Disclaimer: I do not own the book Riding Lessons or any of the characters. All of these are the property of Sara Gruen.
Bang. It's like an explosion, all this power under me, hard and muscled horseflesh exploding into a leap. It's almost too easy for us, but then, Harry and I are just one of those pairs. The pair no one would dream of separating because they just fit together.
I'm laughing out loud—just like I did outside of the ring, with the stern face of my father, the serious face of my trainer next to and below me. Was I ready? Somehow the question holds more weight now. Am I ready? Yes, of course—
—and we explode off the ground again, and it's strange, because I don't even remember landing from the first. It doesn't matter. We're flying around the course now and there's no time to stop and think.
Harry lets me know he wants to go—no tugging at the reins like another horse, no, he's too wonderful for that. It's something not noticeable until you know what to look for; a little tensing of the muscles, the tiniest flicker of one ear back towards me. No, not yet. Wait. And he says yes in his way, giving me his rocking-horse canter until it's time to explode again—
bang
Too late I notice the jump—the double oxer. No! There's something about the double oxer I have to remember, something important—
Whywhywhy is the double oxer important?
—and then I remember because it's happening again. Land, crack, shatter the world into a million pieces as both Harry and I go down. Hands all over me, pulling me away from Harry and strapping me down on a stretcher. Another explosion, but this one
BANG!
is so much louder. Then I know why—a real explosion. A gunshot and a dead horse—
No. Not just a dead horse. A dead Harry.
Dead. Harry was dead. Shot where he lay while I lay safe in a hospital, unable to even move.
Shoot me now! Kill me too! Why live without my Harry?
But no one will shoot me or pull the plug and let me die, so here I am without Harry. And now that he was gone…
dead
…life would go on. Of course it would. I knew this, but those thoughts were buried—
Buried—
—like Harry, underground all alone without me. And suddenly I was there—
—cold dirt suffocating dark, can't breathe, can't breathe—
—and I look to the side, there he is, no longer a living breathing loving horse but deaddeaddead like me—
like I wish I was
—but it's still him. I know, because there are the stripes, wonderful brindled stripes all over, and his ears point in different directions like always. I imagine them moving like antennae
but no more
but they won't move, not anymore. It's him but not, because his beautiful brindled stripes are covered in dirt
I would never let them be
and his browndeeplovely brown eyes are glassy and cold. And as I watch, something moves—
maggot!
and I scream, because now there are millions, rotting me and Harry together
always a pair until we die
and I scream and scream and scream until something pricks my arm. Not a maggot—a needle. Was I screaming out loud?
…
It doesn't matter. I'm sinking into wonderful dreamless black now.
I hope Harry's there.
A/N: Sorry for the journey into experimental grammar (and for theextreme overuse of dashes). I wrote this during my empty period when I was just sitting around with no work to do, and had this idea playing around in my head. This was how it came out.
I think what's going on is (somewhat) clear, but here it is in case--it's set while Annemarie is in the hospital, paralyzed from the neck down, after the competition where Harry shattered his leg. It's about three weeks after, I think--just after she's heard about Harry being put down.
