"...and if you are just now leaving the office, I just want to say that you are a huge LOSER..."
"...that's right Flay, and from everybody here at WMAK, the mackin' radio station of the Queen City, we just want to wish you a happy weekend! Flay, did I tell you about the chick I'm taking out to the party over at Liquid Lounge tomorrow?"
"...no, Rog, you did not! Does she have big tits?"
"...huge! To all our listeners, if you do not yet have your tickets to the Midnight madness at the Liquid Lounge, well you are a...."
"LOSER!" The two DJ's laughed hysterically, and then began plugging the show at the Lounge again, trying to prevent total loserdom amongst the listening public as her finger reached for the controls.
The radio station changed without the static she had grown up with, the car's radio smoothly transitioning to the afternoon news & talk show that was her second option. Oh great, more call in debate about social security, just what she wanted to hear right now. NOT! So, change again and bring on the easy listening. Mariah Carey. Holy hell, was the world against her?
Taking a deep breath, she looked through the tinted glass out at the world slowly passing by as they crawled underneath the South Boulevard bridge, and traffic opened up a bit. Now they were going a whopping 45 miles per hour, as opposed to the 25 they had been doing. Time for glee, she told herself.
She had not lived in Charlotte in the time before I-485, had not lived through the political battles, the law suits, and the public policy drama that had given birth to one of the largest road construction projects in the south east. And so it made absolutely no sense to her why they had built this thing with only two lanes in each direction at most points. That was just ludicrous!
Taking a deep sigh, she settled back into her seat, closed her eyes, opened them again, and then tapped the screen that faced her in the center console. The GPS came to life, and the extra $20 a month she paid for the traffic subscription paid off, telling her that if she could just hold out until the next exit, she would have clear sailing to her destination up the back way. Hallelujah!
The sun was starting to fade in the distance, another spring day coming to a close as she rolled down the gravel road that connected the horse farm to the outside world. It was an odd place to find such a thing, a strange place for almost five hundred acres of land to just be sitting, bordered by the interstate on one side, and neighborhoods on three others. But, she smiled to herself, the family had managed to defend themselves against all imminent domain claims, and now "Last Corral" was an integral part of this end of Charlotte, with all the kids that rode and other events designed to insert itself into the growing community, and make itself indispensable to those that were trying to give their children well rounded experiences early on.
The parking lot was surprisingly empty, but it was a Friday, not normally much of an active day, especially not this late. Most of the younger riders would be relating tales of the horses over dinner right now, and the older crowd used these days to enjoy the ever-expanding array of recreational opportunities available in the city. It was why she came here on these days. Solitude.
Parking the Mercedes, she climbed out and stretched, smelling the hay and the feed, the freshly cut grass. The ranch house sat off to the side, somewhat concealed behind the remaining trees, with the row of barns behind the fence, neatly aligned and freshly painted, the sound of horses coming from inside.
If you spend all day cooped up in an office, in a tower that is surrounded by more towers, talking to people about their real and supposed problems, life can be a bit...well...boring to the point of tears, and frustrating to the point of screaming. If her patients just listened to her, their lives would be much improved. And if the man you had been dating until recently suddenly tells you that what you really need is "some counseling of your own, best provided in a institutional setting," then that relationship joins a long list of others on the junk pile, and you can just move on and realize that you will be spending this Friday night alone. Again. Fuck him, anyway.
With a deep sigh, she walked down the gravel walkway towards the barn, stepping into the twilight that was the home of her best friend, already hearing the horse nicker and blow in her stall, her white flecks shinning in the semi darkness.
Her name was "Himmel," which was apparently German for heaven. The horse patiently waited for her to get close, and let her rub her face and snout, eating the sugar cubes from her hand. As always, the horse did not ask why she was late, did not care that her hair was not holding the shape she had wanted it to, did not care about the run in her panty hose, or the fact that she had once again managed to wash her cell phone with the laundry yesterday.
Himmel could care less that some kid had thrown a fit in the waiting room today, and peed all over the place, and always silently agreed that Roger was a gigantic butt hole, even going so far as to agree through vigorous head shaking every now and then. But one could never really tell if that was truly related to what the rider was saying, or if she just did that out of the volition of her own pear sized brain.
"She's been waiting on you." The voice came from the other end of the barn, and she had to shield her eyes against the remaining sun that formed the backdrop to the well-muscled form coming towards her. It wasn't until he got close that she recognized David, the self appointed "ranch hand" and nephew to the couple that owned the horse farm.
As per usual, he was dressed in heavy work boots, dirty blue jeans that hung precariously low on his hips, yet did not show any underwear (she often wondered if he owned any), the massive stainless steel watch on his left arm, and a white baseball cap turned backwards. Shirts seemed to be something else that only rarely made an appearance on his well-muscled body, not that there were many women around here complaining about that, his abs were the definition of six-pack.
Which was where her eyes hung for a second, a second longer than they should have, allowing a soft sigh to pass her lips. He had boulders for shoulders, massive blocks of muscle from moving the bales of hay and feed around, popping tendons and ripples of muscle that led down into powerful arms and large hands, matched by a well developed chest, and ripped abs that she really liked looking at for some reason. He was tall, a swimmers build, which was apparently what he had done in high school. She didn't know much else about him, except that he had shown up a couple of months ago, and she was silently thankful for it. The old couple that owned the farm was in need of a helping hand, and he had brought two of them, making the place a much more efficient and enjoyable experience for all involved.
"Traffic is a killer."
"You should leave the office earlier. Don't you work down by the hospital?" He was standing next to her now, reaching up and scratching Himmel between the ears. The horse ignored him at first, then brought its head over his shoulder, and seemed to almost sigh. Maybe even the mare was attracted to this fine specimen of a man.
"Yeah, I work in one of the towers right next to it. Well..."
"You work with crazy people? Or is that just a rumor?"
"What?" She stopped, looking over at the man with as fierce as gaze as she could muster. She hated it when people referred to her clients as crazy.
"You're a shrink, right?"
