Chapter 2: Riding Lessons

Welcome to Michaela Mae's Audiobook Experience for The Barn off of Colfax Lane: an unfiltered memoir about sexual assault and the mixed feelings that come with it. 

In this book Michaela tells her story of the childhood sexual abuse she experienced when she was 12-years-old while taking horse back riding lessons from a horse trainer in Oregon.

BOOK SUMMARY:

I was 12 years old the first time my horse trainer grabbed my left boob and asked me if I had ever had sex. I'm not sure what caught me off guard the most: his question or the fact a 79-year-old man had his hand firmly cusped around my boob while asking me, a 12-year-old, if I had ever had sex. I've blocked out a lot of that season from my mind, but that first day sticks out clearer than the rest. Is it because of the shock? Is it because I hadn't fully remembered my pro-dissociation skills yet?

I have no f*cking clue, but I do remember the green-striped tank top and the dark navy blue jeans I had on that day. I remember watching his lips ooze as the words, "Have you ever had sex?" spilled out of them. I remember the blank stare in his eyes, the black specks of chew stuck in his teeth, and the way his cheeks met his chin like a pillow shoved under fitted sheets.

My eyes left my left boob, flung around the barn, and up to his face. The light coming in from the barn door behind him lit his back, but darkened his face so his face looked as dark as the blank stare in his eyes. My brain raced for answers that made sense. Hell, it searched for a question that made sense too. "No, of course not. Wait, why is this happening? How do I answer? Do I answer? Am I dreaming?" I couldn't speak, so I looked up at him blankly then he turned and walked away.

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© 2024 MP Media. All rights reserved.

Narrated by Author Michaela Mae.

Keywords: survivor memoir, childhood sexual abuse memoir, childhood sexual abuse, trauma memoir, healing memoir, horse trainer abuse, equestrian community, read by the author, audiobook, Oregon, Michaela Mae

