*** ******

I wonder what became of *** ******?
(No names. I don’t wanna get sued.)
*** was a tall, thin, tawny girl I lusted after in 11th grade.
*** was Class of “64; I’m ’62.
Which means she hit 70 if still alive. I’m 72.
*** was very much into horseback riding, as was I, since I was a riding instructor at my summer camp.
But I rode western, and she rode English. We had an English saddle I used often, but our horses were neck-reiners = western.
I got fairly good at it. The fact I was a stablehand meant I could ride a lot.
So I hoped we could share experiences, and thus become friends.
Didn’t happen, and I doubt it could have.
English tends to be hoity-toity. Western is perceived as inferior.
*** was also in love with her horse — like going steady.
I don’t remember if she actually owned a horse. It may have been the horse she was assigned, owned by someone else.
I used to drive home from Wilmington passing her house, which was on a residential street in a nearby development. We lived north of Wilmington, DE at that time.
Horses aren’t men. They don’t belch or spit or badmouth your mother. Nor do they guzzle beer while pigging out on wings, watching NASCAR or football. (“That little cheater!”)
She showed up in her riding outfit once. Very pretty in knee-high boots, cropped dark coat, and velvet riding-cap atop her tawny brown hair.
I think I tried to talk to her, but at mention of the word “western” I crashed mightily.