most of the horses were asleep in their stalls.  He walked along quietly, looking in each stall.  A low nicker caught his attention and he stopped.  Broch was awake, and stood in the back corner of the stall.  Joe went to the feed area and took a handful of sweet feed before heading back to the stall.  He slid the door partway open and held out his hand.  Broch eyed him warily, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you,” Joe whispered.  He stood silently, his hand held out, waiting.  It seemed to take forever, but Broch eventually took a tentative step forward.  He sniffed the air and then blew out a big breath.  Joe watched as the horse took one more step, stretching out his neck to reach his hand.  He smiled as he felt the horse lip up the grain quickly, and then retreat to the corner of his stall.  “I know how you feel,” he said softly.  Broch watched as Joe leaned against the wall and looked out at the darkness.  “I don’t trust anyone either Broch… never seems to pay off does it?” he murmured.  He stood there for another few moments, enjoying the silence and the sense that the big horse was listening.  He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He walked slowly back to his room, kicked off his shoes, and slid under the covers.  His eyes drifted shut, and his dreams were filled with visions of a big black horse that reminded him a lot of himself.

The first few weeks went by without incident.  Joe went to morning chores, to lunch, to therapy when he was supposed to, and rode every night.  He was making steady progress, and as much as he hated to admit it, actually really liking spending time with the horses.  He had found himself standing at the door to Broch’s stall almost every night, grain in hand, telling the big, ornery horse why he couldn’t sleep that particular night.  Joe walked into the group therapy room one Wednesday afternoon and glanced around.  Most of his fellow group members were there already.  Craig had saved him a seat, so he sat down.

“Hey man, did you finish up with that fence?” he asked.  Joe nodded.

“Yeah, it’s all fixed.  We should be able to turn horses out there tonight.” Craig nodded and turned his attention to Mark.

“Thanks for being on time guys.  Let’s get started.  Last week we had started talking about anger… how we deal with it and what we can do to change how we deal with it.  Who’d like to start?” A boy across the circle, Matt, raised his hand.

“What if we don’t want to change it?  Sometimes punching something feels really god damn good,” he said.  Several of the other guys nodded, and some laughed.

“Every time I’ve ever hit something I’ve got in trouble,” Joe muttered.  Everyone looked at him; he hadn’t made much effort to speak out in group in the two weeks prior.

“So the new kid finally opens his mouth.  If you’re so against hitting things, why the fuck are you here?” Matt asked, his face angry.

“Let’s watch the language,” Mark warned.

“I’m just saying that hitting things is why I’m here, and even though it feels good when I do it… it feels bad after because I’m in trouble,” he explained.

“So you’d do it if you could get away with it?” Matt asked.  Joe sighed.

“Forget it,” he muttered.

“Mark, this kid is screwed up.  He walks around here, acting like he’s better than us… acting like he’s done something to deserve to leave.  He hasn’t even started to get to his real issues,” Matt said.  Joe glared across the circle at him.

“Matt, one of our rules in this group is that we don’t judge others.  Let’s focus on you.”

“Why should I?  Joe here thinks he has all the answers about anger and how to deal with it.  So how do you deal with it Joe?” Before anyone could stop him, Joe was up and across the circle on top of Matt, throwing punches.  Craig got to him first, pulling him back.

“Joe knock it off!” he exclaimed, pulling him to the other side of the circle.  Mark had reached Matt, and held him at bay.

“What’s this all about?” he demanded, looking at them both seriously.  Neither boy would look at him.  “Matt, you know better than instigating an argument like that!  How long have we been talking about passive aggressiveness and where it lands you?” he said sternly.  Matt nodded, not daring to look at him.  “Joe, you’re new here and you have a long way to go.  We do not fight here.”

“He fucking started it,” Joe muttered.  Craig nudged him.

“Shut up man,” he muttered.

“Craig I appreciate your help, but Joe’s making his own decisions right now.  He’ll get to the point where he makes better ones.  Joe, I want you to go to my office and wait for me.” When he hesitated Mark added, “Now.” Joe shrugged Craig away and started from the room.

“This is bullshit,” he said angrily as he pushed past Matt and stalked from the room.  Mark looked around the circle.

“We’re done for the day.  Matt you’ve lost 10 points for your behavior today.  Your free time for the next week will be spent helping power wash the main cattle barn.” Matt nodded slowly.  “Everyone else, thank you for being here.  We’ll process this next week.” He walked from the room and toward his office, opening the door and going in.  Joe was sitting in front of his desk, slumped down in the chair and scowling.  Mark sat down across from him and looked at him seriously for a long time.  “So what was that all about?” he asked finally.  Joe shrugged.

“He started shit with me, so I ended it.”

“What exactly did he start?  I know he was pushing you pretty hard, challenging you, but what made you have to get up and start pounding on him?”

“I don’t take shit from anyone,” Joe said, looking up at him with hard eyes.

“So this is how you typically deal with your anger?” Joe laughed a little.

“I don’t know why everyone here acts like they don’t know how I ‘deal with my anger’.  You have a file about 3 inches thick explaining it in graphic detail.”

“I don’t care what your file has to say about you Joe, I care about what you have to say about you.  You’re obviously a smart kid… you know this is a bad choice.  What makes you continue to do it?” Joe didn’t answer for a moment.

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?  Just let some asshole start shit with me?”

“No, but there are other choices.  You could choose to use your words rather than your fists.  You could talk about feelings rather than holding them in until they explode like they did just now.  How often have you been angry since you got here?” Joe shrugged indifferently.  “I’m going to guess a lot.  Once a day?  Once every other day maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“And this is the first time you’ve shown it at all.  Up until today you’ve been cooperative, and by all accounts a model resident here.  Today you blew up and it resulted in you repeatedly punching someone, bloodying his nose and lip.” Joe didn’t say anything so Mark continued, “What might have happened if you had talked about being angry any of those other ten or twelve times you had been angry over the past two weeks?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Do you want to change this part of you?  You mentioned in group that you saw it as something that always got you in trouble.  What can you do to change that?”

“I don’t know!  It doesn’t always feel like it’s something I have to talk about.  Everybody gets pissed off.”

