Untitled - Campbell University

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certificate – and lead my horse to the round pen next to the arena. Once inside, I
fasten the reins so they won’t trip him, and I pick up a longe whip with the intent
of working the edge off him before getting on. At my command, he starts trotting
along the rail, his legs snapping up in a lovely rhythm that I hear beating in my
head. I watch him as he moves: his ears are tilted in my direction, and his head is
lowered submissively. I smile, although my heart is still pounding in my chest, and
ask him to canter.
He does more. He bucks.
He’s doing it to let off steam, I know. He has pent-up energy that he’s
releasing, and nothing more. It’s not an angry gesture, or one of defiance, or even
one of fear. It’s just his way of commenting on the nice day.
It sends my heart up to my throat. My smile vanishes, and I start to
shake. The whip falls from my slackened grip, and I turn away, eyes closed and
breathing shallow. I can’t do this. He’s 1200 pounds of sheer muscle, and I’m a puny
190-pound teenage boy who, when push comes to shove, can no more control this
horse than I can swim across the Atlantic Ocean. Who am I kidding, thinking that I
can somehow ride this creature, can take charge and order him around
Something soft touches my right hand, and I yelp and whirl around. Gypsy
has come to a stop directly behind me, his muzzle down at the level of my lowered
palm. It’s the same hand whose wrist had been shattered a month ago.
Tentatively, I reach out and stroke his forehead. He huffs contentedly, and I
take a deep breath. “Okay,” I say, my voice still trembling, “let’s get this show on the
road.”
I lead him to the arena, where Rachel is waiting. By her expression, I can tell
she knows what’s going through my head. “You’ll be okay,” she tells me. “You have
to get back in the saddle if you’re ever going to conquer your fear.”
I nod but don’t speak. I don’t think my throat will allow speech.
I tighten the girth so that the saddle won’t slide when I mount and then I
pause. Take a deep breath. And another. I look at my horse. He looks at me. I don’t
move. There is silence. I turn my head to look at an ordinary patch of dirt along the
rail. The spot where I’d been painfully acquainted with the earth. It had just been a
stumble and nothing more. But I’d departed from the saddle. Was I about to depart
from it again
And would I depart from more than just the saddle this time
I look back at Gypsy. He’s watching me, apparently wondering why I haven’t
mounted yet. I take another deep breath, which does nothing to calm my frayed
nerves.
And then I’m on his back.
Everything goes smoothly. We walk around the arena at a leisurely pace.
Rachel calls out directions to me: “Heels down. Remember to look up at where