by Emily Asad
* * * * *
The results of the writing contest finally came in May, three weeks before school was done, and Mrs. Putnam handed me a check for $50 plus a certificate saying that I had taken third place out of four hundred contestants. Third! I hadn't even expected to place at all, much less win any money. They could have given me a single dollar, and I still would have felt like a champion. Not only that, but my story would be published in a collection of short stories written by other young adults. I could honestly claim that I was now a legitimate, published author. Wow.
Mrs. Putnam told me to continue writing during the summer, and to keep a journal. She lavished me with creative assignments – not that I would have time to do them, especially during summer break – but it encouraged me to keep growing.
I gloated about my success at dinner, and received my congratulations with assumed modesty. Peter even asked me for help with his creative writing assignment for the end-of-year project. I was flattered. Becky treated me like a hero, saying that she was proud of her ‘famous sister.’
Mom made breakfast for us the next morning – a rare treat on a weekday, since we all had to catch the bus and go our separate ways – and beside my place mat was a card with my name on it. Curious, I tore the envelope and read the card.
“I’m so proud of you,” it declared. The inside read, “For just being who you are.”
Mom caught my eye, and she looked kind of embarrassed. “I’m glad you won the contest, honey, but I’m even prouder of who you are as a person. You don’t need prizes to make me proud of you.”
My face almost split in half as my grin stretched up to my ears. She kissed the top of my head and smiled back at me.
Life couldn’t have been more perfect for me.
Why is it, that when everything is going well, something happens to crash your whole world? Always! Without fail!
That weekend, I heard Mom and Roger arguing about something. I could not hear the specifics, but I knew it was something terrible. It was so bad that it made Mom cry.
Was it another divorce? Was Roger giving up on the family? What could have made my mother – so strong, so stoic – weep so uncontrollably? She usually shouted or got angry, but she never cried. It had to be something really bad, then. I felt terrified.
I stayed clear of their bedroom, retreating instead to the barn. I found my darling Gallant Rose waiting for me in the pasture. She nickered when I approached, and rubbed her nose against my tee shirt. “Hey, baby,” I said. “Ready for some exercise?” I clipped the rope to her halter and took her for a walk. She heeled like a well-trained dog. She also did tricks, too. Useless, I know, but I thought they were cute. When the walk was done, I put her through her paces. She shook hooves, bowed to me, and fluttered her top lip as if she were speaking. It had taken me a long time and a good deal of effort to figure out how to teach her that one, but we managed it with the help of some peanut butter stuck to her gums until she learned how to do it herself. I hoped it would impress the judges at the State Fair in August when she began to ‘speak.’
When we were done, I took her inside the barn and hitched her to a post so I could currycomb her. Unlike Charlie, she was ticklish, and had a tendency to trot away instead of holding still. I talked baby talk and nonsense to her. I was so amazed at how big she had gotten. Not so much height – she was her full height when she first arrived – but she had filled out. She was beautiful. I knew she would take a blue ribbon at the Fair.
Finally, I walked her out to the pasture. I stopped when I saw Mom there. She had her arms draped around Charlie’s neck. They were both holding very still. I listened, but did not hear any sobs. She was probably done crying and had moved into the depression that follows a good cry. I wondered what had set her off.
“Mom?”
She turned to me and sniffed. “Oh. Hi.”
I unhooked the rope from Galli’s halter and patted her rump. She trotted off, fresh and pretty, and proceeded to roll in the grass. So much for currycombing.
Mom released Charlie from her desperate embrace, but kept her arm on his back. “You’ve done wonders with that horse,” she murmured.
“Isn’t she great? There’s no way she’ll lose at the State Fair.”
Mom turned agonized eyes in my direction. “Oh, honey…” She swallowed hard. “There’s no way to say this easily. I just… I wish…”
I clenched my jaw. “What? What is it, Mom?”
“There isn’t going to be any Fair. We have to move again.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She nodded sadly. “We bought this place because we had six kids. Now there are only three of you. It’s too far from town. The animals aren’t as big a success with the other kids as we had hoped.”
“But they’re a success with me. I do a good job, don’t I?"
“It’s too much to ask of you.”
“I’ve never complained.”
A tear defied her and dripped down her cheek. “We can’t afford it anymore. It was justifiable when we had the six of you, but now it’s just a burden. At least you got your horse. Dream fulfilled.” Her voice trembled as she said the last sentence.
“Fulfilled? Are you kidding? I haven’t gotten to show her yet, or ride her. She’s not even broken. What are we going to do with her?”
“Sell her. Same as the others.”
“We can’t!”
“It’s life, Beverly. We have to.”
“Your life, maybe. Not mine. You always mess things up, just when things start looking good.”
She was strangely silent, almost defeated. I knew my words had cut her deeply. It made me feel strangely powerful – in an evil sort of a way. I wanted to say something that would hurt her, sort of revenge for all the moves and pain I had been put through. But I stopped myself for two reasons. First, accusing her would do no good. We were moving again, and I had no choice. Fussing would not solve anything. And the other reason was more of a revelation than a reason – I could tell that Mom didn’t want to move any more than I did. Having the farm was her dream more than mine. To her, it seemed like a final stab at making a dream come true before she was too old to enjoy it. No wonder she was pressed so closely to Charlie. He was her horse, her dream – and saying goodbye was no easier for her than it was for me.
In that moment, I felt closer to understanding my mother than ever before. I swallowed my pride. And my anger. “We’re going to miss them, aren’t we?” I asked, my voice husky with emotion.
She looked surprised, probably expecting this argument to drag on and on, with disastrous results. She nodded her response.
“When are we leaving? Next month or so?”
“No. Three weeks. June first. We put the house on the market yesterday. It sold almost overnight.”
“It’s good property.” I distanced myself from my emotions. I could almost see myself standing in the pasture next to my mother and our horses. I had to focus on business. I had to. “So. When do the horses go?”
“Soon as we find a buyer.”
“The other animals?”
“Their original owners agreed to take them back.”
Mom’s face conveyed a deeper sadness than what I felt. I knew she was in need of more comfort that I. “Well. I’ll make sure the barn’s clean by the time we leave. Do you want me to start collecting boxes?”
She nodded. Her chin quivered.
“Have you told Peter and Becky?”
“Not yet,” she whispered.
“Do you want me to?”
She looked out at the horses. I could not tell if she had heard me, or if she was too upset to answer.
I wrapped my arms around myself. Gallant Rose approached me, probably wanting a sugar cube or an apple. She nuzzled my arm. I pushed her away. She tried again, so I pushed harder. It was better if she weaned herself from me now, than having to deal with the sudden shock of living with a new family. I wondered if I was pushing her away for her sake, or for min
e. It didn’t matter.
I turned my back on the three of them – Mom, Charlie, and my former darling, Gallant Rose – and returned to the house. I didn’t look back. I knew the routine.