“Not everybody punches people when they’re mad.  It seems like you get to that point a lot.” Joe didn’t say anything.  “Everyone here sees an amazingly talented, smart kid when they look at you Joe.  We all see that you try hard and you mean well… but we also see you bottling things up inside, not talking about things when they bother you.  Today is the first time you’ve exploded… we want to help you work on strategies so you don’t keep doing that.” Joe nodded.

“I understand,” he said softly.  Mark watched him for a moment and then smiled.

“It’ll come in time.  This time though, there are consequences for your choice to act out on Matt.  You’re losing 40 points… your free time for the next two weeks will be spent doing anything and everything Craig has for you to do at the barn.  In addition you will apologize to Matt at our next group meeting.  You will also wear this sign that says, ‘Please challenge me to express my feelings’.” Joe looked at him incredulously.

“A sign?” he said, taking the 8×11 piece of paper and looking at it with a grimace.

“Yup.  We are all here to help one another Joe; this sign will help us help you notice and express your feelings in a positive way.” The boy bit his bottom lip and then looked up.

“They’re all going to pick on me if I wear this,” he said.

“I promise you they won’t.  All of them, at one time or another in this program, have worn or will have to wear a sign like this.  If they do try to bait you by using this sign, they will be held accountable for their poor choices.” Joe nodded slowly.

“OK.” He slipped the twine around his neck so the words faced out.

“You can go back to your room now Joe.  I’ll let Craig know about your loss of privileges, and that will start tomorrow.”

“Alright.  Can I go now?” Mark nodded and watched as the boy stood and walked from the room.

The next day was a long one, full of tedious work and few breaks.  After lunch Joe lugged bags of grain from the small feed room and to the large one, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow.  He slipped his sign so it was hanging over his back, kicking a bag of grain into place.

“Hey,” Craig said as he walked into the room.  Joe glanced up.

“Hey.”

“I’m going to challenge you now to express how you’re feeling Joe,” Craig said.  Joe sighed, raking his fingers through his hair and glaring at him.

“Are you kidding me?” Craig shook his head.

“Nope.  You’re simmering some shit right now, and you’re supposed to talk about it.  So let’s hear it, what’s going on with you?” Joe started to move past him to leave the room, but Craig caught his shoulder.  “Come on Joe.  You took the sign from Mark and you told him you were going to try to work on this.  Tell me how you’re feeling right now… I can tell something’s bugging you.” Joe leaned against the wall with a sigh.

“I’m just… pissed off.  Everyone else is off relaxing right now and I’m stuck here moving bags of grain from one room to another.  This is just like being at home, only I get to lug heavy shit from one place to another.”

“What do you mean it’s just like home?  You have a barn at home?”

“Fuck no.  I mean… it’s just like when my teachers at home used to take the side of the jocks over me.  I’d end up in hot water because I wasn’t rich or popular or the brain in the class.  I didn’t kiss ass, so I got in trouble.” He went back to the bags of grain, stacking them carefully.

“You don’t think you should’ve been held accountable for beating the crap out of Matt?” Joe glanced at him.

“He started it.”

“Yeah, he started it.  You could’ve ended it by just blowing it off.  He was just being an asshole… you could’ve been the bigger person and called him out on it rather than deciding to give him what he wanted by fighting with him.”

“So I’m just supposed to take his shit?” Craig shook his head, taking his cowboy hat off to reveal rumpled black hair.

“No, of course not.  You’re supposed to use your words rather than your fists.  I’ve heard you talk about things… you’re smart.  You can handle yourself without it coming to hitting someone.  I used to think just like you do… that I had to beat the shit out of anyone that got in my face.  People like Matt want you to hit them, because they know you’ll get in trouble.  When you give it back to them by challenging what they’re saying with reason and logic, they don’t know what to do.” Joe nodded.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“He’s not sitting in his room either man.  He’s out in the sun power washing the cattle barn.  That’s crappy work to do on a hot day like today,” Craig added.  Joe smiled a little.

“Yeah.” Craig turned and started from the room, but paused.

“So that was your first time talking about your feelings rather than letting it fester.  Wasn’t too bad was it?” he asked.  Joe tossed a leg wrap at him.

“Fuck off man.” Craig chuckled and continued out into the aisle.  Joe sighed, turning back to the grain and starting to stack the bags once again.

Late that night Joe slipped out of his room and walked down to the barn.  The moon was full, the sky clear.  He went into the barn and to the feed room, grabbing his usual handful of sweet feed.  He went to Broch’s stall and opened the door, stepping inside and leaning against the wall.  Broch took a step closer, waiting for his usual late night snack.  Joe held out his hand a little, keeping it closer to his body than he usually did.  Broch flicked his ears forward and back, weighing his options.

“Don’t know what to do now do you?” Joe murmured.  Broch gave a snort and tossed his head and Joe gave a low laugh.  “Come on, you’re fine,” he said, holding his hand out a little bit more.  The big horse took a small step forward and when he still couldn’t reach the grain, he snorted again and took a bigger step.  He quickly ate the grain and retreated back to his usual corner.  “That’s a good boy,” Joe said.  He stood in silence for a long time and then said, “I used to get beat on too you know.  My Dad used to dish it out real good… to me and my Mom.  I don’t trust anyone either.  People always let you down.  I know how that feels… so I won’t let you down.  I’ll show you… you can trust me.” Broch tossed his head again, taking a half step toward him before changing his mind and moving back into his corner.  “Get some sleep big guy, I’ll see you in the morning.” He left the stall quietly, sliding the door closed and latching it.  Broch came to the door watching as Joe disappeared into the darkness.

Joe was still allowed to ride in the evenings, even with most of his privileges gone.  After a week on restriction, he was doing alright.  On Tuesday night he saddled Brutal and led him out to the ring.  Beth was waiting and she smiled.

“Hop on and let’s get started,” she said.  Joe swung into the saddle and adjusted his stirrups, moving out onto the rail at an easy walk.

“We’re going to work a lot on our jog tonight, and maybe try a little lope,” she called.  Joe nodded, warming the big gelding up for several minutes.  “You can move up to a jog, stay on the big circle for awhile,” she said.  They moved into a jog and went around the ring easily.  Joe’s seat already looked sturdy and competent.  Beth nodded as he went around and called, “Good!  Lower your hand a bit and move your left leg back a smidge.  Great!” The stayed on the big circle several times around until she said, “Cut through the center and change directions!” They did and he switched his reins to the opposite side.  Brutal moved along, his stride even and relaxed.  His head hung low, perfectly for a western horse.

