Call Me Charlie

Issue 323

You guys,

George was riding a horse by himself, holding the reins and trotting, going faster than I would ever dare. Sam was on another horse, nearby, and Theresa, who owned the estancia, was on another.

I was back at the house, in the cozy bedroom we were staying in for one night, finding Waldo in a big book with Layla. It was probably for the best that I didn’t see my 5-year-old by himself on the back of a horse, galloping along. My one responsibility, above all else, is to keep my kids alive. I am already risk-averse in my own life, and doubly so with my children.

This was our second weekend at an estancia, and George had quickly fallen in love with riding horses. It was a first for both of us. It’s not that I’ve avoided them my whole life; I was just never drawn to horses and there was never an opportunity. When the four of us had been out earlier, my horse looked at me with what I was sure was a side-eye stare of distrust. I was told the horse senses how you feel, so I said hello and stroked the side of his neck and told him I was new at this. As I sat on top of him, feeling very high up and like I was on some sort of amusement park ride, I thought of Shirlee.

We were in grade school together. She was the tallest in our class with long dark, curly hair, and from the moment I met her in second grade I knew she loved horses. She had horse notebooks and horse T-shirts and horse jewelry. Her love for horses never wavered, following her into middle and high school. I’d never seen or known someone who loved something so much; had such a long-lasting passion and obsession for one thing. I was in college or had recently graduated when I heard the news. Shirlee had gone riding on her horse one late afternoon, after work. The horse got spooked and threw her head-first into a tree and she died instantly.

It is all I can think of when I think of horses. Horses and Shirlee, Shirlee and horses. When I looked at George earlier, when I was still out with them, and he was riding Pompa, I could see that George was not thinking of Shirlee. He did not hold the same stories in his head, the same fears.

Shirlee’s story had always greatly saddened me. But as I watched George light up on the horse, grab the reins by himself, and kick his tiny little heels on the sides so that I wondered if the horse could even feel it, I thought of how lucky Shirlee was to find that one thing she loved more than anything so early on. And another voice inside me, albeit fainter, told me that, yes, I need to keep him alive, but it’s even more important that I let him live.

When it was time to leave and drive the hour back to La Barra, Theresa suggested we say goodbye to the horses. Once outside by the pen, the only horse around was the one that Sam and Layla had been riding together. When Vasca saw us she took off running. She thinks we want to ride again, Theresa told us, and she doesn’t want to. She’s tired. George’s horse was nowhere to be seen. We walked further, out into the plain, and Theresa finally spotted Pompa. She was the furthest horse away. George and I called her but horses don’t respond the way dogs do. Pompa didn’t move. I told George we would just have to say goodbye from here. He told me, with fire in his delivery, that he was not leaving until he saw Pompa.

We’re going, Theresa announced. Let’s go find Pompa.

It was a little hike, over rocks and tiny streams, until she was there before us. I hung back, my fear of spooking a horse always present. Theresa walked slowly, in a roundabout way towards Pompa’s face. George took a straight line to her middle, and Layla followed. The closer we got to Pompa the larger and stronger she seemed. “Hey, guys, you go with Theresa toward the front, never the back.” I imagined Pompa suddenly kicking George with her hind leg. I thought of the damage that kick could do to a 5-year-old.

George was not scared. He kept walking. I told him to go slower.

Pompa seemed distracted, eating grass. When George was close enough he stroked the side of her neck twice. Layla copied him. Then George got right next to her and leaned his whole body against her front leg, and closed his eyes, still stroking her fur.

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Until next week,

Charlie