Hidden Memories

Part one

Hidden Memories

A lone tear slid down my emaciated face.  An enemy slipped through the prison bars of my forbidden thoughts; No one wants YOU.  I desperately pushed the invader out of my mind, and hoped beyond hope that SOMEONE out there would want me.  I flashed back to the show ring, where my sleek, tall, black body flowed over the colorful, creative jumps like they were inches high.  My owner Claire sat on my back gently guiding me towards each looming jump.  During the last fence I didn’t pay attention to her gentle directions…I thought I knew best.  I recklessly hurdled towards the last jump, and my legs caught on the top rail.  I slipped, and everything spun around me and finally I collapsed into darkness.  I regained consciousness and found myself frantically thrashing around.  As I gradually became aware of my surroundings, I frantically sought Claire!  Where was she?  Where had she gone?  Is she okay?  Two strange people attempted to drag me from the ring, but I stood fixated to the spot; unwilling to move.  Where had they taken Claire?  The same two men talked to each other in raised, exasperated voices.  “I can’t help that the stupid horse won’t move!” bellowed the short, pudgy man.

“Well, can’t we ask for the girl’s trainer to urge the horse out?”

“Do you see her trainer anywhere around here?” The short man sighed.  “I don’t think so.”

That ended their conversation, and they weightily persisted in tugging, pulling and pushing to expel out of the show ring.  Finally, not finding Claire, I yielded to the men and allowed them to forcefully thrust me into our trailer.  I never saw my Claire again.  It wasn’t long before Claire’s parents decided to sell me.  Her death brought so much pain and I was a constant reminder of that horrific memory.  Her parents decided to sell me to an elderly gentleman who bought me as a companion after he became a widower.  I really loved him, but after he had a stroke, his children admitted him to a nursing home, and he brokenheartedly was forced to sell me.  From there, I never could seem to find a forever home, I traveled from place to place, and finally I ended up here at the Auction House.

 I thought about my Claire all the time.  How she used to wake up every morning before the sun had even a chance to break the darkness with its rays before school to come rub my velvet face, and give me a carrot.  She loved and trusted me.  I was her best friend.  We would go for long trail rides in the sea of green behind her country cottage house in Wisconsin.  We spent hours together, and frolicked among the daisies and buttercups, playing and chasing each other in the peace of the meadow.  Her chocolate hair mingled with my licorice mane as we romped in the grass.   She would tell me stories, and in return, I listened intently.  After the last lingering rays of sun disappeared below the fields, we would chase fireflies and Claire would put them in glass jars to admire their fireworks before she let them out again.  But now everything is over.  Just from one little mistake.  My stall door creaked, jerking me back to reality. A scrawny young boy, about Claire’s age slipped into my dirty auction stall, and clipped a lead rope onto my mud-encrusted halter.  Sadness and remorse encompassed me and weighed like a heavy blanket around my neck as the young boy led me from the stall.  I winced as every boom of the Auctioneer’s voice thundered inside my ears.  We painfully crept to the front as the Auctioneer screeched my number.  I barely noticed all of the people jeering at me.  The red-faced auctioneer squawked some numbers out, but no one in the audience moved.  After two minutes of shouting from the exasperated auctioneer, a short pudgy man with a covetous look on his face raised his hand.  “Going, going, GONE!” bellowed the relieved Auctioneer.  I felt a ray of hope shooting through my heart, but it was quickly snuffed out as the man roughly shoved me into an already over-loaded trailer.  I trembled.  Another owner who will mistreat me.  When the truck did not move, I was confused.  Then I heard an angry, feminine voice shouting at my new owner.  “I saw you buy that horse for no more than 50 dollars!  Why would you want him for meat?  There is none on him!”

“Fine!” he spat on the ground and shouted, “I’ll sell him to you for a hundred.”

“75 and no more, and I won’t report that you illegally sell horses to the slaughter house.” She stealthily dove into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone and began to dial in one swift motion.

“Sold!  Now get ‘em outta here ‘afore I change my mind,” barked the enraged man. He yanked the trailer door open, and hauled me out into the blinding sun.  I blinked, and looked straight into the face of a very tall, athletically built girl about 16 years old.  She wore baggy, stained jeans, and her short purple hair sported spikes all over her head.  Her sharp grey eyes shot daggers at the short, ill-kempt, potbellied man.  Flinging the lead rope at the stubborn, indignant girl, the man snatched the money from her, stomped away muttering under his breath, flung himself into his truck, and slammed the door behind him.  The truck wheels spat dirt as he recklessly sped out of the parking lot.  The girl and I were left standing in a cloud of dust in the blistering Florida heat, and her fierce stance relaxed as she glanced up at me.  I saw pity flash through her grey eyes.  She reached up to scratch my ears.  She murmured soothing words as she led me to a patch of tall grass across from the parking lot.  She flopped onto her stomach and began to study me carefully.  I let my nose drop to graze, but kept a wary eye on her.  She act so similar to my Claire.  “You know, I know what you feel like.  Unwanted, and not willing to trust anyone.  I was tossed from home to home too.”  I cautiously inched closer, and she began to mindlessly stroke my mud-encrusted face.  “I have ridden horses most of my life, but have never owned one before!” she admitted.  That explains her relaxed behavior.  “My foster parents know so much about horses!  I hope they approve of my pick.  Oh well, they gave me a fortune of money so let’s go and buy some things you’ll need and you really need to be cleaned up!” she exclaimed wrinkling her nose.

She stood up, and started to walk towards the market area.  I followed tentatively as she purposefully searched out specific items from tack stores for me.  People gawked at our uniqueness and yes, I guess we were a strange couple.  My new owner didn’t seem to care.  I found myself starting to like this girl already.  She halted at a stand selling horse snacks and bought some packs of dry horse treats, a bag of carrots and an apple.  I eyed them hungrily.  She then purchased a bright purple halter, and lead rope.  Tugging off my filthy equipment, she quickly replaced it with the new and I suddenly I felt a rush of purpose and value.  Leading me back to the grassy area that we had previously occupied, she slipped me a couple of carrots and the apple.  She plopped to the ground again and propped her back up against a tree trunk, to give shade from the scorching sun, and closed her eyes.  Contented, I dropped my head to graze aside of her, while she loosely held the end of the lead rope.