“Good boy Brute,” Joe murmured.  They jogged several times around before Beth called for them to walk.

“That looks great Joe.  I’m so impressed with how fast you’re catching on.  You’re not sore after lessons anymore are you?” she asked.  He shook his head.

“Not much… a little bit here and there, especially when you have me stand in my stirrups at the jog.” She grinned.

“We’ll have to do more of that.  Tonight we’re going to try something totally new… the lope.  You’ve seen some of the other guys running barrels at the lope.”

“That’s pretty fast isn’t it?” he asked, unable to hide the skeptical tone in his voice.

“It’s faster than the jog, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.  You just sit up tall and sink right into your saddle.  To ask for the lope you slide your outside leg back a bit, keep steady pressure on with your inside leg, and lift your reins slightly.  Then you’ll just sit… it feels a bit like a rocking horse.” Joe frowned as he felt himself being pulled back into memories.  He could see the rocking horse his grandfather had made him… and could remember how angry his father had gotten when he caught him playing on it.  It was one of the first beatings he could remember clearly… his father’s anger at him riding a gift from his mother’s father.  “Joe?” Beth asked again, putting her hand on his leg.  He jumped a little, grabbing the saddle horn and looking at her.

“Did you say something?” he muttered.

“Yeah… I asked if you wanted to try the lope now.” He took a deep breath and then nodded.

“Sure, let’s go for it,” he said, gladder than he’d ever been that he was allowed to take of his ‘feelings’ sign when he rode.

“Alright.  So, we’ll try right from a walk… wait till you get into a corner.  Then outside leg back, squeeze with both and lift your rein hand a bit.” He nodded, and when he got to the corner he did as she’d instructed.  Brutal broke into an easy lope and Joe sat up tall.  “Great Joe!  That’s exactly how I want to see you at the lope!” Beth called, but he didn’t hear her.  His heart was pounding and soaring at this new feeling.  They went around several times, his smile growing bigger each round.  “Alright, I want you to ease him down to a walk!” He took back a bit with his reins and deepened his seat, and felt Brutal drop down to a jog and then to a walk.  He looked at Beth, the smile still spread across his face.

“That was… that was amazing,” he said.  She gave a little laugh.

“Yeah it is.  You looked great Joe… you should be really proud of yourself,” she said.  He smiled bigger and let Brutal walk to cool down.  When he was done they walked into the barn together.  Beth helped him untack, and they walked toward the tack room together.  Joe paused outside of Broch’s stall.

“Does anyone ride him?” he asked, pointing at the big black gelding.  Beth frowned sadly.

“He’s not ready for that yet.  I know Craig’s told you that he was abused by his previous owners.  They were awful to him… the man would ride him into the ground and then beat on him while he was still in the saddle and dead tired to try to make him keep going.  He’d have welts in his neck and rump from the whip.” Joe shuddered, watching as Broch stepped toward the door.

“Why would anyone do that?” he muttered.  Beth shook her head.

“I don’t know kiddo.  He’ll learn to trust again someday I think… he just has to find the right person to help him out,” she said, walking into the tack room.  Joe nodded, casting a last look into the stall before following her.

The next evening Joe walked reluctantly to group, knowing he’d have to apologize that night to Matt and the rest of the group for his outburst the week before.  He sat down next to Craig with a sigh.

“You ready?” he asked.  Joe shook his head.

“Not really,” he muttered.  Craig grinned and looked up as Mark walked into the room.

“Hello everybody, thanks for being on time,” he said, sitting down next to Matt.  Everyone said their hellos and then Mark continued, “This week we need to start off with some special participants.  Matt and Joe have some things to say.  Who’d like to go first.” Neither one spoke for several moments.  Finally Joe cleared his throat.

“I’ll go,” he murmured.  Everyone turned to look at him.  “Last group I made a decision to hit Matt, and that was a bad decision.  I should’ve talked about how I was feeling instead of reacting physically and violently,” he said, looking around at everyone as he spoke.  “I want to apologize to the group for wasting your time, and I want to apologize to you,” he said, looking at Matt, “For hitting you instead of talking things through.” The group clapped for his effort and Mark smiled at him.

“Thank you Joe.  I know how much I appreciate your sincerity, and it seems like the rest of the group does too.  Matt, your turn.” The other boy looked at him, and then to Joe.

“Well, I don’t feel like I owe anyone an apology.  I’m just going to say that it sucks that Joe got out of hand and I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re being passive aggressive again,” Craig said.  Matt rolled his eyes.

“Matt, you’re taking no accountability for what happened last week.  If you’re not able to do that now, you can continue to lose points and privileges,” Mark said.

“Like I said, I didn’t do anything wrong.” Mark looked around the group as a whole.

“How does everyone else feel about what Matt’s saying tonight?” he asked.

“I think it’s bullshit,” someone said.  Several others nodded.

“I want to know how Joe feels about it,” Craig said.  All eyes turned to him once again, and Joe swallowed hard.  He cast a sideways glance at Craig, glaring at him.

“I feel like, for me, what happened is done.  I’m not mad anymore, and I know I should’ve handled it differently.  It’s disappointing that someone like Matt, who’s been here a lot longer than me and is supposed to be a good role model to everyone else, can make a choice to continue to hang on to something and try to instigate another incident… but that’s his choice not mine,” he said honestly.

“That’s a fair reaction.  Since Matt isn’t ready to process this yet, we’ll move on.  We’ll revisit this next session.  Let’s move back to what we were talking about last session, dealing with our anger,” Mark said.  Joe sat back in his chair, heart pounding wildly.  He looked around the group, trying to read what everyone else was thinking about what he’d said.  He couldn’t help but thinking back to the few times he’d shared his thoughts and feelings with a large group at school and been shunned because of it.  He could read nothing, which only made him more anxious.

Pam was sitting in her office that Friday afternoon when Joe walked in.  He sat down across from her and she smiled at him.

“Mark told me you had a great night in group Wednesday… said you really laid your cards on the table about the difficult situation with Matt,” she said.  Joe shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Did you get a lot of positive feedback at home Joe?” He looked at her, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… did people tell you good things about yourself when you were at home?”

