With birds I share this lonely view,

With birds I share this lonely view.

Push me up against the wall,

Young, tough girl in a push-up bra,

I’m fallin’ all over myself to lift your heart and taste your hell ‘cause

With birds I share this lonely view,

With birds I share this lonely view, With birds I share this lonely view.

Blood loss in a bathroom stall,

A southern girl with a scarlet drawl,

I wave goodbye to ma and pa ‘cause with birds I share

With birds I share this lonely view,

With birds I share this lonely view,

Soft-spoken with a broken jaw,

Step outside but it’s not to brawl and,

Autumn’s sweet winds call the fall and I’ll make it to the moon if I have to crawl and

With birds I share this lonely view,

With birds I share this lonely view,

With birds I share this lonely view.

Scar tissue that I wish you saw,

Sarcasm Mr. Know-It-All,

Now close your eyes and I’ll kiss you ‘cause with birds I share

With birds I share this lonely view,

With birds I share this lonely view,

With birds I share this lonely view.

I sit on my bed, my gaze locked on my blank white ceiling, listening to “Scar Tissue” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. As I subliminally absorb every aspect of the piece, I pay attention not to the song in its entirety, but rather only to the lyrics, and completely ignoring its musical components, I come to the realization that the song is more than true. Not only true to my life, yet also to Max’s. After Tess had left yesterday, he exposed his soul to me, more than ever before, and it was like all of the scar tissue that had been slowly healing inside of the both of us was thrust to the surface by the force of our shameless tears. It was everything that he had wanted me to see, but had felt too betrayed to express. His anger, his hurt, his pain, his suffering and even his pure and untainted love for me, which shouldn’t have been there, poured out of open wounds and into the steamy desert night as we held on to each other as if our entire existence depended on it under the scintillating velvet sky. I realized at that moment that he was alone in his thoughts and feelings of despair, that I should have fixed long before the wounds had closed, unhealed, leaving almost permanent scars. I found though, with the truth and maybe time, the scars might disappear. I couldn’t speak while being enveloped by the thick silence that hung in the heavy, hot air, and therefore all I did for three hours after we discussed the truth amidst the almost irreversible entanglement of deceptions and lies, was cry. Yet as I wept into Max’s strong shoulder and he into my hair, all of the shame and devastation in both of our hearts was lifted, spilling out onto the hard-packed sand of the desert and seeping into it’s cracks and crevasses, never to be touched by another living soul. As we cried together, we became one person again, a connection without touch, a love stronger than any covalent or ionic bond and a sense of pure, sweet euphrasy, something that neither of us had felt for what seemed to be an eternity. The best thing about the re-binding hours we spent in the desolate tract blanked by trillions of stars, most of which have ceased to exist billions of years ago, was not that I was finally able to disclose the entire truth to him, but him telling me that he forgave me for everything that happened and that he was sorry for Tess, and telling me that I did the right thing to protect humanity. However, over all of these, he told me that he still loves me more than anything that has ever or will ever live; anywhere; and that the whole fiasco didn’t work; because he never stopped loving me with all of his heart, mind and soul.

I shove myself into sitting position and then to my feet. Though our feelings for each other are plainly set on the table, it doesn’t mean that everything is resolved. He and I are standing on a threshold above an active volcano, one side taking us back to the bottom, the lee of it, no harm done, yet no passion rekindled. The other is a treacherous bridge across the enormous and hungry mouth of the lava-spewing giant, though it does possess a path to pure and eternal love, it also poses grave and massive danger in passing. Is that a chance I’m willing to take again? I think. Yes. There isn’t a doubt in my mind. I know how he feels about me, and visa-versa, but am I ready for this relationship again? To take it to the next level, to never, EVER, let go of it? Yes, Yes and YES! I scream at myself silently. I can’t deal with this anymore so I pull off my Joe Boxer night pants and my matching tank top and toss them in my hamper. I walk quickly over to my dresser and take a pair of tattered, but cute and comfortable blue jeans, meant only for the barn, and a dark blue long-sleeved, hooded shirt out and pull them on, along with a plain pair of cotton socks and my well-worn, short, brown riding boots. I get up, and, taking my favorite brush off the top of the same dresser, yank it through my frazzled hair and quickly pull it into a French braid. I grab the keys to my brand-new hunter green BMW-Z3, my cell phone and burst out of my room.

