Bloodless Day was a statue.
The slowly rising sun gingerly brushed gold against him, gilding his dark coat. He stood stock-still, royally chiseled head lifted away from the barn, away from the sunrise, towards the darkness. His eyes surveyed the last dew-drop stars as they were plucked from the sky, dark and unreadable.
They were eyes for secrets, a horse for secrets, a girl for secrets.
"Don't tell anybody," I said, quietly. His ears didn't even flicker at my voice, but his neck shivered. "But we're doing this for Her. Let's put Her memory in history, even if it's only us that know. Win for Her, for history, so that we'll always be remembered."
And this was my greatest fear, that my life and Hers and BD's would pass quietly over and be unremembered for the rest of time. For if nobody remembered us, who was to say we ever existed? What a waste.
BD turned suddenly, so fast I flinched, but he just put his muzzle in my hand and held me with a solemn gaze.
Silently, under the disappearing stars, he promised.
*****
Even by horse-people standards, I'd been early to the barn. By the time half-asleep grooms began to stumble in, I'd already brushed BD into a burnished sheen, picked sawdust from his saddle pad, shined his saddle, and mucked several stalls, including that of Holiday Break, who was entering his four-year-old season.
"You do realize that you have to sleep to function, right?" Jack wheeled into the barn with a box of donuts on his lap and a crooked smirk on his face, still pinched pink from the unforgiving Kentucky winter. Not bothering to dignify this with a response, I exited Holiday's stall with a last pat to the bay.
Whickering, BD slung his head over his stall door and nodded eagerly towards the donuts. Jack's eyes narrowed. "Why does this horse know donuts?"
I busied myself in latching the door, no easy task as Holiday found it funny to nibble at my hands as they fiddled with the frozen metal lock. "No reason." Well, maybe possibly I'd gotten a stale donut yesterday. And maybe possibly it had ended up in BD's stall. But only maybe possibly.
BD further betrayed my lie by nosing Jack's hair affectionately; the stallion was never affectionate. "Unbelievable. You're such a liar!" Jack exclaimed, but he didn't sound mad, instead reaching up to scratch BD's dark jawline. Offended by the casual gesture, the Thoroughbred withdrew back into his stall.
Shaking his head and smiling reluctantly, the jockey maneuvered his wheelchair into an empty stall and started to stand, somewhat unsteadily. His arms turned white as they gripped the edge of the stall door and pulled himself back into the barn aisle.
"That's fine," I said, though nothing really was. "Go start your way to the dressing room. I've got BD here. Willifred's going to be up in five minutes anyhow to prep." I slid the bolt from BD's stall and met the exuberant Thoroughbred with a halter and a mint.
"You mean cross himself and curse out a cat?" Jack asked dryly, earning himself a withering glare. The trainer did have rather odd superstitions, but Jack was rather guilty of humming the Star Wars theme to himself on the way to posttime, everytime. So he wasn't entirely innocent himself.
"Are you nervous?" I asked, leading BD from the stall and onto crossties. As brimming with energy as he was, his steps were still slow and careful on the concrete, his misted breath steady as it colored the air.
He fell silent as he lowered himself back into his wheelchair. "No, not really. This is the biggest race of my life, but it's going to be small change in relation to the races I want to run. That I'm going to run," he corrected himself. "Are you nervous?"
I stepped back from BD and studied him. He met me with an even gaze, eyes dark and knowing. I remembered earlier, of his promise under the fading stars.
"No," I said. "We're not."
Jack's voice was admiring as he wheeled himself out of the stall. "You've changed this year, Anna. The new year had me reflecting a lot on the past one and.... wow."
Me and BD both. We'd gone from dark, hidden creatures to something unstoppable. There was nothing that could get in our way. My hand found its place on the stallion's cool shoulder, and as he breathed, his side and my palm rose and fell in synchrony. "A year and four days..." I murmured. We were lost causes, survivors of broken hearts. And now, we were not quite healed, but stronger anyhow.
"A lot has changed."
I was looking at BD, but I felt Jack's eyes on me, thoughtful and considering. BD looked back at Jack. None of us were moving.
