The bond between a rider and a horse is a sacred power that holds many secrets and can't be forced out with a closed and hard mind. To be on the back of a 12 hundred pound animal, sharing the same thoughts and desires, it gives you an extrodinary feeling of freedom and passion. It's more than just a hobbie; it's an addiction. Your horse is your best friend and will protect you at all costs. But not every person in the world is so lucky to own such a stupendous power. Like me. Stuck in a concrete jungle without a clue about the "cowboys saddle" or "wide open plains" I hear about in every country song. When I was five years old, I watched my parents get murdered in our apartment complex. The state found me scrunched in the corner of a little closet filled with my mother's long dresses. They took me in and put me through foster care until I was a grouchy, anti-social, ten-year-old. Thick, dark brown, hair in a mess and natted because I didn't want to take care of myself anymore. School was something that didn't interest me and I was diagnosed with ADHD. Sitting still was so bothering. Everybody didn't see hope for me. Even I didn't see the point of trying to be nice or caring. Nobody wanted to foster me. That's when I just gave up and ran away. Far, far away. In the dead of night without the Orphanage knowing. I didn't stop for anythign or anyone. For a ten-year-old, I had the smarts of an adult. Because my childhood was stolen and cut really short. It took me miles and miles of running to get out of the big city of Detroit. I hid in the back of a pickup truck under a tarp when they were parked at a gas station. I prayed for the first time in a long time right then and there. That the Lord will deliver me to the place that will save my poor, broken sole.
After twenty five hours of hot and cold temperatures, I couldn't take it anymore and the next stop at a red light, I jumped up and out as fast as I could and ran so fast that even the angels in Heaven couldn't keep up. Cars swerved and slammed on their breaks so fast, their first instinct was to lay on the horn. I was so scared and some people got out of their vehicles and tried to yell to get my attention. There was no stopping me though. Under ten minutes I was once again far far away. My eyes were glewed to the sidewalk until it ran out and turned into gravel. Then, that's when I noticed a weird smell. The air was so clear and pure. When I looked up, I was on a long dirt road surrounded by hills as far as the eye could see. That's when it hit hard. The realization that I was free hit me like a ton of bricks. It was the most beautiful sight that I'd ever seen before. It was so new. Just like the images I've dreamed about at night when dried tear stains kept me from opening my eyes. The sneakers on my feet were worn out and no socks kept the gravel and sharp rocks from digging into the bottom on my callased feet. But for some odd reason, it felt good.
A wave of emotions became so overwhelming that I became light headed and slumped against a fence post on soft green grass and cried. And cried. For what felt like forever. Until the stormy clouds above my head began to cry with me. I looked up after I was done and whispered, "Thank you." Knowing God answered my prayer and I was far from the worries of Detroit, Michigan. And for the first time in forever, it was... quiet... Peacefull. All the bruises from the other kids at the orphanige who beat on me, and the emotional scars from the terrible life I once lived, seemed to not sting anymore.
I bit my lip and wiped the tears away from my hazel eyes. Layed down on my side, and stared at the soft grass. It felt like the angels finnaly caught up to me and were ready to take me back home to God. And I was ok with that. I was in the most beautiful place and felt carefree. So I closed my eyes, and fell asleep...
~~~~****~~~~
Dave Cornaby found me on the side of the road, barely still breathing. The moment his strong hands grabbed my shoulder, I looked at him with a blank expression and through the heavy storm, I knew this was gonna be my new father. The finnishing touch to my prayer. He picked me up placed me in the back seat of his truck where the warmth felt oh so good. I blacked out again. But Dave told me this story many times over and over again. He drove to his house where his wife, Stacey, was a nurse and treated me immediatly. I had a pnemonia and was extremely exhausted, underweight, and dehidrated. It took a week until I finally came through all the way and I could talk. Waking up was terrifying. I felt like I was back in Michigan and all of that was just a dream. When Dave walked back in carrying soup, I reached out to grab him and cause harm. Thrashing and scared, I felt like a cornered wolf ready to kill whoever got too close. Dave placed the soup on a table and raised his hands. He told me everything was ok, and I was going to be just fine.
"Where am I?" I asked.
"Wyoming," Dave answered. He explained to me what happened. "What's your name?"
My old name was, Marrissa Harrison. But that wouldn't do anymore. The cops would find me and take me back. And that was not on my bucket list. So I lied and told him I never had a name. That I was living with drug dealers in Chicago and didn't know who my parents were. A little bit of that was true, at least. I couldn't believe how much I told him so quickly. But something prompted me to.
To cut it short, they adopted me. Named me, Jessica. They never had kids because the Mrs. couldn't have any. They were in their forties and had lots of money, so they never hesitated to buy me nice things and spoil me. Shopping was awkward for the first year. Everything was. I was sent back to school with only a handful of kids my age. Most of them were a year or two older. And being in a small farming community, they were all hicks and I never fit in. Therapy and tutoring were the most time consuming. It seemed like those things dragged on forever and ever. They diagnosed me with Post Dramatic Stress Disorder along with my ADHD. And accasionally I'd have the biggest mood swings where I didn't want anybody touching me or annoying me. Dave and Stacey understood but didn't baby me completely. They told me everything they expected from me, and in return they'll give me respect and a loving family. It sounded pretty good.
After five years from the time they found me, I became social. Popular, some would say. Inside, I learned not to hate anybody anymore. To let things go. But if I ever felt threatened, I became violent. Protective instincs would get the best of me and a smile would become a jaw clench and a death glare.
Now, I'm almost sixteen and a Freshman in High School because I got held back a year. And that's how I came to be the person I am today...
