A Leap For The Sky

by Kc Wheeler

Chapter One

  Her ears forward, her gait steady, Gypsy didn't falter for a moment.

  I counted my strides, one, two, three, and leaned forward as Gypsy sailed into the air, clearing the large fence with inches to spare.

  "Wahoo! That was awesome!" my friend, Lucy, shrieked excitedly as we hit the ground.

  I gave Gypsy a gentle, rewarding slap on her hot, sweaty neck. "Good girl, good girl, good girl," I repeated happily. I turned to Lucy and grinned. "1.35 metres; no problem for Adele and Gypsy! Showjumping champs, here we come!" I exclaimed.

  "You're going to rock!" Lucy cried.

  I dismounted my horse, loosened her girth, and walked her slowly around the rubber-chip arena, letting her cool off. It was a hot Summer's day and Gypsy had worked incredibly hard for me. Her coat was thoroughly streaked with sweat, dark against her golden coat. I tied her next to Lucy's horse, Bugs, and quickly untacked Gypsy before hosing her down.

  Hot steam rose up from Gypsy's back. "I bet that feels good, aye girl?" I murmured.

  Bugs pulled hard against the lead rope, sticking his face through the water flow. "He wants a drink!" Lucy laughed. "Bugs is a strange horse."

  I giggled and aimed the hose at Bugs whose upper lip curled as he drank. Gypsy watched, her eyes wide with interest. "Gypsy thinks he's strange too!" I stated.

  Lucy was my best friend and had been for ten years since we discovered we were both totally into horses at age seven. Even today, we were often lectured for discussing horses in class when we were meant to be working.

  Tall and slender with brown hair, I thought she kind of looked like her horse. Bugs was an athletic-built, plain bay Thoroughbred gelding who like Lucy, was very tall. At 16.2-hands-high, Bugs positively towered over Gypsy who stood a mere 15-hands-high.

  Unlike Lucy, I looked nothing like my horse. I thought I was very plain looking with thick brown hair and grey-blue eyes. Gypsy was a beautiful, rich chestnut mare with a thick blaze and four white stockings. Part Quarter horse, part Thoroughbred, Gypsy stood not only short but quite stocky, being an unusual candidate for an excellent jumping horse. Though bred for Western, it was as though Gypsy was born to jump- She'd even been seen jumping freely by choice in the paddock! While her dressage was merely average, she made up for it with a super cute jumping style, scope to burn, and the heart to clear any obstacle she was faced her with.

  My parents had given me Gypsy three years ago on my fourteenth birthday, as a nine-year-old mare with wins and placings up to 90 centimetres in showjumping. I was also told Gypsy had successfully given birth to a beautiful colt.

  My fourteenth birthday was the best day of my life, and Gypsy was by far the best present anyone had ever given me. Gypsy and I clicked from day one and she had quickly become my best friend; alongside Lucy of course. Gypsy also gave me ever-growing confidence to move up the heights in showjumping. In one week from now, Gypsy and I were to enter and compete in our first ever 1.25 metres showjumping round at the 2015 Showjumping Championships.

  Lucy and I led the horses to their paddock. We both grazed our horses at Ridgewood Stables. It was a great place with a large arena dotted with professional-looking show jumps, a small numbered dressage arena, 70 acres of turn-out grazing, and the stables. The beach was a ten-minute ride away and the roads were quiet. The owner, Michael, was very kind and obliging, and we were yet to encounter any serious problems with the boarders.

  I slipped off Gypsy's halter. "Off you go." Gypsy stood there, ears forward, staring at me. She made no attempt to move.

  Bugs however, took off in full gallop, letting loose a gleeful buck before halting and dropping to his knees in the centre of the paddock. He grunted as he rolled onto his back, hooves pointed loosely towards the sky.

  Gypsy stepped towards the gate where we stood and stretched out her neck, blowing hot air at my hands. "Sorry girl. I don't have a treat," I told her, softly touching her velvet-nose. As if she understood, Gypsy stretched further, nosing at Lucy's pocket.

  "Ohhh, you're too clever!" Lucy laughed. She pulled a carrot stick from her pocket and Gypsy gratefully took it between her teeth. She crunched down the carrot then reached out, hoping for more. Lucy pulled at her pocket so it was inside out. "No more. Sorry Gypsy!"

  Lucy and I giggled as Gypsy sighed loudly. She turned around and plodded over to Bugs, where she too dropped to her knees and rolled, her heavy body pressing into the dirt. She stood, shaking dust from her coat, and the two horses slowly wandered side by side towards the water trough.

  "Are we jumping tomorrow?" Lucy asked me.

  I thought for a moment. "How about we ride down to the beach tomorrow? The horses could do with a day off jumping."

  "Sounds like a plan. Can we meet at around ten tomorrow morning?" Lucy asked. "Mum wants us to go shopping for new school shirts and socks," she said, rolling her eyes. "I am not looking forward to going back to school!"

  "Sure, ten is fine; and me neither!" I told her. "I'd much rather be riding. I keep telling Mum that I plan to show-jump for a living, so technically I'm better off practicing my jumping than wasting time at school." I sighed. "But she keeps insisting that I stay at school for the last year anyway. 'Just in case' she says. She doubts my ability to turn my passion into a career, though she doesn't quite word it that way."

  Lucy nodded knowingly. "Well, we have Showjumping Champs before school starts back again, so let's just focus on that. Talking about school is sort of depressing," she said, screwing up her face.

  I perked up. "Every time I think about Showjumping Champs I get so excited!"