“My grandmother did.  She always told me that I was smart, or that I was really good at art.”

“What about other people in your life?” He shrugged, looking down at his hands for a long moment.

“Not usually.  Most of the time I was too busy pissing people off for them to tell me anything good.”

“So you never had a teacher that was positive?” He thought for what seemed like a long time.

“I had some art teachers that told me I was really good… but usually stuff would go wrong in class and I’d end up making them mad too.  I was real good at making teachers mad.” Pam smiled a little.

“When do you think you started getting good at that?”

“Don’t know.  I was good at pissing people off for as long as I can remember.”

“I’ve seen your grades… your whole student file.  You were a great student until you were about six or seven, and you’ve had several periods of time when you were quite successful in school.  What was different about those times?”

“I’m not sure.  Sometimes I got good teachers… they’d stay after and help me.  They’d stop kids from picking on me.  More times than not, teachers were on my case.”

“What do you mean by on your case?”

“I mean… always yelling at me.  Like if kids said shit about me, and the teacher didn’t stop them so I said something, then they’d send me out of class to the office.  Then I’d be in trouble, even though all I was doing was sticking up for myself.”

“Did you spend a lot of time in the office?” He nodded slowly.

“Yeah.  In the office or in the suspension room… or out of school on suspension.”

“So it sounds like the times when your grades fell, you might’ve been out of the classroom or struggling based on feeling ostracized or turned against by your classmates and teachers,” Pam said.  Joe nodded.

“Yeah, I guess so.  At least early on in school,” he muttered, glancing away.

“What’s that mean?” she probed.

“Well… like in middle school and maybe my freshman year in high school it was like that.  Then later I just stopped caring.  Nobody gave a shit about me, so I don’t know why I should care about school and all that.”

“I see.  So you felt like putting forth effort in you classes wasn’t worth it because your teachers didn’t seem to care about you.” He nodded.

“Yeah.” They were silent for a moment.

“I’ve heard that you’re doing very well expressing your feelings.  Mark gave you a special task due to the fight in group… you have to wear that sign,” she said, motioning to the sign around his neck.  Joe grimaced a little.

“Yeah.  Working on talking about my feelings when they’re happening,” he muttered.

“How’s that been going?” He shrugged.

“OK I guess.  People ask me about it a lot… most of the guys do it just to bust on me.  Some of them are serious about it.  Craig asks a lot… makes me be accountable for myself.”

“Have many people in your life made you do that?” He laughed a little.

“Hell no.  My Grandmother sometimes… and my Dad when I was little,” he added.  Pam paused for a moment, seeming to consider what he’d said.

“So what’s it like when Craig or someone else is serious when they challenge you to express yourself?”

“At first I got mad… or annoyed.  I thought it was stupid.  Then, after a few times of telling Craig or Mark or Karen how I was feeling I noticed it helped a little.  Like, I haven’t even felt like punching anyone in a week.”

“Is that a change for you?” He nodded.

“Yeah, a big change.”

“What feeling would you say you felt most of the time that you didn’t express before this challenge?” Joe thought for a long moment, raking his fingers through his sandy hair.

“I guess I was mad a lot,” he said.

“You guess?  That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement,” she said.  He smiled a little.

“I felt angry a lot of the time.”

“Do you think you actually were angry a lot of the time or were there other emotions driving that?” He didn’t look at her for a long time, and when he did the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I think I was just angry,” he muttered.  Pam nodded.

“OK.  That’s our time for the day.  I’ll see you on Monday… enjoy your weekend.” He nodded, stood, and left the office.

That evening Joe walked down to the barn, carrying an apple for Broch.  He heard a noise coming from the seldom used indoor arena, so he took a brief detour.  He walked in quietly, standing back in the shadows.  Beth was there, riding a big black and white paint.  There were several jumps set up around the arena.  Joe watched in awe as the duo soared over each one.  She pulled up, giving the big horse a sound pat on the neck.

“What a good boy!” she exclaimed.  Joe stepped out of the shadows and she smiled down at him.

“Hey Joe, what’re you doing down here?” He held up the apple.

“Brought an apple for Brutal,” he lied.

“He’ll like that.”

“Is that your horse?”

“Yeah, this is Riff Raff,” she said, patting his shoulder.  She came to the rail and Joe rubbed the animal’s forehead.

“He’s nice lookin’.  Are we allowed to do this?” he asked, motioning to the jumps.

“You mean you kids that live here?” she replied.

“Yeah.”

“Anyone who wants to learn how to ride English can… it’s a lot different than western though.  It’d be awhile before you were jumping.  I have a couple of the guys that take some English lessons though.” He nodded.

“Oh.” When he didn’t say anything else she smiled.

“If you want I’ll work with you on it.” He smiled up at her.

“Really?”

“Of course.  We can work on this weekends since you have more time that’s free time.  That’ll give you time to focus on everything else during the week.”

“That’d be great.”

“We could start tomorrow night if you like, around this time.  Nobody’s usually in here now so we’d have some peace and quiet.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, turning and walking back into the barn.  He went to Broch’s stall, glancing around before he opened the door and stepped inside.  Broch stayed where he was in the front corner of the stall.  “Getting braver are you?” Joe murmured.  He took a bite out of the apple and then extended his hand.  The big horse took a step closer, reaching out and touching the apple with his nose.  “Yeah, you need to be close enough so you can bite off chunks of this don’t you?  Special treat deserves some bravery big guy.” Broch snorted and tossed his head in frustration, and then took another step.  He took a bite from the apple, leaving the second half in Joe’s hand.  Joe watched as the big horse chewed and he reached out slowly with his free hand, putting it gently on his shoulder.  Broch flinched slightly.  “Shh, it’s ok.  I promise I won’t hurt you,” he murmured.  He held the half eaten apple up again and Broch took it, seeming to forget that Joe’s hand was on his shoulder.  While he chewed he stood quietly and Joe slid his hand slowly up his neck and then back down again.  When he had finished chewing, Broch turned his head, his nose touching Joe’s arm.  “That’s it,” he said, touching his nose gently.  Broch snorted again and retreated to the far corner of the stall.  Joe grinned, leaning back against the wall.

