“I never should have…I just feel so…” She breaks down, sobbing. “What?” says Fred, completely bewildered. “I’m such a fool,” Martha cries.
“I know there’s no knight in shining armor. I know that. It’s silly.
There’s no knight, and there’s no horse.”
“No horse?” Fred echoes, confused. “You must think I’m such an idiot,” Martha says. “No!” Fred quickly replies, glad to finally know the right answer.
“I just need some time,” Martha says, her voice trembling. Fred, thinking as fast as he can, comes up with what he hopes is a safe response. “Yes,” he says.
Martha, deeply moved, touches his hand. “Oh, Fred, do you really feel that way?” she asks. “What way?” Fred asks, bewildered.
“About time,” Martha says. “Oh,” Fred replies. “Yes.” Martha turns to look at him, her eyes searching his, and Fred becomes increasingly nervous about what she might say next—especially if it involves a horse.
Finally, she speaks. “Thank you, Fred,” she says. “Thank you,” Fred replies.
Fred takes Martha home, and while she lies in bed that night, a conflicted, tortured soul, crying until dawn, Fred gets back to his place, grabs a bag of Doritos, and settles in to watch a rerun of a college basketball game between two South Dakota junior colleges he’s never heard of. A small voice in the back of his mind tells him something significant happened in the car, but he’s pretty sure he’ll never figure out what, so he decides it’s best not to think about it. The next day, Martha will call her closest friend, or maybe two, and they’ll talk about the situation for hours.
They’ll analyze every word, every gesture, every nuance, considering all the possible meanings and implications. They’ll continue discussing it for weeks, maybe even months, without ever reaching a definite conclusion, but never losing interest. Meanwhile, Fred, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Martha’s, will pause just before serving, frown, and ask, “Hey, Norm, did Martha ever own a horse?”
And that, folks, is the difference between men and women.
