1st Place for College Fiction - 2017 Met Awards
"I think you just need to fall," she calls over to me, her hands wadded into balls on her hips.
"I need to what?" I choke, pulling back on the reigns so that the horse will drop back to a stop.
"To fall," she smiles up at me, seemingly amused.
I wiggle my boots out of the stirrups and drop down into the dirt. I pat the side of my mare's neck, she's snorting after our little sprint around the arena. I walk over to where my trainer, Anne, stands in a sliver of sunlight that floats in through a gap in the tangle of limbs above.
The warm weather has slowly been dropping away, replaced by a cool breeze that sends goose bumps racing up my arms. Red leaves litter the soil and the grass is beginning to brown and shrivel. The cold air seems to invigorate the horses and they all stomp their hooves and flick their tails restlessly from within their stalls.
"What were you saying?" I ask once I've walked to where she stands.
"Nikki, have you ever fallen off of your horse?"
"No, never," I reply, looking back to where my horse affectionately nibbles around the loose fabric on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
"You're stiff when you ride. Your shoulders are tense and your calves are too tight. You're afraid of falling," She appraises me with crossed arms. Before I can respond she continues, "and Echo can feel that. She responds to your tension. She doesn't relax, her ears perk, and she won't drop her neck."
"She's huge, that would be a long drop," I say a little defensively, reaching back and burying my fingers in Echo's mane. She towers over me, all taut muscle beneath an ebony coat.
"Next lesson we'll take you over to the dirt lot, the ground is soft. I'll fix you up with a helmet, we'll get Echo into a trot and then have you slip off the side. The only way to get over your fear of falling is to fall. All you have to do is let go."
A little nervous tingle climbs up my fingers. "I'm not sure about that..." my words trail off into the crisp autumn breeze.
"Trust me, it's safe. I'll show you how to catch yourself before there's a chance of injury. I've had kids do it." I remain silent, my mouth feels like it's full of cotton. " Just think about it," she claps a reassuring hand to my back and gives Echo a scratch on the muzzle.
I drive home alone that evening with the windows rolled down and the heater cranked up. The lights from the city sprawl out across the hills in a glowing maze. I think about what Anne told me, about falling off of the horse, and shudder. To push the brooding idea down I turn the radio on, but I'm still alone with my thoughts. It doesn't take long for my mind to change tracks and start flickering with memories of him. I'm suddenly remembering the way he used to sing along to every song on the radio, even when he didn't know the words. I think about the navy baseball cap that was practically glued to his head and the way the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he was upset. I relive the way he'd whistle when he was focused – I suck in a shuddering breath to shake away the memories that dance in my vision.
It was nearly two years ago when I got the phone call that sent icy disbelief rushing down my throat. They told me it was a car crash.
"You need to let him go," my mother told me quietly after a year had passed and I still called his phone in hopes that he'd pick up. His line is disconnected these days.
I pull to the side of the road when I begin to cry, hating the hot tears that trail down my chin. I lean my head against the steering wheel, wondering when it will all stop hurting. I try to focus on nothing but sound of the motor purring gently. Mopping the tears away with my sleeve, I force my eyes to stop watering. Slouched in the dim light, hiccupping slightly, a slow wave of resolution washes over me.
The next morning, Anne sits atop a tree stump calling out, "start her off slow!"
The sky is a metallic grey and storm clouds hang low on the horizon. I'm sitting atop Echo in the empty dirt lot, a bulky helmet strapped securely beneath my chin. I give her sides a gentle nudge and she starts to walk. A nervousness clenches in the pit of my stomach.
"Push her a bit, just into a slow trot." Anne calls.
I click my tongue, giving Echo the cue to speed up. Her hooves beat the ground, my body rocks with her movement. Without warning I'm thinking of him again and the way he used to tell me he'd buy me a horse one day or maybe a unicorn, and how I'd laugh till tears squeezed out from the corners of my eyes. I urge Echo to speed up, to help me run away from the memories. Her trot picks up faster and she slips into a run.
"Might want to slow it down a bit, Nikki!" Anne shouts.
The wind whips tears from my eyes and Echo grunts, shaking her mane out. We're flying, the dirt jumping up in clumps behind her hooves. I can feel Echo's heart beating, thrumming beneath me. I think of him as we fly, I think and think and then I know it's time to let him go. I slow Echo down just before it's time. I unclench my hands from their grip on her reigns, I slide my feet out from the stirrups, I lean to one side. And I let my body go. I let it all go.
Contributor's Note: I've been riding horses for a few years now, and I'm constantly astounded by the knack that horses have for connecting and teaching me through their actions. This piece was inspired by the healing that can be found through time spent in the saddle, or in this case, falling out of it.
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