A Shaken Soul

A Shaken Soul

         As a child, I remember watching as my father yelled at my mother, giving her the last of the child-support he owed.  I hid upstairs behind the blinds in her room, squinting into the sunlight as I watched everything play out in the driveway down below.  He handed her the envelope; then he sped off and out of my life indefinitely.  That is something that a person can never truly forget after it happens, and I lost a part of who I was that day.  Yes, my step-father could take the place of my dad but no matter how much I want to, I cannot forget my father.  Little did I know that years later someone would come along to help me find that piece of myself again. That someone would not come in the form of another human being but in the form of a horse.

        After my parents’ divorce I had latched onto horseback riding and everything equine; after my dad left for good I only clung to the horses even more so. I continued riding for several years, switching where I was taking lessons occasionally, until I found a place called Post Hill Farm. I walked into the barn and the distinct smell of horse, manure and sweat hit my nose.  And now, it smells like home, it’s something familiar and almost comforting in a way. From there I walk into a dusty, indoor arena that I would become well acquainted with in years to follow. As I go to start my first lesson here, I finally meet my instructor.  She’s a lean woman, standing a few feet taller than I at the time. Her jet black hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail, with little kinks running along her scalp as the curls fight to show themselves. Her name is Peggy, and this woman would go on to teach me so many things about life and the lessons in it; but this isn’t about her; no, this is about the horse named Austin.

        I took lessons at Post Hill for the following four years before Beth (the owner of Post Hill Farms) asked my mother and me, if I could lease a new horse she had coming in. I told my mom that I’d love to, especially considering this horse needed to be retrained and that was my favorite past-time. A week or so later the horse arrived and I went to see him and get to know the horse I’d be training and leasing. Instantly, as I walked over to his stall, I loved how he looked and the little throaty neigh he let out only confirmed I’d have fun working with him. I couldn’t have possibly known exactly how much this horse would come to mean to me over the next few years. I leased him for three or four months, training him all the while. He was perfect for me when it came to working but he was horrible for others, even Peggy.

         Finally after those months of leasing him, all the while my mom, stepdad and I asking if we could buy Austin, Beth finally called the house, and said he wasn’t working out as a lesson horse and she’d have to sell him. Now, I wasn’t aware that he was for sale and my parents didn’t let me know until about two weeks later. We were driving up to the barn, a journey which always seemed to be the longest drive in the world because I couldn’t possibly get to the barn fast enough to see Austin. Virtually every day after I’d get out of middle school, my mom would drive me from the house to see Austin, or drive me to my job then to see him. Either way, I was attached to this horse, and I didn’t really realize how attached until we pulled into the barn that day and my parents told me that Austin was for sale and someone had bought him. I started crying and ran into the barn to see my Austin-Baby one more time. I rushed into the darkness of the barn, not caring to turn on the lights as I ran into the black to find what I had come to call “my horse”. I flew into his stall and flung my arms around his muscled neck. I startled him at first and he pulled his head into the air because he couldn’t see me, but he soon recognized my voice and touch, then calmed down. I looked at him, bundled up in his thin, burgundy colored blanket; little puffs of smoke coming from his flared nostrils as his hot breaths hit the chilled, early spring air. Moving my hand to his face, I brushed his black forelock off of his forehead to reveal the white, diamond shaped marking I’d come to know and love. It was placed perfectly between his eyes and I loved to run my fingers along the cowlick of hair that lay in the middle of the diamond.

         My family came walking into the barn, after I had already been there for what seemed like an eternity, which was only about two minutes. They flicked on the lights, which instantly flooded the interior of the barn in a warm glow, turning Austin’s coat to a yellowy-brown color and revealing the sawdust in his mane, as I realized I had woken him from a nice sleep. I hurriedly flung the tears from my eyes and dried the remainder of them on my cold jacket sleeves before anyone could see them. My parents and all four of my sisters flooded into the barn and approached the stall to find me clinging to Austin and trying not to cry anymore. I begin to notice things I hadn’t when I originally came into the barn: like the red ribbon tied around Austin’s halter (which was already on), and a little card tied to the top of his blanket. Part of me didn’t want to look at the card because I knew, even though it was so small, it was would seal the fate of Austin and myself. My family had pointed the card out to me and told me to read it, but I refused to at first until they kept persisting. It read along the lines of, “Brush me, bathe me, keep me safe, love me, for I am yours…” I was confused by the ending and just stared at it blankly until my stepdad and mom yelled at me to turn the card over. Flipping the card on its little string, I read, in barely a whisper “Austin Raynow”. My heart skipped a beat and all the worry I had about losing him quickly diminished, replaced by overwhelming joy and happiness. That morning I cracked what I’ve come to consider one of my first real smiles in years. I was able to smile without feeling the weight of troubles at school, with friends, and for once I forgot about the weight of my dad walking away.

         I still smile that same smile from time-to-time, not as often now as four years ago when I first came to own Austin, but still pretty often. One thing that these smiles all have in common is love and Austin. You ask me to smile for a picture and you’ll get the smile that I’ve mastered over the years to hide how I really feel, but if you give me a couple seconds with Austin, you’ll see a bright, sincere smile which shines right from the heart of me. Over the years Austin has taught me many lessons, from how to dance to how to let someone into my heart, but one of the best gifts he’s given me is my smile, one of the possessions I thought my father took with him as he walked away that day. I can only hope to bring as much love and happiness to Austin’s life as he did to mine.