The moment ended abruptly as Willifred strolled into the stable, stopping as he caught sight of idle hands. "Jack! Go put your silks on! Anna! Tack up that horse! We have a race to run!"
"A race to win," I corrected, accepting a high five from Jack as he wheeled away. BD whinnied in agreement. This was a promise to make, a secret to keep.
*****
One year and four days ago, Bloodless Day was scraggly. He was breathlessly fast and breathlessly dangerous. He was a comet, teetering off into space, looking for another comet angry enough to crash into.
Now he was a bronzed bullet, dangerously controlled in the right hands, a straight line to a destination.
He was in the starting gate. There was a flash of green, his Christmas gift of a browband decorated with clovers, and the gates were closed, and then they were opening.
"That was a nice, clean break," Willifred said from next to me. We were leaning against the railing, Mr. Piperson himself alone in the owner's viewing box. "You remember that, Anna, for when I put you on a horse next year."
I could only gape at him, mouth ajar, as the horses rounded the bend, BD in the lead. He flashed intermittently gold and black as his muscles moved sinuously under his coat, Jack a dark green blur on his back. They weren't racing, so much as running ahead of the race. They swept by me and the trainer, Jack's face one of joy and BD's of utter glee, and then they were under the wire, winning by seven lengths.
"I'll be surprised if that wasn't a track record," Willifred mused as he pushed away from the railing. I followed him, burning with guilt as BD's amazing race fluttered from my mind, replaced by only one thought: me, a racehorse, running next year. I could do it. One year had shown I was capable of exercising. Why couldn't another let me become a jockey?
We were in the winner's circle suddenly, surrounded by spectators ogling at the winner of the Jerome, and Mr. Piperson was there, beaming at a flashing camera, and Jack was there, beaming at me.
"This horse ran the race himself! I didn't touch him- he just looked out, and was moving out, and then he stopped and we won."
BD himself wasn't too excited. Not even breathing hard, he tilted his head to me, ears flopped and eyes arrogant in the flashing camera lights. I did a great thing, he seemed to say, and it wasn't even hard.
Laughing, I rubbed his broad poll, scratching behind the floppy ears, brushing dust off the browband. "Yes, you did, bud."
"That's a great photo," one of the photographers remarked, out of sight. More lights popped, a few spectators began to trickle away. "What are your plans for the Derby?"
Willifred's reply was lost in Jack's silence. I stopped rubbing BD and glanced up worriedly. "Your leg?"
"Yeah," he grunted, feet out of his stirrups. "I can hang on if you just lead him back to the barn."
"It's an upgrade from a wheelchair," I joked. "Though a bit more unpredictable."
"The wheels don't fall off as often, though." We shared a laugh. The photographers retreated. It was time to go back.
I started leading BD back to the shedrows. He rounded the bend away from the winner's circle, and everything was quiet again, muffled by the cold-laden clouds that haunted the sky. My news burst out of me, surprising BD as he skittered to the side. "Willifred said I might be a jockey next year."
Jack was silent as he gripped the reins, face white as a stirrup banged against his bad leg. When BD was settled again, walking slowly and intensely enjoying himself, he said, "I thought he might."
Humming, I dipped the hand that wasn't holding BD into my pocket, finding the chilly buttons on my phone. The biggest button was pressed, and I felt the buzzing against my thigh as it turned in.
I had to call Lilac.
*****
This was a hard chapter to write, mostly because it was originally going in a different direction, but then something happened yesterday that made me turn this into something else.
One writing account that I've been following on Instagram has been dealing with depression for a long, long time. I only talked to the girl a few times, but she was super nice and easily had the most writing talent I've seen in a long, long time.
Then yesterday she posted her final goodbye, and today her account was gone.
I'm not sure what this means. I'm hoping she's still alive, getting the help she needs, but there's no way of knowing. I'm worried and I'm hoping and I'm dreading and I'm writing.
This chapter is dedicated to that girl, to everybody with a past and a future and a future that's been taken from them, for all of our fallen and falling writers.
Stay strong, guys.
Love, Iggy