Heart and Soul (rewrite)

Chapter Seventeen

"She neck reins, but she goes like an English horse. I can't place the discipline... and she turns like their ain't no tomorrow."

Three months after my arrival, and carrying the new but somewhat familiar name of "Charm", Johnny and his wife, Marissa, were debating about what, exactly, I had done years ago. My memories were still gone, only faint glimpses of a blue roan coat, white ball, and bright red hair came to me now, but as quickly as I reached for them they were gone.

"Let me see if she knows English." Marissa said, putting the tabby cat she was petting down and vanishing into the tack room. When she returned she was carrying a saddle I somehow knew, and as she fitted it on my back and slipped a gentle snaffle in my mouth, as she led me out to the ring and picked up both reins, I remembered one thing:

Running.

I accelerated from my easy walk to a quick trot, and she spun me in a tight circle until I was forced to walk. We repeated this over and over until I could keep my walk. Then she gently tugged my bit back and forth, back and forth, until my head dropped and my nose was slightly in front of the vertical. This was infuriating at first, and I fought it until my neck hurt, but she just kept asking and squeezing.

After several rides I barely fought at all when she asked me to be round at the walk. When I was reaching especially deep in a corner, her leg whispered up my side and I spurted forward, head in the air.

It took us nearly two months for me to even touch the bit at the trot, but it was something. I quickly learned this was called dressage, and I hated every stride of it. I fought until we were both exhausted, but Marissa never gave in, and eventually I submitted to her, but my ears were always pinned straight back when we rode.

After a year with Marissa and Johnny a teenage girl came to ride me. She asked me to reach and stretch, extend and collect, all of which I did. Marissa, after all, was leaning on the fence, watching with her sharp eyes. After a complicated pattern of circles and leg yields, the girl halted at X and dropped her hand to my neck in what I assumed was a pat. Unlike Marissa, she didn't praise me verbally or rub both sides of my neck, she simply aimed a gentle slap at my withers, and that was my thanks.

"What do you think, Molly?" Johnny asked, tucking his unruly hair behind an ear.

"She's a decent horse. Good movement, a little stiff to the right, but soft to the left. Supple. Maybe not worth what you're asking, but she'll do."

Molly's father, a trim man in a suit and shoes that shined haggled for my price while Molly let me walk on a loose rein. Finally, they agreed, and her father pulled out a small book, scribbled something in it, and handed the torn-out page to Johnny.

Three days later I was loaded on a trailer. It was full of soft shavings and hay nets and three other horses. Johnny slipped me a cookie as Marissa fitted the wool padded shipping halter over my head, and she handed me a carrot. Both of them played with my ears just the way I liked it, rubbing the scabs from bug bites out, and Marissa planted a kiss on my muzzle. As the trailer pulled into the driveway Johnny left the barn to meet the driver, and Marissa vanished inside the house to write the check. Tootsie thrust his head over the door.

"Ah, kid! You done good! Nice wheels means big bucks and living the dream!"

I laughed. "Thanks, Toots, but I'll miss you guys."

Menuca lifted her head, wisps of hay hanging from her mouth. "Oh, horses come and go all the time, dear. We've never forgotten them, and we don't plan to start. You're young, and bright, you'll do just fine."

With that, Johnny came back in to get me, and I stepped into the deep shavings of the huge trailer. Something about it was familiar, and I found a name rolling off my tongue.

Perfect Paradox.

But who's name? Johnny interrupted my thoughts.

"She doesn't tie, but she should be fine in a stall."

He rubbed my nose one last time, told me to behave, then stepped off the trailer. The driver slowly backed me into the stall, reassuring me when I jumped forward, and when I finally settled myself in he gave me a carrot from his pocket, and closed the bar at my chest.

I studied the three other horses in the trailer with me. A stallion, a gelding, and another mare. The stallion was a vibrant chestnut, with a wide blaze and three big socks. He spoke quickly, barely pausing for breath, and didn't touch his hay once over the day and a half trip. From his jumbled sentences I learned he was a four year old Oldenburg stallion named Bennet, and he was on his way to a professional trainer.

The mare was a dark black pony with a snip and two white feet in the front. She was a neat little horse, and when she ate her hay she did so with refined majesty. She did, however, tell the most ridiculous jokes.

The gelding was another chestnut, with a crooked black and wild mane. His name was Flash, and he was off to a big show in somewhere called Pensilvania. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

The three of us made the best out of those thirty something hours, but when the trailer pulled up in front of the biggest, neatest barn I had ever seen, I knew I would once again be on my own.