I just wanted Scooter back.
In a fit of desperation, I ripped our show ribbons off my bulletin board and shoved them messily under my bed. I wiped the tears from my face and sat on my comforter, holding my pillow to my chest.
Why did I have to be just one year younger than my friends? Why couldn't they be my age, or why couldn't I just go to college with them? And why couldn't I just own Scooter?
Pointless questions flooded my mind as I sat looking at my empty bulletin board. I couldn't help but smile weakly as I saw my favorite picture of Scooter and I, the horse I had leased and evented before his owner and close friend left for college a few months before. I looked so carefree in the picture, smiling as I cantered the shiny bay thoroughbred through a water complex. Oh how I wanted it to be last year again.
I felt like this often. Even though Scooter and my friends had left six months ago in August, on occasion I would have what I called "Scooter attacks." I just felt hopeless. Since he left, I was stuck riding random lesson horses. It was March, and show season was fast approaching, which, thinking back on it, was probably what triggered this specific 'Scooter attack.' I had no idea what this season would hold, seeing as I did not have a horse to show.
After a few minutes of sitting in my own misery, I decided to try and redirect my mind. I went down the kitchen, where I grabbed a bottle of apple juice and a yogurt. This was my usual snack before I headed to the barn for my Saturday ride. I had already squeezed into my stained black fullseat breeches upstairs, and I lazily tucked in my blue polo as I downed my apple juice. Still shaking slightly from my crying fit, I faced the full-body mirror my mom had installed by the front stairwell. I stood myself down.
"Bronwyn, you're gonna be fine today."
I paused, trying to remember what my mom, a social worker, had told me to say in order to motivate myself.
"Umm...I'm beautiful?" I thought as I took a swig of my apple juice.
I was becoming weirded out by this whole talking to myself thing, even if I wasn't verbalizing all of it. To be honest, I didn't really believe my last statement anyways, at least not completely. Everything about my appearance is completely boring and average. My dull dirty-blonde hair, my brown eyes, my flat chest, and the small village of acne on my left cheek. Nobody can top me on the boring scale.
With a disheartened shrug, I turned from the mirror and grabbed my car keys off the desk. Slipping on my navy muck boots, I hurried out the door with a knot in my stomach.
YOU ARE READING
Trouble in Paradise
Acak17-year-old Bronwyn used to event at Novice level with her leased horse, Scooter. Being a year younger than most of her barn friends, she was devastated when they all left for college at the end of the prior show season. Scooter's owner left for col...
