Excerpt #10

“Hi Claire”, she said, in her bubbly, if somewhat tense voice. 

Trying to disguise my shock, I replied, “Oh hi Debbie.” It was a big horse show, and as far as I knew, she had only been showing at the smaller shows.

“I heard about your mom,” she stood back and crossed her arms.

“Yeah”, I responded. This again, I thought to myself.

“So what happened?” she asked, her eyes glaring at me.

“Don’t know,” I replied, looking away.

She stepped closer, “Well did she do it?”

“What?” I stepped back.

“Did she kill him?” she didn’t divert her eyes.

My hand tightened on the crop I had been holding, as rage boiled inside me, “I gotta go, Debbie, my class is coming up.” I turned and started back toward my stalls. “See you later,” I said turning my head to catch one last glimpse of her standing there, the horse completing it’s round in the ring behind her. She didn’t seem like such a nervous young rider anymore. Her face looked almost angry, eyes fixated on me, seemingly appalled at my refusal to discuss the case with her. I didn’t realize I owed it to her. Was this the same person I had helped at the horse shows last year? How could she be so heartless? I felt so cheated having helped her out of good faith, because I wanted her to do well with her new horse. Now it felt like I was being stabbed in the back. I looked down at my hand, starting to cramp. I hadn’t realized how tightly I had been gripping the crop. 

Tears filled my eyes, as I took the little black bat with the fluttered tail that popped when you used it and tossed it on the ground next to my tack trunk. I went inside Flying Cat’s stall and sat down in the corner. He’d been resting quietly his eyes half open, and his bottom lip hanging loosely. He turned to look at me, inquisitively. Walking over tentatively, he slowly dropped his head toward my knees. 

“How you doing, old friend?” I whispered to him.

He stepped a little closer.

“Sort of seems like we’re all alone in this,” I whispered again.

He stepped closer again.

“Don’t know if we can trust anyone anymore,” I buried my face in my hands.

He stepped closer again, his head almost in my lap.

“Pretty scary thought,” I wiped away the tears, starting to drip on my breeches.

He nuzzled my knees.

“You trying to tell me we’ll be ok?” I asked.

He put his nose to my cheek.

“Is that a yes?” 

He stayed right there, breathing softly.

“I hope you’re right” 

He didn’t move.

I whispered again, “Just hope you’re right.”

Excerpt #3

But I wanted to believe that my mother was kind and loving. I’d see her with my brother’s friends, and think that she was a great mom. They’d all talk to her about what was going on with them, in a way every parent hopes their teenager will talk to them.  She’d sit and listen for hours. And they’d all say that they wished they could talk to their own parents this way. I’d watch, just sitting around the edges, wondering why not me? Why can’t I be listened to like that? But maybe Dad was right, maybe I was the source of the family’s financial strain. Maybe we would’ve been better off without the horses.  

It was then that I wanted my mother to defend me the most. Not so much for me, but for what I loved. I wanted her to tell Dad that I loved the horses more than anything else, and that loving them was not the cause of the family’s problems. I think I really wanted her to tell him, that without the horses, maybe the family would be ok, but I wouldn’t. But maybe it was a system that she couldn’t change. Maybe the family’s happiness needed to be at my expense. But somehow that thought didn’t make any of this seem ok to me. At least it didn’t remove my wish that my mother would have defended what I loved.

Now, the tables were turned. Now it was I who was supposed to defend her. I thought about how things would change if she were convicted. What would life be like without her? Would I be able to keep up the horse business myself? I had gone to a few shows alone while she was in jail, but it wasn’t the same. Mom had always been there, right at the in gate. She’d cheer me on, meet me when I came out of the ring. And she never criticized my riding, instead insisting that I was too hard on myself. I always wanted the horses to be as perfect as they could be. In a lot of ways, I think we fought because she didn’t understand how much I depended on riding perfectly -- needed it. It was all I had, after all, and probably the only thing that held me together throughout childhood. But just give the horses a day off, they’ll be fine. Sure they’ll be fine, Mom, but will I?