Monolouges

Horses

(This one is actually really personal to me. We were told to write a monologue from our perspective about something that really influenced our lives. When I performed this for my class, they were all really surprised by the turn it took. Hope you enjoy.)

I really like horses. 

I know that may seem like a really weird way to start off something like this, but I think it just fit.

I really like horses. Horses have always had some kind of major memory connected to them for me.

My grandfather was a wannabe cowboy with horse figures and cowboy photos on his walls. I had this giant pillow I slept on for about seven, maybe eight years until the only case we had was worn beyond repair. It had cowboys and of course, horses all over.

I collected a bunch of horse figurines through my younger years and I still pick up one or two of them every now and again when they come at a cheap price. Stuffed animals included. I'm like a giant child and I accept that about myself.

Now, here's a question for you. Am I the only one who remembers bad memories better than I remember the good ones? I mean, I remember some good things as well, but does anyone remember the smaller details of something bad that happened more than something good?
I can't remember my first time sledding, but I remember how I got this scar on my finger like it happened an hour ago. I can't really remember what it was like to play with my brothers when they came to visit but I can tell you the story of how my eldest one disowned me a few months ago.

Imagine this one. Nine year old me, a Sunday afternoon. I remember it was Sunday because I didn't go to school the next day.I was sitting on the front porch with my Grandmother and my Cousin Amanda who's always been like a mother figure to me. My Grandfather was inside, sitting in his recliner positioned to face the TV with his feet propped up, all comfortable.I was on the edge of the porch, playing with some of my horse figurines that really weren't meant for playing, but I played with them anyway. My dad once bought me a more toyish one from a yard sale when he came to visit and I really hated the thing. I thought it was ugly compared to the other ones I had that were so nicely painted. I don't know why I did it, but when I was picking out which horses I wanted to play with, I grabbed that one. As ugly as I thought it was and how much I never wanted to play with it, nine year old me grabbed that horse and it was the main focus in whatever I was playing sitting on that porch.I have no idea what my Grandmother and Amanda were talking about because I was just so oblivious to it with my mind occupied by those stupid horses...The phone rang inside. Neither of them moved because they knew my Grandfather would get it. He came to the door a few minutes later, opened it up and asked for the two of them to go inside while he still had the phone pressed to his ear. I didn't pay much attention because I wanted to play with my horses. They told me to stay there as they went inside and I just nodded, playing on.I knew that something was wrong when I heard my Grandmother sob. Well, it wasn't really like a sob, it was more so like a scream that I could hear through the thin wall... I thought she was in pain, and in a way, I guess I was right. They had told me to stay where I was though, so I stayed put until my Cousin came back outside. The second she opened the door, I could hear my Grandmother crying. It just kept going and it sounded like she couldn't breath because she was crying so hard. I had no idea what was going on until my Cousin asked me to come up and sit next to her on this glider we have.In a way, it was like I knew. Life moved in slow motion the second I sat down and looked at her. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I knew. That day, I was told something that a nine year old should never have to hear. My dad died.The man who called every single week no matter where he was to check in on me and talk for a while.The man who I can't remember calling me by my first name because to him, I was always "Daytona Rose". My middle names.The man who almost wore a shirt with a topless girl on it to our family reunion until I begged him not to so we could all wear tie-dye shirts as a family.The man who struggled with addiction from his teen years until trying to get custody of his sons again.The man who promised me that we'd one day have our family back even it was only him, me and my brothers.The man who bought me that hideous toy horse...Andrew Joseph Smith, (Odie to his friends),  good friends with Michael Vick, and die hard Grateful Dead fan who went to any and every show in traveling distance, was dead.He was gone and he never got to keep his promise...They told me it was a heart attack and they weren't completely lying, but I didn't find out the real reason until a few years later when I found a copy of his death certificate. He started using again. He'd finally gotten my brothers back and barely a month later, he started using and his heart gave out on him. I remember that moment perfectly and it sometimes plays like a movie in my head when I least want it to.So many things happened because of that moment. I mean, I became an orphan that day. I lost any chance of having a normal family with my father and brothers. Since then, I have hated every single "bring your parent to school day" or American Education week when you're supposed to bring in family. My grandfather would always try to come but I knew it wasn't something he enjoyed. I'd throw away the papers they handed out so he wouldn't know when it was.People tell me all the time that I'm so lucky because I avoided the life my brothers had by living with my Grandparents. They all say I'm so lucky when I just can't see it. I know I am, but I don't feel it.You know, I still have that toy horse, and I haven't played with it since...