“That was pretty amazing,” a voice said.  Joe spun around, frowning when he saw Craig.

“How long’ve you been there man?” he asked.  Craig shrugged and walked forward, looking in at Broch.

“Long enough.  How’d you get him to come near you… even when I have food he won’t come near me.” Joe glanced at Broch and shrugged.

“I just gave him time.  He still doesn’t like me much… been at this since I got here, so that’s about a month and a half now.  Today’s the first day he stepped close to me… first day he let me touch him.” Craig nodded.

“Keep at it.  Maybe you’ll be able to get through to him… you two are a lot alike.” Joe glanced at him.

“What do you mean?” he muttered, coming out of the stall and closing the door.

“His name, do you know what it means in Celtic?”

“Nope.”

“It means angry,” Craig said, walking down the aisle.  Joe glanced back at Broch.  The horse was in the far corner still, his head hanging low, mane in his eyes.  Joe sighed, turning and walking back toward his room.

The next night Joe walked down to the barn.  Beth was waiting for him, standing by a stall.

“Hey.  Thought you might’ve chickened out,” she teased.  He smiled and shook his head.

“Nah, had to help clean up my room.” She nodded and motioned into the stall.  There was a fairly large chestnut gelding inside.

“This is Scout.  He’s a real reliable and trustworthy horse… he’ll take good care of you.  I’ll show you where his tack is and we’ll get started.” They walked to the tack room together and she picked up one of the smaller English saddles and then a bridle.

“Is tacking up the same?” he asked.

“There’s one small difference, but it’s an easy one.  Let’s get him groomed up and then I’ll show you.” They each picked up a brush and groomed Scout quickly.  Beth then got the saddle and saddle pad and put it on Scout’s back.  “With this saddle you make sure it’s far enough forward on his back, like this,” she said, showing him.  Joe nodded and watched as she went to Scout’s right side and lifted up the saddle flap.  “With this saddle the stretchy side of the girth goes on the left.  All you have to do is put the tabs through the buckles and then the same on the other side.” He watched as she did up the right side.  “Now you do the left,” she said.  He nodded and reached under Scout to grab the girth.  “Notice how that side has stretch ends?  That side always goes on the left.”
“OK,” he said, tightening the girth carefully.  “How high should I go?”

“Leave it at three on that side for now.  We’ll double check it when we get to the arena,” she said.  He nodded and got the bridle, slipping it on the big red horse.

“I think we’re all set,” he said, grabbing his helmet and putting it on.

“Let’s go then.” He led Scout to the arena and let his stirrups down.  “With English you want your stirrups to be about as long as the distance between your armpit to the tip of your fingers, so if you hold your hand up like this and hold the stirrup along your arm you’ll be able to tell if your stirrups are long enough.” He put his fingers up at the top of the stirrup leather and held the stirrup out.  The stirrup iron didn’t quite reach his armpit.

“It’s not long enough,” he said.  She took a moment and showed him how to adjust the length of the stirrup, and then he moved to the other stirrup and fixed it.

“Alright, up you go,” she said.  He used the mounting block and was soon sitting in the saddle.  He put his feet in the stirrups and grimaced.  “They’re a bit shorter than you’re used to,” Beth said.  He nodded, adjusting his seat a bit.  He kept his heels down despite the change in stirrup length.

“They’re way shorter,” he muttered.  She laughed and patted his calf.

“You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.  In English you want to be sitting very straight in the saddle.  I want to be able to see an imaginary line from your heel, to your hip, to your shoulder.” She moved his left leg back just a bit and then nodded.  “Then you hold your reins in both hands, between your pinky and ring finger and then your thumbs on top.” He did as she said and soon was holding the reins in both hands.  “Today we’ll take it kind of easy… we’ll work on getting used to the change in position and maybe try to work on the trot a little bit.”

“Isn’t it just like the jog?” he asked.  She nodded, watching as he moved out to the rail.

“It’s a bit faster, and you have to post,” she said.

“What’s posting?” he asked.  Beth laughed.

“You’ll see,” she assured him.

Joe awoke the next morning with a groan; his entire body hurt.  He rolled over carefully, grimacing at the pain in his legs.  He laid on his back for a moment, taking several deep breaths.  Eric was already up and had almost reached the bathroom, but he glanced back.

“I tried riding English once… Beth talked me into it.  Hurts worse than anything ever,” he said.  Joe smiled tightly.

“Yeah, thanks for the warning,” he muttered.  Eric grinned and disappeared into the bathroom.  Joe sat up slowly.  His arms, shoulders, and stomach screamed out at the activity.  “God Damnit,” he muttered, sliding his legs over the side of the bed.  The pain in his thighs was unlike anything he’d experienced in a long time.  “Gotta’ be the posting trot,” he said, thinking back to the agonizing work that rising with his horse’s trot had caused.  He managed to stand up, with great effort, and limped across the room to his dresser.  He took out clean clothes and waited for Eric to finish up in the bathroom.  When he came out he glanced at Joe again.

“Lots of hot water, it helps,” he said.  Joe nodded and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower.  He set the water to as hot as he could stand it, and stepped underneath.  The heat of the water hit him and immediately started to soothe his aching muscles.  He let out a sigh and stood for several moments before starting to wash up.  When he was done he stepped out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed.  He went back into the bedroom and sat down slowly, another groan escaping his lips.  Eric glanced at him as he started from the room.

“You’re going to have a long day man,” he said.  Joe nodded slowly, reaching down to pull his shoes on.  With another grimace he stood and limped down to the barn.

Craig had already started to feed when Joe limped down the aisle.  He shot him an apologetic look and started to feel buckets with grain.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.  Craig smiled.

“Eric stopped by on his way to the cow barn and told me you were coming… said you tried out English riding last night.” Joe nodded, putting the buckets in the grain wagon.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asked, making a face as he took a step back toward the grain buckets.

“Once, after I was here for a few months.  Kills doesn’t it?” Craig said, handing him a full bucket.

“Sure as hell does,” he said.  They started to move down the aisle, each of them taking one side and filling buckets inside each horse’s stall with their designated breakfast.

“What made you want to try it?”

