LJ Idol Week 18

It had been one year, six months and exactly fourteen days since Ebony fell, down by the small lake, and succumbed to the crack of her right spine. Since then, I had not looked at horses, I had not touched them or even ridden one of them.

On this autumn saturday, however, something seemed to be dragging me towards this place out of town, where a huge riding festival with celebrations and high level competitions was held every year.

I had been none of those proficient ones in the black and white trousers and jackets. Instead, I flew through the woods, near the sea, and, when it was ebb tide, it was just me, Ebony and the now exposed wavy ground of the sea.

Now I observed horses and their riders from the distance of the spectator’s corner. It was crowded, and I just leaned towards the fence when a demanding hand grabbed my shoulder.

“Elby, there you are. Come on, you need to get ready.”

I turned around. That woman must have been in her forties, red and curly hair wildly surrounding her head. She wore a green jacket and riding boots. I would have followed her, but the problem was that my name was not Elby.

“But, I am not…” I started, but she would not let me answer. “But, my name is Isobel”, I was going to say, but instead of holding on and listening, she just dragged me towards the contestant's quarters, just like in a bad dream when you are pulled into something you are unlikely to escape. “Go and get dressed!”

That red-haired woman pushed me towards a small cabin and closed the door. It was a small room with a mirror, some bags and a pair of shiny leather riding boots. Near the mirror, there was a complete rider’s attire hung up, including white gloves. A black smooth riding helmet was sitting, working as the exclamation mark of this outfit, on the makeup table in front of the mirror. I did not think much, I put off my clothes and put on the white trousers first, then the white blouse and the black jacket.

Never had I worn such clothes. I pictured myself on freshly cut grass, near the lush woods, on the back of that high black horse with a white star on its forehead. She would never be near the woods again, I thought, when I heard a knock at the door.

Where could Elby be now? Maybe she was hiding somewhere, or locked into some place where she could not be found. At least, I must have looked a lot like her, because in this moment, for some people, I WAS her, playing her part, the part she was missing.

The horse was dark, almost black and I held my breath when I first saw it. It did see me too, and did not watch me even as I stood next to it. The blanket under the saddle said “Avalanche”. Before I could even remember I was not able to get on any horse but my horse which was never going to return again, I was on the back of Avalanche, being guided towards an arena full of spectators. I was counting with the rhythm of the steps of the horse, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, until I was there, held my breath and waited.

Then they announced me, or Elby, or whoever they wanted to see. “Ellen Holby Simmons, junior champion and future Olympic contestant with Avalanche, a ten year old stallion in his third year of this competition”. That was certainly not me.

I went to greet the judges as I had seen it on TV, then turned around. Obstacle number 1 was near me. Avalanche was apparently aware what he had to do and he went straight for the obstacle while I already looked for number 2. He flew high up in the air and I pressed my knees together when that indefinite power from the dozens of muscles pushed us over obstacles higher than any stick or fallen tree I had ever jumped over.

And the legs of this horse kept up with the pace, landed safely. I did not know what I was doing, so I held on tight to the reins and the mane, which was as dark as Ebony’s mane had been the last time I stroked it before they pulled me away from her.

When we approached the last obstacle, I was certain we would fall down and disappear somewhere between the walls and the waters and never get back. I closed my eyes shortly before we reached the wall and anticipated the cracks, the crashes, the fall.

Nothing of that came. Instead, I felt we lifted off, took off from the ground right into the air. I thought of flying, imagined nothing had happened on that day more than one year ago, imagined me flying over that incredibly small lake, sparing Ebony from that malicious hole she stepped into, making her live on for real and not as a picture I carried with me in my troubled mind.

When Avalanche landed, it was quiet for a moment until the cheering broke out. I opened my eyes to see a huge red zero on the board. This had been a flawless ride, I concluded, unbelieving, when I was dragged from the horse and shouted at, unable to react on what had just occurred in that minutes, during the last hour, around me and inside me.

After the lawsuit filed by Ellen Holby Simmons against me and the red-haired woman had been arranged for good, I returned to other horses, bought an old stable, learned to repair saddles, but never again jumped higher than 90 centimetres. The woods and the lakes became my friends again and the wind my graceful company.

Avalanche joined the ranges of Olympic gold medal winners and Ebony was somewhere out there, with the stars.