“MOM, DAD, I’M GOING OUT, I WON’T BE BACK UNTIL REALLY LATE, SO DON’T WAIT UP!” I holler, as I rush down the hallway that connects to the kitchen. “Whoa, Whoa, Whoa. Hold on. Where are you going, who are you going to be with and it’s already 9:30, therefore late, so why are you going to be out for such a long time that you don’t expect us to want to be awake by the time you return home?” My dad asks, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“I’m going alone to Greckmere (*) to see my horses and I’m going to take each of them out into the desert like I always do on clear nights, so that’s why I’m not going to be back until late.” I respond, slightly irritated.

“Alright, I haven’t any problem with that, but don’t you normally bring Maria or Max or Isabel with you?” My father questions, within his reasonable rights as a parent.

“I just need some time to think about everything that’s been going on in my life lately. Unaccompanied.” I answer, extremely impatient by this point, but doing my best not to show it.

“That’s fine, Mija. Buenas Norches.” He says, slipping in between English and Spanish, as he often does.

“Adios. Yo tiquerro tu,” I respond, my accent thick and full.

I kiss him on his cheek and walk evenly through the kitchen to the stairs that leads to the break area of the Crash Down. I run quickly down them and into the family owned restaurant. The lights are dim and the Café possesses an eerie quiet that it always does after closing. I head into the kitchen and take a ten-pound bag of carrots out of the industrial sized refrigerator, and then depart into the overly dry evening air. Once in my car, the top down and the radio on, though nothing in particular is playing, I begin to drive out of the center of Roswell, gaining speed as I do so. About ten minutes into my thirteen-minute drive to my stables, “Hemorrhage” by Fuel begins to float out of my stereo system. I turn it up until I can’t hear anything but the song and start to scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs, attempting to rid myself of all of my anger.

Don’t fall away

And leave me to myself.

Don’t fall away

And leave love bleeding in my hands

In my hands again

Leave love bleeding in my hands

In my hands

Love lies bleeding

And it works marvelously. As I pull into the newly paved parking lot of my farm, I feel completely rejuvenated and happy. My frustration and stress has reached a minimum and my usual upbeat disposition has returned; for now that is. I grab the carrots and my phone off the passenger seat and head into Desert’s Ridge Riding Academy, otherwise known as “The Ridge”. It is a massive structure decked out in the colors of natural maple wood and a red trim. It is a brand new facility, housing seventy-five horses with paddock capacity of one hundred, and eighty acres of grasslands for shows. It consists of three adjacent isles; one for borders on grooming board (**), one for people whose horse or horses are on standard board (***) and one for horses used in the riding school. Connected to each of these three sections are three separate 200x400 foot indoor arenas. The stable in it’s entirety is both heated and air conditioned and fully equip with a carpeted lounge area, leather sofas and a huge entertainment system with 400 channels. The stalls themselves are 24x24 and also made out of the finest maple wood. Their doors are intricately hand painted with a thin vine of the most exquisite violet flower and the horses’ show names (****) sit in the center of these magnificent doorways engraved into plated gold. The bars are made of a titanium alloy and the floors of the isles are covered in an orthopedic rubber mat, so the horses don’t have to stand on tar.