“I saw Beth jumping the other night… it looked like fun.  I figured it’d be just like all the other riding I’ve been doing,” he said.  They glanced at each other and both started to laugh.  The finished with the grain and then began delivering hay to the waiting horses.

“You won’t be able to walk right for days.  I remember after my first time, when I went to get off the horse, I hit the ground and my legs just gave out.  And Beth told me she ‘took it easy’ on me.  Jesus, I wanted to die those first few days.  Nurse said I strained my groin muscle on both sides.” Joe frowned.

“Can they do anything to help it?” he asked.  Craig grinned.

“Not really.  Nurse said the best thing I could do was keep moving and stay active… and soak at night in some hot water.  It didn’t help much.”

“Thanks man, that helps a lot,” he muttered.  He stopped at Broch’s stall and let himself in, holding out an apple.  The big horse came over, stopping about a foot from him and taking the apple.  Joe reached out and put his hand on Broch’s muscular shoulder for a moment, giving him a gentle pat before walking back out.

“You know, Broch used to be an eventer.  Beth told me that he won all kinds of jumping competitions and stuff.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I guess so.  Then he went to the asshole that beat on him… turned him into the way he is today.  Nobody’s been on him in years.” Joe nodded, watching as Broch went back to eating his breakfast.  After a moment he followed Craig down the aisle, but glanced back frequently, wondering if the big horse would ever trust him enough to let him ride.

Friday night Joe arrived at Pam’s office and sat down across from her.  She smiled and put her pen down.

“I’ve heard that you’ve had a really good week.  Mark said that you made it through the feelings exercise with flying colors, that you’re talking about how you’re feeling without being directly challenged to do so.” He nodded.

“Yeah.  It gets easier the more I do it… and most of the other guys here never bust on you for talking about shit like that.”

“Good.  I’m glad you’ve felt this is a safe place to disclose.  How long have you been here now Joe?”

“Almost two months,” he replied.

“Your grandmother called today.  She was worried because you haven’t written to her yet.” He sighed, but said nothing.  “Can I ask why you haven’t written to her yet?”

“Haven’t had anything to say,” he muttered.  She looked at him seriously for a long time.

“She asked if you’d gotten her letters,” she said finally.  He didn’t look at her so she asked, “Have you read them?” He shook his head slowly.

“Nah,” he murmured.

“What’s stopping you?” she questioned.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, still not looking up.

“Joe, look at me for a minute,” she said softly.  He looked up and she could see that there were tears brimming in his eyes.  “It’s ok to miss her you know.  And it’s ok to be sad,” she told him.  He shook his head, rubbing his hand across his face roughly.

“I’m fine,” he said, anger seeping into his voice.

“Are you?” she asked. He gave a bitter laugh and threw up his hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he demanded, looking at her again.  A tear slipped down his cheek, but he ignored it.

“I don’t know.  Maybe because you’ve been here for almost two months, haven’t read the letters from your only living relative.  You haven’t read how much she misses you and believes in you… you’ve just secluded yourself and hid from her.  I think that must be really difficult.” He stood up and paced back and forth for a moment.

“She shouldn’t believe in me!  She should just forget I exist,” he yelled, raking his fingers through his hair.  Pam leaned forward in her seat.

“Joe, what are you feeling right now?” she asked.  He looked at her, the tears falling more rapidly now.

“I’m angry!” he exclaimed.  She shook her head and stood up, moving to stand beside him.

“I don’t think that’s it,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.  He shrugged her off and let his fist collide with the wall.

“Yes it is!  Boys don’t cry!  Boys don’t get sad!  Boys don’t feel lonely!  They get angry and that’s it!” he yelled, sobbing now.  Pam put her hands on his shoulders, and made him look at her.

“Who told you that?” she asked.  He shook his head, pulling away from her and sitting down again.

“Nobody.” Pam sat down on the corner of her desk.

“Nobody?  You came up with the idea that boys don’t cry all by yourself?” He nodded.  “Then why are you crying?” she asked.  He looked up at her with a tear stained face, then back down again as he cried.

“I just miss her,” he said finally, putting his face in his hands.  Pam sighed, going to his side and putting her hand on his shoulder.

“I know you do hon.” She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Late that night Joe sat in the doorway to Broch’s stall, a pen and notebook in his lap.  He tapped the pen against the paper, trying to think of something to say.

“You’re here late,” a voice said.  Joe turned quickly, giving a sigh of relief when he saw Craig.

“Yeah, I needed to think,” he said.  Craig motioned to the paper.

“What’re you writing?” he asked.

“Trying to write a letter,” Joe replied, glancing at Broch.  The big horse was standing at his water bucket, a few feet away.

“To who?”

“My Grandmother,” he replied.  Craig leaned his shoulder against the wall outside the stall.  He was silent for several moments, watching as Broch returned to the far corner of his stall.

“You don’t talk too much about your family,” he observed.  Joe stopped tapping his pen and looked at Broch.

“Not much to say,” he replied after several long moments of silence.

“Is it just you and your grandmother or…” Joe cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk about my family,” he said.

“That’s cool.  I didn’t want to talk about mine too much when I got here either.  You have to eventually,” Craig added.  Joe looked up at him.

“Eventually’s different from today,” he said.

“Why are you having trouble writing your letter?” Craig asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Just don’t know what to say,” Joe said.

“Just tell her about riding, and that you’re doing a good job with the program.  Tell her you miss her.”

“Yeah,” he muttered.  Craig watched him for a moment and then pushed off the wall.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, walking away.  Joe nodded, closing the notebook and looking at Broch.

“It’s better if I don’t write,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the wall.  Broch tossed his head and snorted.  “Trust me on this one.  She’d be better off if she never heard from me again,” he said.

Several more weeks passed, and it was soon the beginning of August.  It was a hot summer with little rain, making everyone cranky.  The horses seemed especially restless.  Joe walked down the aisle in the barn late one afternoon, taking a moment to get a drink and rest before heading back to the loft.  They were bringing in a big crop of hay, and it had already been a long and brutal day.

“You doing OK Joe?” Mark asked.  He nodded and climbed back up into the loft to stack hay.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I just had some water,” he replied, lifting a bale of hay and putting it neatly on top of another.  Craig was in the loft too, tossing bales in his direction from the edge.

“We’re almost done for the day guys!” someone called up.  Joe and Craig exchanged a glance and smiled.

