See ya met Joe

Contemporary woman's fiction












       Roni rounded a curve just outside of town and there a
horse stood in the middle of the road. She slowed the golf cart to a stop, and
the horse simply stared at her, not moving.

       “Shoo,” she said, waving her hands.

       The horse blinked its eyes and did nothing. Roni looked
around for a rider, but there was nothing but vegetation surrounding her; there
was no one to help. She tried to remember what horses liked—sugar, carrots, Honeycrisp
apples—none of which she had. Shit
she thought. She pondered trying to squeeze the cart behind the horse, but she
was afraid he might kick, damaging the cart or her or both. She waited, the
horse looking at her and she at the horse. Who
let their horse just wander about? she wondered. Had it escaped? Thrown its rider? What? She didn't see a saddle or bridle, nothing that gave her a
clue.

She got out of the cart and waved her arms in the
air.

        “Come on, shoo, go on,” she coaxed.

         The horse’s ears twitched, and he looked away from
her, not moving. She sat back down on the cart seat and waited. She wanted to
laugh. Here she was stuck in the road because of a horse, something that would
never happen in New York. It would have never been a horse that delayed her
getting someplace. She figured that surely the horse would get bored or hot or
both and wander back to where it came from at some point, freeing up the road. Just
then, it lifted its tail and pooped, big round plops of green poop forming a
pile in the road.

       “Nice,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Out of all
the open space around us, do it in the road.”

The horse’s ears moved again, signifying he could
hear her voice. She thought maybe now that he’d done his duty, he would move on.
The sound of a motor came from behind her, and she turned around to see a blue
motor scooter coming towards her carrying a rider with a shiny, silver helmet,
like a mirror. The Bahamanian man—dressed in a white T-shirt that made his skin
look that much blacker, khaki pants, and dark brown shoes—pulled up beside her cart
and stopped.

       “I see ya met Joe,” he said in a thick Bahamian
accent backed up by a smile.




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