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I didn’t answer him. I turned away not wanting to look at him. I didn't want to have this conversation. Trey pressed on.
“I've heard you shout out things when you were dreaming in the hospital too! You were trying to get out of bed. I had to restrain you. You said you wanted to slap her and call her a whore. You mentioned Daniel. Did Daniel hurt you in some way?”
His eyes were searching mine for an answer. I was afraid to trust him with this secret. I didn't want to believe it was true.
“Daniel was my high school boyfriend. I told you about him already,” I explained, not daring to look Trey in the eye. “I guess I must've dreamed about my prom while I was in the hospital. Daniel and I were going to make love for the first time after prom but it never happened.”
“Why didn’t it happen, Tylar?”
“I’m not sure,” I mumbled, “probably because I got drunk and then sick.”
“Is that all that happened?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Your nightmares seem to be focused around your mother,” he commented. “Are you sure that there isn’t more you’re not telling me?”
His questions were starting to make me feel defensive. “What if it is my mother in those dreams, those nightmares? What does that prove? It doesn’t prove that I was sexually molested or raped, or that I’m frigid!”
I was yelling by this time.
“Who saidanythingabout you being frigid?” he asked, his eyes flashing. “Is that what frightens you Tylar? Because I can tell you this, you don’t have one frigid bone in your beautiful body. No, there's something else you’re not telling me. Why won’t you trust me?” he pleaded.
“There's nothing to tell!” I screamed. “I have a shitty mother, so what? A lot of kids grow up with shitty mothers and absent fathers. I guess we can’t all be brought up with perfect parents, perfect educations, and perfect lives, Trey! Some of us simply do the best we can with the cards we're dealt!”
“Don’t go there with me Tylar,” he warned his voice sharp. “Don’t you turn this around as if I'm flaunting my upbringing in your face! Don't presume the last 30 years of my life haven't had their share of disappointments and heart-break either."
“Maybe that’s it, Trey,” I replied. “Maybe both of us are presuming too much about the other. You're right; I shouldn't presume that your life's been free of heartache. I want to know what your life has been like. You want to know everything about me yet you share nothing about yourself. Why?"
“Tylar,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair, “you’ve never asked me about any of that. But yes, I'll tell you whatever you want to know when the conversation is about me; right now it's aboutyou. I want to know what's happened that makes you have these nightmares."
I realized that Trey was sincere. Without saying as much, he knew that I was troubled. And maybe in some way, he felt that he was messed up too.
“Trey, I can’t explain the nightmares because when I dream I'm not sure what is reality and what is fantasy—or at the very least, symbolism. I can tell you that if anyone has the answers, it’s my mom.”
“Good,” he answered, “then that's where we will go. We will find your mother so that we can get some answers.”
“I’m afraid to have you meet my mother,” I said hesitantly.
“Why?” he asked softly, reaching for my hand. I hesitated. He was waiting for an answer.
“Because—” I said, burying my head into his clean linen shirt, smelling his smell. “Because if it turns out my dreams are based on reality and not fantasy, she's a fucking monster.”
The tears and sobs let loose, and he held me and stroked my hair, softly whispering and soothing me. He told me that everything would be fine. He asked me to trust him. Trust had never come easy for me.
Trey did his best to change the mood after our discussion. He wiped my tears and kissed my face countless times. I was finally laughing, begging him to stop. We walked back over the horse and put our helmets back on. He lifted me astride Derringer, and for the next 20 minutes led me down a path that opened up into a perfect riding arena. It was circular, fenced in, and private.
Sliding down off the horse, he handed Derringer’s reins to me and cautioned me to trot for a while, letting Derringer get used to the feel of my reining him. The horse and I moved around the perimeter of the arena, practicing our halt-walk-trot transitions. He yielded effortlessly to my leg signals and slowed to a walk when I sank low in the saddle. I let out an exaggerated exhale and the horse halted. I knew then that he was an expertly trained dressage horse. I only hoped to do him justice. Trey smiled at us from the center of the arena, watching our movements. Derringer moved like he'd been carrying me forever. Trey was clearly impressed. He encouraged me to ask Derringer for a canter. With an almost imperceptible squeeze of my calves, the horse lifted into a canter, carrying us around the arena as though we were on a cloud.
At 2 p.m. Trey asked if I was hungry. The truth was I was famished. He climbed up behind me once again, taking the reins, which allowed me to settle back against him. I was getting my ‘Trey-fix’ two days in a row and I loved it.
Once we were back at the stables, Charlie Roberts was inside feeding the horses and cleaning their stalls. He seemed surprised to see me with Trey. He eyed me a bit warily, and again, I got a creepy feeling. Trey appeared not to notice. He dismounted then turned and lifted me off the horse. Trey called Charlie over, handing him Derringer’s reins.
“Will you untack and rub him down?” Trey asked. A dark look passed over Charlie, as if he felt put out for having to care for Trey’s horse. It did not go unnoticed by Trey.
“Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Roberts?”
“Not one bit,” Charlie replied, his face expressionless. He turned away and led Derringer down the aisle toward his stall. Trey gazed after him for a moment, his face unreadable. He turned back to me, all signs of irritation gone, and smiled.