“It’s about time,” Craig said.  They stacked hay for several more minutes and then heard the call to come down.  “Are you riding tonight?”

“Yeah.  I have an English lesson with Beth in about two hours,” Joe answered.  Craig nodded.

“You’ve been really getting into that.”

“Yup.  After the first three weeks it stops hurting like that first time… we’re working toward jumping now.  Beth thinks I’ll be ready by fall.”

“We go on our big cattle drive soon, to get the rest of the herd down from the high pasture.”

“Rest of the herd?” Joe asked.  They stopped by the water cooler and each got a cup of water.

“Yeah.  There’s about 200 head up in the pasture… grazing and all that.  People take turns all year bringing supplies up and checking on them.  We need to bring them down early in the fall so they don’t get snowed in.”

“Why would they get snowed in in early fall?” Joe questioned, following Craig outside.  The older boy stopped to lean against the wall.

“It starts snowing early up in the mountains… and starts snowing down here not too long after that.  We get snow usually in early October, if we’re lucky it holds off to the beginning of November.” Joe frowned.

“That sucks,” he said.  Craig laughed.
“It’s pretty rough in the winter here.  Cold, windy… miserable.  We make the best of it and try to have fun while we’re keeping the farm running.  You’ll get used to it mighty quick.”

“When do we go get the rest of the herd?”

“Usually the first week in September.  Karen and Mark like to get it out of the way before there’s any danger of snow.”

“Makes sense,” Joe replied.

“Joe!” a voice called.  Both boys turned, each smiling when they saw Pam.

“Hey Pam, what’s going on?” they asked in one voice.  She looked at Joe seriously.

“I need you to come to my office with me Joe,” she said.  His smile faded.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked.  She smiled a little.

“No, I promise it’s nothing like that.  Come on, let’s go,” she said.  He shot a glance at Craig and then followed her to her office.  When they were inside she closed the door and sat down on the corner of her desk.

“So what’s going on?” he asked.  She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“We got a phone call a few minutes ago from a hospital in Boston,” she began.  Joe immediately sat up straighter, looking at her with big eyes.

“Is my grandmother ok?” he demanded.

“She had a heart attack… a serious one.  She’s in serious condition right now,” Pam said honestly.  He stood up, starting for the door.

“How do I get home?” he demanded.  She stood and put her hand on his shoulder

“You don’t Joe.  The judge won’t authorize a trip home this early in your time here.  He says that the potential for recidivism is too great.  He will let you go in the event that her condition becomes critical.” Joe’s eyes hardened.

“So he’ll let me go home if she’s going to fucking die?” he demanded.

“That’s not what I’m saying Joe,” she said.

“You didn’t need to fucking say it!  Can she talk on the phone or anything?”

“No, she’s very weak and has been in and out of consciousness.  The doctors are doing all they can, and I’ve requested that they keep us updated on her condition.” Joe raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What good will that do?  I’m just supposed to sit here and wait around for them to tell us she’s going to die and then go home?  What if she dies before I see her and can talk to her?  She’ll never know…” he trailed off, letting his palm collide with the bookcase.

“She’ll never know what?” Pam asked.  He looked at her, his eyes full of anger and fear.

“She’ll never know that I love her, and that I’m sorry.  I have to tell her that,” he said frantically.  Pam put her hands on his shoulders.

“Joe, she knows that you love her… and she knows you’re sorry.  You need to focus on continuing in the program right now.  I promise we’ll get you home in time if it becomes necessary.”

“In time?  Becomes necessary?  That’s bullshit,” he muttered, pulling away and stalking out of the office.  Craig was waiting for him outside.

“What’s going on?” he asked.  Joe didn’t look at him and kept walking.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.  Craig stopped walking and watched his friend go, wondering what had happened.  Pam stepped out of the office a moment later.

“Is he OK?” he asked her.  She shook her head slowly.

“Not really.  His Grandmother is ill… and his case judge won’t let him go home unless her condition becomes critical.” Craig sighed.

“That’s such crap,” he muttered.  Pam nodded.

“Yeah it is,” she agreed, turning and going back into her office.  Craig sighed, watching Joe as his form disappeared into his bunkhouse.  After a moment, an idea began to form.  With a smile, Craig jogged off toward the main office.

Late that night Joe was awakened by someone shaking his shoulder.

“What the fuck is…” he began.

“Shh!” a voice said.  Joe let his eyes adjust to the darkness and frowned when he saw Craig.

“Listen man, I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.  Go away, I’m trying to sleep,” he said.  Craig shook his head.

“No you’re not.  Get dressed and come with me,” he ordered.

“What’re you talking about?” Joe demanded.

“You’ll see.  Just be quiet, get dressed, and meet me down on the porch,” he said, disappearing.  Joe laid in bed silently for a few moments before getting up and pulling on his jeans and boots.  He went down to the porch and looked at Craig.

“What’s the big deal?” he demanded.  Craig reached into his pocket and then held out a key ring.

“This is the big deal,” he replied with a grin.  Joe frowned.

“What’re those?”

“Keys to one of the staff trucks.  I went on line and found a flight that goes to Boston tomorrow morning at 5am.  I can take you to the airport tonight, and you can fly out tomorrow morning.  By the time they realize you’re gone, it’ll be too late.  You can go see your Grandmother.” Joe’s heart skipped in his chest, and then dropped.

“I can’t pay for a ticket… I don’t have any money.”

“I do.  I can loan it to you,” Craig said, holding out a thick rolled up pile of money.  Joe looked at it in disbelief.

“I can’t take this.  How will I pay you back?”

“We’ll figure it out.  This is important to you, right?” Joe didn’t answer right away.

“Yeah, real important,” he said finally.

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.  We don’t have much time.” They hurried down the path and went to one of the trucks.  They got in and started it, and Joe silently thanked God it ran quiet.  Craig backed up slowly.

“Turn on the lights man,” Joe muttered.

“Not till we’re off the property,” Craig said.  They crept down the driveway, each of them glancing over their shoulders.  Both fully expected to see lights go on in the main bunkhouse, but none did.  When they reached the end of the long driveway Craig flipped the lights on and shot a smile Joe’s way.  “Let’s go!” he exclaimed.  The two sped off into the night.

