What if all you trusted was to crumble about you?
When a new pony arrives at Valley Riding School, volunteer Abby has no idea of the integral role that he has to play in the unfolding of her life. She goes from riding once per week to preparing for...
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An elderly man stands just in front of the counter, leaning on a knobbed stick that looks like something out of The Lord of the Rings. His hands tremble like an aspen leaf as he places his money carefully into my outstretched hand, which I in turn put into the till.
He always gives the exact change. I wrap his pastry into a little brown bag- the same pastry each week- and hold it out to him, careful to make sure he's got it before letting go. "Are you sure you don't want a seat, Mr. Smith?" I ask, already sure of the answer.
"No, thank you Abby," his voice, like his hands, is tremulous, "I prefer to sit on the green."
I smile and nod, "Thank you for coming in today."
"How are the horses going?" Mr. Smith likes horses, he says that he used to ride and since he discovered my fascination he asks me every week.
"Good, thank you. There's a new pony." I tell him about Red, the way he moves when he trots across the field and the way he is a little head-shy, opening a tiny crack into his fractured past. Mr. Smith's eyes seem to light up as I speak.
"Well good luck with him." Says Mr. Smith- "I used to know a pony like that, wild he was though." The elderly man chuckles as he says his goodbyes and hobbles away, closing the cafe door quietly behind him.
I watch him go, noticing that the clock above the door reads five 'o' clock, the end of my shift, so I remove my apron and hang it on its peg on the kitchen door before wiping the counter clean and gathering my things. Just as I am about to leave, a voice behind me calls my name. "Abby?"
Yvonne, my manager, appears behind the kitchen door- now open wide. "Yeah?"
She crosses the cafe towards the still swinging front door and moves the open sign on to closed. Normally that's my job, and Yvonne's silence as she performs the simple task is ominous. Usually Yvonne is full of chatter with which I can barely keep up but today she is sombre, and she finally says: "I'm sorry Abby, here're today's wages."
I take the note but confusion crosses my face for a second before she clarifies: "We're closing down."
Almost immediately, thoughts and tangled emotions swarm my mind- pity for Yvonne, disappointment, the elderly customers who love their Sunday tea and pastry. However, the most prominent thought, the most selfish thought, is anger. The cafe is the only thing enabling me to pay for my weekly lesson, and my weekly lesson is the only thing enabling me to ride.
Riding is the only thing that keeps me sane.
I nod, slowly, before checking my bag for my phone and exiting the cafe. As soon as the door swings closed behind me I swear, and anger sets in, moulding to panic as my mind races through impossible possibilities. How am I going to afford to ride?
How will I ride Red?
For some reason that is the thought that sticks out for me. Maybe because he's sweet, maybe it's because of the paces I know he is capable of showing me, maybe it's because he is the most challenging horse I've ridden in years, the first time I've struggled, the first time I've been excited to puzzle a horse out. Red is an enigma, maybe not for Kerys, who has known horses for years, maybe to her he is nothing special, but I have never ridden a green horse and the thought tugs me from my core.