As I head for the Grooming Board isle, I note that I am the only one here. I would much rather have my horses on Standard Board, but I don’t have the time to ride and take them everyday so I have to keep them on grooming board. I like to come at this time of night though, because my grooms aren’t around and I can take care of my horses by myself. I smile as I see my four babies, as I so fondly refer to them, poke their elegant heads out of their stall doors and turn towards the sound of my footsteps. I lovingly acknowledge each of them by name, pet their faces and give them a carrot, as I pass by their stalls on my way to get their saddles and bridles.

“Hi Rose, how’s mommy’s favorite girl? Hey Moonie, I missed you babe! Rainy, my handsome pony. And last but most certainly not least,” I say as I plant a kiss on the massive bay animals nose, “My sweet, sweet boy, that’s what you are, huh Ty?”

I enter my private tack room and remove four brand new bridles and four custom English saddles (*****) with their girths from their racks, as well as sixteen polo wraps (******) and eight bell boots (*******). I place them on a cart with two saddle caddies, a basket for boots, four bridle hooks, and a flat bed for my saddle and back pads. I also grab my black chaps, helmet and gloves along with four plaid saddle pads and four gel cushions to support the saddle. I wheel the cart to each of my horses stalls, leaving the appropriate saddle, bridle, pads and boots on or in their holders. After distributing my tack properly and putting my helmet, chaps and gloves on, I take Rose out of her stall and tack her up (********). Just as I finish buckling her bridle, I hear soft footsteps behind me. I turn around, Rose in hand, to see who is here at this time of night other than me.

“Liz? Is that you?” The voice, which I immediately recognize as Max’s, calls from just beyond my line of vision.

As he turns the corner, I frown slightly because I had hoped that I would have been alone this evening.

“Hi,” I breathe as he stalks casually up to me, petting each of my horses’ noses as he does so. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?” I question as he stops in front of me, placing his right hand on Rose’s neck.

“I needed to talk to you, so I tried calling your house, but your dad said that you had gone out riding and for me to hurry up and get over here because he was worried about you.” Max finishes in one long breath.

“Well, I’m fine, I just need some time alone, that’s all,” I respond, sounding a bit more snide than expected, though Max doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, okay,” he says, offering me a slightly embarrassed and weak smile. “I’ll just get going then.”

“No! I mean, no, don’t go, I have to ride all of these horses and I’m kind of tired, so I’d love your help. That is, if you don’t mind,” I recover quickly.

“Sure, are my boots, chaps and helmet still in your tack room?” He asks, as he begins to head in that direction.

“Yep, in my maple cabinet with my initials on it.” He disappears into the room, and emerges a few seconds later, all ready to ride.

“Um, why don’t you take Moonie, no, Ty. Take Ty.” I insist as I pull Rose’s halter over her bridle and hook her back up to the crossties so I can help him.

Max leads Ty, a big 18 hand (*********) bay horse with long, muscular legs and a well rounded torso, out of his stall and clips his halter to another set of crossties using the square pieces on the either side of the nose band. I wander over to him and grab his saddle pad and gel cushion, placing them over his withers (**********) and the first half of his back. Working as a perfect duo as we always have, Max situates the saddle on top of the pads and synchs up the sheepskin sheathed leather girth. As Max coaxes the bit into Ty’s resisting mouth, I finish wrapping his legs and pulling on his bell boots. I begin to rise to standing position as Max turns around to check the girth one last time before leaving the stable area. We smile lovingly at each other and I hold his intense gaze for a few precious moments, though I pull away so we can depart for the desert.

I remove Rose from the crossties and replace her halter on it’s hook, then, with out words, motion to Max to leave the barn. We hand walk our horses through a semi-maze of isles, finally leading to a set of electronic doors labeled “Desert’s passage”. I punch in a five number code and the electronic portal slides open quickly and we step into the cool night air of the void flatlands. The doors shut behind us with the readiness that they had opened leaving him and me alone under the constellations.

“Do you need any help mounting?” He offers, glancing in my direction.

“Nope, I think I’m set, thanks,” I respond, swinging myself into my saddle in one fluid motion.