/:/ Cowgirl Dreamers /:/ (Tattle)
Apr 16, 2012 23:57:23 GMT -5
Post by Stare on Apr 16, 2012 23:57:23 GMT -5
Vanessa Taylor Fanlas
No, I don't wanna hurt,
There's so much in this world
to make me bleed.
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When I was a little girl, my mama used to tell me stories about horses and brilliant riders. She told me of the dust turned up by their hooves as they ran and raced, riding for incredible prizes and trophies that would shine hot and bright in the late afternoon sun. Horseback riders would come from all around chasing the dream that the name etched into the black square beneath the trophy could perhaps be theirs. They fought for fame and fortune, with dirt sticking to the sweat on their faces and knuckles white as they held on for dear life. Horses moved with a speed beyond belief, muscles rippling beneath shimmering onyx or chestnut or beautiful snowy white, their hooves pounding into the earth to form a roaring thunder louder than even that of the crowd, whose faces would be red from the heat and the effort of shouting. She would cradle me in her lap, atop the worn and wrinkled fabric of her dress, and smile down and whisper to me of a life better than the one I had.
I loved my mama. So much.
The spring wind whispers through my dark locks, whipping them back behind my head, and I press one hand atop my hat to keep it from being stolen by the wild gusts while using the other to brush Scarlet's silky mane. Papa's always been sure to keep the horses in the best condition, and Scarlet is no exception. I run a hand up and down the velvety surface of her nose when the wind dies down, smiling slightly, before leaning back on the heels of my boots to look around for any passing civilians. My gaze is brief and careless (no one ever comes back here, anyway, not during one of Papa's shows), and I quickly conclude that I am alone. With a quiet grunt of effort, I step up and swing my leg over the saddle, leaning forward to stroke Scarlet's neck. "C'mon, girl. I have a good feeling about that handstand today. Want to try it?"
She, of course, does not respond, but I smile and hope that maybe, on some small level, she gets it. After all, horses are the only ones that have ever really understood me. I lean forward slightly and she begins a slow walk. I rub her neck again in approval before cautiously bringing my feet up onto the saddle. Scarlet could take off or throw me off right now, and we both know it, but she continues at a steady, carefully pace. "Good girl," I whisper. It's a trust we have, a trust we've always had, ever since I first stood between her and the whip that Barbwire threatened with. Barbwire. Even just the thought of him causes my limbs to tremble, scars tingling at the memories, and I cringe for a moment. But no, those days are over. Barbwire can never hurt me ever again. Papa said so, and I trust Papa more than I trust anyone else in the world.
And so, taking a deep breath, I forget Barbwire. Forget mama's old stories, forget my old life, even forget Papa, if only for a little while. Right now, I have to focus completely. I take a deep breath, trying to recall old strategy from that other lifetime, when these kinds of tricks were second nature to me. I remember crowds cheering, Scarlet's hooves pounding, but not much more. My mind has blocked out those performances because of the fear that always accompanied them and the horrors that often followed. Carefully, and keeping my breathing steady, I push myself up onto my hands, hair draped beneath me like a black curtain. I hold it only a few seconds before dropping back down and sliding my legs back over Scarlet's sides, my heart pounding my my face relaxing into a smile of relief. I rub my hand up and down Scarlet's neck a few times. "We did it, girl. Good job."
Really, it's Scarlet that did all the work. She kept me balanced, she made her steps as smooth as possible, she remained patient with me. The horses deserve all the credit. I pull her to a stop and drop over her side, rubbing her all over her chestnut coat and thanking her a few times. Not many would believe me if I told them that Scarlet's my best friend, but it's true. I've always liked the horses' company better that humans'. Humans can be cruel and mean, but horses are always open minded and open hearted. I remember nights when I hid out in the stables, moving near them for warmth, while I whispered to them of all the things Barbwire would do to me if he would find me because he'd been drinking again and he was so mad. Barbwire was always mad after Mama died.
That was back when Barbwire forbid me to have any friends. The horses became my friends. They were always there when I needed them, and they were great listeners. And, while I never could prove it, I felt certain those horses loved me. They loved me when no one else would. Even now, the horses are my escape. My way out of life. They care about everything I say, and they are patient with me when I'm angry. They'll take me anywhere I want to go, help me do anything I want to do. And even when I'm surrounded my the staff and Papa, by peers from school or students at one of my sessions, I always feel so alone. I need my horses.
They're the only ones that keep me from falling apart on the inside.