The plane touched down in Boston at almost one the next afternoon.  Joe got off the plane and moved quickly from the airport.  He caught a cab and said, “Saint John’s Hospital.” The driver drove quickly, and Joe paid the cab fare.  He looked up at the hospital and went inside.

“I’m looking for Rose Lambert,” he said when he reached the front desk.

“Are you family?” the woman there asked.

“Yes, I’m her grandson,” he replied.  She nodded, typing something into her computer.  She looked up and smiled.

“She’s on the sixth floor in room 620.” He jogged toward the elevators and pushed the number six, waiting impatiently as the elevator crept upwards.  When it reached the sixth floor he hurried out and down the hallway, looking for room 620.  He found it and walked inside, sighing with relief when he saw his grandmother.  She was asleep, but looked to be ok other than the few wires and tubes she was attached too.  A heart monitor was beeping beside her bed.  He sat down next to the bed, reaching out and taking her hand.  Her eyes fluttered open and a smile touched her lips.

“My Joe,” she said softly.  He smiled.

“Hey Gram,” he said.

“What’re you doing here Joey?  You’re supposed to be in Utah at that ranch,” she muttered.  He squeezed her hand gently.

“It’s OK.  I came to see you when I heard you were sick.  I’ll go back, I just wanted to see you,” he said.  She nodded, closing her eyes.  “Gram?” he asked.  Her eyes came open again and he said, “I’m really sorry.  I wanted to write… I just didn’t know what to say.  I love you though,” he said.  She nodded, smiling again.

“I know that sweetheart.  I love you too.  You’re a good boy,” she said.  Her eyes closed again as she drifted off to sleep.  Joe let out the breath he’d been holding, just as he felt a hand come over his shoulder.  He looked up, frowning at what he saw.  A uniformed police officer was there, looking down at him seriously.

“Are you Joseph Lambert?” he asked.

“Yeah.  What the fuck do you want?” he muttered.

“You need to come with us son.  You’ve violated the conditions of your sentence and a warrant has been issued for your arrest.  Please come with us.” Joe shrugged his hand off.

“I need to stay here.  My grandmother is sick… don’t any of you get that?” he demanded.  The officer moved to his side.

“I’m giving you one more chance to come quietly, and then I’ll take you out of here by force if I have to.  Take your pick.” Joe sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.  He stood up slowly, bending down to kiss his grandmother’s forehead.

“I love you Gram,” he said.  He turned to look at the officer and said, “Let’s get this over with.” The officer took his handcuffs out of their pouch and Joe shook his head.  “Could you please wait until we’re in the hallway?  I don’t want her to wake up and see me getting arrested.  She doesn’t need that.” When he saw the officer hesitate he added, “I promise I won’t run away or anything ok?” The man nodded and they walked into the hallway.  Joe stopped and turned around, putting his hands behind his back.

“I’ll be sure to tell the judge how cooperative you were,” the officer said as he put the handcuffs on.  Joe nodded.

“Thanks a lot,” he said, walking down the hall with his head hanging.

Susan Cross met Joe at the police station.  She looked at him seriously, then shook her head.

“Joe what were you thinking?  Do you know how much trouble you’re in?” she demanded.  He nodded.

“Had to see Gram,” he replied.

“You would’ve been able to come home had things gotten worse!  I don’t understand why you would put all your good work in jeopardy to run away like this.” He looked up at her, shaking his head.

“Of course you don’t understand!  Nobody fucking understands me.  I had to see her in case she died… in case it was too late.  I couldn’t wait for her to die or for her to be too sick to know I was here.” She sighed softly.

“I know you love her Joe, but the judge is not going to look upon this favorably.  He could choose to send you to juvenile detention rather than back to Utah.” He looked at her, shaking his head.

“He can’t do that!  I wasn’t ditching Ridgeport… I’ve been doing good there!  All he has to do is ask the counselors.  They’ll tell him that I’ve been working hard… that the only reason I came home was to see her.”

“It might not be that simple Joe.  Running off like that shows that you haven’t learned to make better decisions yet.” Joe slammed his hands down on the table.

“It’s not about that!  I came home for her Damnit!” he yelled.  An officer came forward and put a hand on his arm.

“Time to go down and finish processing you.  Your arraignment will be today… judge wants to see you and get this taken care of,” the man said.  Joe glanced at Susan and she nodded.

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised.

Joe was led into the courtroom, and remained standing as the judge came into the courtroom.  He looked at Joe severely.

“Mr. Lambert, I didn’t intend upon seeing you for quite some time,” he began.  Joe nodded.

“Yes sir, I know,” he replied.

“Your honor, my client had extenuating circumstances.  His intention was not to abandon the Ridgeport program, but to see his sick and potentially dying grandmother,” Susan said.  The judge nodded slowly.

“I’m aware of his grandmother’s condition Ms. Cross.  I’m fairly sure that the counselors at Ridgeport were told to tell Mr. Lambert that he would be allowed to come back to Boston in the event that her condition worsened.  As of last night and this afternoon she was stable, was she not?”

“Yes your honor, but…” The judge held up his hand.

“Was anyone from Ridgeport able to make the trip here?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” a voice said.  Joe turned, surprised when he saw Mark step forward.  The man looked exhausted, but he smiled at Joe.

“State your name for the record,” the judge instructed.

“My name is Mark Willis, and I’m the assistant director of the Ridgeport program.  I’m also Joe’s group therapist,” he said.

“What do you have to add to this case?”

“I’d be lying if I told you that we weren’t all upset with Joe… it was dangerous for him to take off in the middle of the night and fly all the way here by himself.  We’re disappointed that he couldn’t trust us when we said things would hold for a time, and that we’d get him here as soon as it was necessary.  I’d also be lying if I told you I didn’t understand why Joe left.  Much of Joe’s therapy has dealt with trying to help him get in touch with his real feelings, and express them.  Mrs. Lambert is the only positive person in his life, the only family he has, and when he found out about her heart attack he was inconsolable.  He recognized that this situation could go bad at any moment, and he was scared he would be too late to tell her how he felt about her.  Not only did he successfully identify and express his feelings about this, but he took a large step forward by deeply trusting one of the other boys in the program.  While we would’ve liked trust to manifest itself in a way that did