Transcript

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Chapter two Riding Lessons twelve year old Michaela My sister and I arrived in Central Oregon a couple of weeks ago, and to my surprise, I have taken a riding lesson from Todd each morning except for Sundays, and that's only because Todd says it's important we give the horses a break once per week. Dad has prioritized riding lessons each morning this summer, and I even get to return back to the barn each night to complete evening chores. It means the world to me and makes hay season more tolerable, knowing I get to go to the barn in the morning and in the evening. It's a nice bonus I didn't expect. I started taking riding lessons from Todd last winter after Dad put my horse Vegas into training with him. Dad met Todd about 25 years ago when he put his first horse into training with him and has kept a horse in training with him almost every year until Todd stopped training horses to care for his wife after she fell ill. After Todd's wife passed, my dad stopped by to lend his condolences and asked Todd if he planned on training horses again. To my dad's surprise, he said yes. Dad called me after his visit with Todd to share that he had found a place for Vegas to go into training and for me to take lessons. Dad felt so excited to share the news with me, but I had a few concerns because I had grown skeptical of horse trainers after we sent our horse Rose into training a few years ago, and it did not go well. At all. Before she went into training, she had soft eyes, would follow me around the fields, rub her nose against my hand, and let me walk up and pet her whenever I wanted. When she returned from training, she would run away whenever she saw a human, including me. I couldn't pet her without her body going tense, and she quit rubbing her nose against my hand with ter and terror became a permanent residence in her eyes. And the best part? We couldn't even ride her after she got home from quote unquote training. She bucked harder than any horse I had ever seen, and even though I was younger, I knew all of her fear was man-made. I promised myself I would train Vegas because I never wanted to let one of our horses get hurt by a trainer ever again. I reminded Dad of Rose on the phone, and Dad assured me Todd was different. He listed all the names of the horses Todd had trained for him over the years. All of them were great, and most of them were even what my favorite horses of ours to ride. I didn't realize Todd had trained each of those horses over the years because he had trained most of them before I was born. I felt better about sending Vegas to training after Dad and I talked, but I didn't care as much about the riding lessons as I did about the fact that I would finally be able to ride Vegas. My horse Lucky died two years ago, spelled with an E Y instead of just a Y because I was extra lucky to have him. I was eight, don't judge. And Dad bought Vegas for me after we lost Lucky. Vegas was too young to start riding when we bought him, so I waited two years for him to get old enough to start training. I knew I needed to improve my skills and started taking riding lessons again, but lessons still weren't nearly as exciting as almost being able to ride my dream horse. Dad dropped Vegas off at Todd's for training in December, and a few weeks later I went to Central Oregon for my first lesson with Todd. For a while, he only had Vegas in training, and then after a few weeks went by, Todd's barn started getting fuller and fuller. When the horse community got word that Todd started training again, his phone didn't stop ringing. Last I counted, he had seven horses in training total. Overall, I enjoy learning from Todd. He moves more my pace, he goes slow, he's attentive to detail, and puts thought into everything he does. He has a reason for doing everything, and I love the art of how he trains horses. But he also frustrated me beyond words when I started taking riding lessons from him last winter. He always felt cold and distant and acted as if I didn't and acted as if it didn't matter if I was there or not. Regardless of what I did or how hard I tried, I never did anything up to his standards, especially stall cleaning. And quite honestly, it felt like he just didn't like me, and I couldn't figure out why. And believe me, I pondered every reason I could think of to figure out why he didn't like me. I even talked to my dad about it once, and he told me to be patient and explained that he had just lost his wife of fifty plus years, which is hard to understand unless we've gone through it too. It sounds heartless, but I felt that was not his issue at all. I had never lost a spouse though, so I just kept doing what I could do to make him like me, or at the very least, get him to acknowledge that I existed and wasn't just some annoying fly hanging around by the arena gate. However, he at least acknowledged the flies. When I opened the arena gates for him when I first started lessons, he wouldn't even look at me or say thank you for opening the gate. I didn't open the gate to receive a thank you, but it would have been nice to hear anyway. Todd mentioned to my dad one day that I just didn't seem interested, so my dad suggested that I try harder when I was at the barn. I wasn't sure what else I could do because I felt like I was doing my best, but as I learned from volleyball, I knew I could always do better. I started asking him more questions, I started asking more thoughtful questions, I did what needed to be done before he asked me to do it, and I kept trying to make my stall cleaning job even more perfect than Todd demanded. His attention to detail and stall cleanliness reminds me of a military dad I once saw on an episode of Wife Swap. The wife would finish cleaning and the husband would take his white glove and rub it along the mantle to see how clean she got it. A speck of brown on a pure white glove, well yeah better dust again, lady. And I had to redust a lot. After cleaning a stall, I would exit and think, I know I got it this time. That stall is spotless. And without fail, he would walk by afterward, inspect it, and then come tell me I needed to go back into the stall and re-clean it once more. One day he called me back into a stall three times before I cleaned the stall properly, and the most maddening part of the whole thing, he wouldn't tell me why or how I had cleaned it improperly, so I had to figure it all out on my own. I don't mind high standards, but I do appreciate knowing how to meet those standards. So I don't feel like I'm walking through one of those Halloween hay mazes with absolutely no light. Hey, I think I just found a turn. Nope, it's just another dead end. I didn't know how to handle the situation, and when I'm not sure what to do, I tend to have three voices arguing in my head. When I hear the voices argue, it reminds me of a scene from The Emperor's New Groove when Kronk has Devil Kronk on one shoulder telling him why he should do the bad thing, Angel Kronk on the other shoulder telling him why he should do the good thing, and real Kronk in the middle turning his head from side to side, trying to decide what he's actually going to do based on who has the best argument. My devil tends to be stubborn and unreasonable, while my angel tends to be grounded, caring, and level-headed. On my best days, or even an okay day, I tend to lean more towards Angel Michaela, but every now and again, devil Michaela makes an appearance. Michaela, to hell with him. Don't you dare clean another one of his stalls. Clean your own stall. Walk away, saying, Bye-bye, dummy. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're right. I won't clean another one of his stalls again. I'll leave out the dummy part though. Michaela. Yes. He's being unreasonable, but calm down and try cleaning the stall again. Each time I had to reclean a stall, I would take a deep breath and decide to keep cleaning and re-cleaning until the stalls met his standards. I started studying the stalls he cleaned, and I finally figured out how to meet his standards. Remove all urine, check. Remove every speck of manure, check. Rake all the sand from the side of the wall so the whole stall is perfectly level without using a leveler. Uncheck. It took me months to figure it out, but I finally got to a point where Todd didn't ask me to go back and reclean a stall. Maybe my improved manure picking skills had something to do with it, and maybe they didn't. But after a few months, I started acknowledg Todd started acknowledging my existence more. I started to enjoy my time at the barn even more. My grandpa on my dad's side died ten years before I was born, and my mom didn't have a relationship with her dad, so I never met my grandpa on either side of my parents' family. For the first time in my life, it felt like I finally had a grandpa, and I love it because not only do I have a grandpa figure in my life now, but I have one who loves horses as much as I do. But the thing I appreciate most about Todd is that he prefers thorough over fast and he never rushes me. It's nice to have someone in my life who doesn't mind my slowness. It's also nice to have a couple hours each day where I don't feel rushed or anxious. My time at the barn with Todd has helped me realize why the kids in my class love hanging out with their grandparents. Yes, grandparents are adults, but they are also more like friends than parents. It's a nice feeling I didn't expect to feel this summer.