Down South

Capítulo Uno

I stepped outside, lifting my head hoping to smell the tropical Mexican air mixed with sweet mangoes, but then I realized just as the odor of manure and fly spray drowned my nose and heard the buzzing of flies and snorts. The ranch was too odorous for anything my parents tried.

Plugging my nose, I ran across the wooden doors of the barn, reaching the outskirts of the field.

"¡Canela!" I called out to the pure palomino coat which belonged to a gorgeous Paso Fino who was peacefully grazing by a loudly trickling stream.

"Cinnamon!" I shouted her English name to her, hoping she would trot right on over to the cream-colored fence.

I groaned when she wouldn't come. But my face lit up as soon as I saw her prancing over, sticking her head out along with a soft nicker, a direct sign for me to nuzzle the bridge of her nose.

I rolled my eyes as I reluctantly stroked her nose. I mean, of course she would 'prance' over! I can't believe I begged my parents for a Paso Fino as a new addition to our ranch. I'll tell you later about that.

But still, she is as sweet as a honeycomb, and I got what I wanted. A horse that would only stick to me! I know that that's kinda selfish of me, but I can't help it! Mamá and Papá only looked at each other, and Alberto had Carlos! That mostly happened. That's the least of my worries, anyway.

I threw myself over the gate, frustrated. But I had a lightbulb.

Cleo Lopez, of course, forgot what she was going to do.

Once I was over the gate and I got Cinnamon to stop pushing her head toward me affectionately, I opened the gate immediately and clutched her pastel-colored lead tightly.

"Ow!" I exclaimed in pain, harder than it actually hurt. I looked down as Cinnamon walked past as far as she could to see a familiar hoofprint imprinted on my shoe. I squinted at it.

"Hey...!" In realization I stared, annoyed at Cinnamon's turned, creamy back.

"I know what you did!" That troublesome horse.

Handling it carefully, I limped to the barn holding Cinnamon's lead out so I wouldn't get stepped on again. Good thing I wore my riding boots!

"Stay here." Even though I didn't need to say that as I knotted the lead precisely against a metal handle, I still felt the need to say that.

I jogged out of the barn, shifting my route to the other barn. I quickly pulled a bridle of its hook, as well as a leather saddle. The bridle trailed behind me as I trudged over to Cinnamon's loud neighs with the saddle lugging me down.

I heard a very relieved sigh behind me as I dropped the tack and went to grab a box filled with brushes and hoofpicks.

I silently stifled a laugh. This happened all day, but I never heard her sigh! The sigh meant she really had a bond with me.

I took a 'hard' brush out of the box and stepped onto the mounting block for extra height.

Dust drifted by as I carefully pressed the brush along her light brown back.

"Guao, Canela," I exclaimed, laughing. "you need a full on spa day!" She snorted back as I brushed her mane and her tangled tail.

"All done." I stood back proudly as I gazed at the well lined coat.

"Uh, now th-Oh, no. Cinnamon, you better not be stubborn again. You know what happened last time!" I ordered her while unsheathing the dreaded hoofpick.

I caressed her leg, going downwards, finally tapping it at her ankle, but she stayed stiffly right there.

"Canela!"

She reluctantly picked up her leg for me, and I gagged in disgust at the greenish-brown muck nestled comfortably in the whole horseshoe. "Since when have you picked up this much caca!?" She looked at me, like 'Hey!' but I just went on scraping.

"Cinnamon," I scolded, "seriously?". Cinnamon squealed, to my surprise, because I didn't think that bad of my scolding.

"Aw, Canela," I stepped close to her, ruffling the soft fur under the mane on her forehead. "I didn't mean it that way. I just..." I trailed off, wondering what I was going to say.

"I just was really frustrated. You know, how Mamá and Papá don't like having a non-Mérens horse. Or non-Andalusian." I was referring to my parents' purebred Mérens horses and Andalusians ranch. They didn't particularly like any other horses. They're always saying, "Mija, we can just sell Canela!" or "There are plenty of other horses, Mija. Perhaps Pepper?". At that I rolled my eyes when they weren't looking. Pepper was like one of those kids in my class who were really nice in front of the parents, but were super snobby to the kids. Also, really rude. You get it. Plus, Mérens horses have goatees.

I flung a Western saddle over the saddle pad that was already there. As I stuck the bit into her mouth and adjusted the bridle the best I could, I kept thinking about the worries that hung in my head.

If you fall off, they'll sell Cinnamon as quickly as you got her... Stop, Cleo! C'mon, the tack's all ready, and you're just standing here like a dummy while Cinnamon keeps giving you weird looks about that!

With that, I lifted my boot up a step and mounted Canela quickly.

"Sorry for the wait, girl!" I told her, feeling very stupid. "Let's go!"

I didn't need to dig my heels into her stomach or attach any spurs onto the ends of my boot. She already knew. Cinnamon pushed forward with a Paso Corto, a fast trot to cover the long distance we were headed to.

"Yessss!" I shouted over the wind blasting us hard, letting our hair and mane fly free. Cinnamon neighed loudly with me, our freed cries fading into the air. We didn't care if some other ranch owner yelled at us to stop being such loud people or if Mamá caught me running off. She would probably say to herself, "Oh, poor Cleo is probably going to fall off after that aggressive horse bucks her right off! I better call José!"

I scoffed to myself. What made her think Paso Finos were so 'aggressive'? Oh, well. This was just a moment for me and Canela.

Though the sky slowly darkened, and crystal raindrops fell through the puffy, gray bursts of cotton candy, we still galloped across the sprawled fields. We quickly were drenched head to toe and head to hoof. Our hair stuck to our faces, especially with the wind flying in our faces.

But we still rode on, not caring about the ongoing rain or the intense wind, or even the bright flashes of rolling thunder in the distance.

Both of us probably wanted to scream (or neigh, in Cinnamon's situation.) all our fear and worry and anxiety out, but silence slowly painted the sky, one invisible streak at a time.

We halted, panting, both rider and horse, in front of an abandoned, wilted cornfield. Cinnamon practically did a 'lick of the lips', like in one of those American movies Mamá always watches, where the main character has a giant feast in front of him.

"Oh, Canela," I giggled. "That's an abandoned cornfield! It's not gonna taste that good, you know?" She looked at me with an exasperated look that said, "I am hungry. I do not care." I rolled my eyes with a knowing smile as I crouched down to take an itchy seat on a bare patch of dirt.

As I half-heartedly watched her chomp loudly on the brown stalks, I fidgeted worriedly with my fingers, thinking about what time it was and how much scold-yelling would be nestled in our small, brown house once I came back. Couldn't I be as nonchalant as I was when I rode wild with Canela? I was just a shy, worrying girl in real life. I couldn't actually be that brave girl on her horse.