  "Me too. I'm really nervous too though," Lucy admitted.

  Lucy and I had been planning for 2015 Showjumping Champs since last year's Showjumping Champs. Not only was it to be my first class at 1.25 metres, but it was Lucy's first class at 1.05 metres.

  She had previously owned an old schoolmaster named Jock, who could no longer jump competitively over 95 centimetres due to mild arthritis.

  But now she had Bugs. At only seven-years-old Bugs was young and fit. He had a big, effortless jump that had improved immensely since Lucy had owned him, and had won his last two classes at 95 centimetres. Schooling over technical courses up to 1.10 metres at home, I knew Bugs would find the 1.05 metres class within his capabilities.

  "Bugs is an honest jumper," I replied to Lucy. "I bet you guys will do great!"

  I wasn't nervous but I knew I was likely to be when the time came. I was so lucky to have such a reliable, talented horse to carry me, and my nerves, around the course.

  "How was Gypsy today?" Mum asked me at dinner. Mum and Dad sat opposite me at the table and my eleven-year-old sister, Natasha, sat beside me.

  "She was amazing!" I exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti bolognaise. "We jumped 1.35 metres. You should have seen her! She didn't even hesitate and she cleared it by miles!"

  Dad frowned. "Be careful on that horse, Adele," he said. He was such a worrier, but I was the only one in the family who was interested in horses and was lucky to have such supportive parents.

  "That's great, honey," Mum smiled at me and lifted her fork to her mouth.

  "You guys have kept the 17th free, right?"

  "What's on the 17th?" Dad joked.

  "As if you haven't reminded us of the date enough times," Mum muttered. Then she glanced at me. "Yes, we'll all be there to watch you. Even Natasha."

  Natasha screwed up her face. "Boring!"

  Sometimes I wondered how I could be related to someone who disliked horses so much.

  I zoned out as Natasha started discussing her day with Mum and Dad. I kept fantasizing about Showjumping Champs. I could almost feel Gypsy's smooth canter beneath me as we approached the first fence. I leaned fo
rward slightly in my chair as Gypsy took off in my mind. A rider habit.

  Chapter Two

  It was yet another hot sunny day. The horse's shoes clonked on the tarsal road as we rode North towards the beach. I loved that sound.

  "So, Larissa has a new horse," Lucy was telling me. "He's a Selle Francais Warmblood and apparently he cost her parents over thirty-thousand dollars!" she exclaimed.

  Larissa was not our most favourite person in the world. Larissa was so perfect that it made me sick.

  She was very pretty with long black hair and bright green eyes. There weren't as many Equestrian males as there were females, but any that existed were guaranteed to be chatting up Larissa at horse events.

  Despite being a horse rider, she managed to keep long pedicured nails. This was because she didn't take care of her own horses. She didn't feed them, she didn't groom them; she didn't tack them up before riding, and she most definitely wouldn't be caught dead with a pitch-fork. Her parents hired stable hands to do all the hard work for her. They even had exercise riders to keep the horses fit since they continued to buy Larissa new, expensive horses without selling on Larissa's previous main mounts.

  Larissa's only responsibility was attending the lessons her parents scheduled for her, which were of course with highly rated grand prix and even Olympic riders. She was also expected to perform well at competitions, which she always did on her expensive well-schooled horses. Larissa always won. Always.

  Admittedly, yes, we were a bit jealous of her; though I'd choose my Gypsy horse over any other horse in the world. But the reason we disliked her is because although sickeningly sweet to anybody she felt worthy of her presence, she treated those she believed not, like complete and utter crap. Apparently Lucy and I were not worthy of Larissa's presence; probably because our horses weren't Warmbloods and our families were middle-class.

  "Larissa is competing her new horse in the 1.25 metres class at Showjumping Champs," Lucy explained. "Imagine if you beat her!" she exclaimed. "I'd love to see the look on her face!"

  "Well, there's no chance of that happening," I muttered bitterly.

  "You never know," Lucy said slowly. "Her new horse might be a good jumper, but so is Gypsy."

  "Her new horse is probably, like, 17-hands!" I cried, thinking of the advantages such a big horse would have over Gypsy. He'd have the ability to go around at a slower, more collected gait while still beating Gypsy's time with his massive strides. 1.25 metres would require little effort for his long legs as opposed to Gypsy, who jumped cleanly, but with the fence high above her belly would not succeed without giving it her all.

  "Height doesn't always matter!" Lucy insisted. "He won't be able to cut corners the way Gypsy can. She's nimble and excellent at jumping from odd angles."

  I smiled as I pictured my little, fat, part-bred Quarter horse beating a thirty-thousand-dollar Warmblood. If only. While it was a pleasant fantasy, I'd be happy if Gypsy just did her best. And Gypsy always did her very best.

  The track to the beach came into view and we could clearly hear the rush of the ocean. The horses now strode out and walked with a purpose, their heads held high.

  We trotted down the beach track and into the soft sand. I always loved how a horse felt beneath me on the beach. Their movement always felt so soft; so floaty as they sunk down into the golden sand. It was like riding on a ghost-horse, gently bobbing above the ground.

  We slowed to a walk and headed towards the water. Bugs, typical of the Thoroughbred breed, jig-jogged sideways, his eyes wild with excitement. Lucy was a nice, quiet rider and sat calmly in the saddle, her body so still despite Bugs' bouncy movement beneath her.

  Gypsy eagerly carried me into the sea, stopping to sniff, then paw, gently at the waves. Bugs had been race trained at the beach and the sea was no threat to him either. Soon Bugs settled down and we rode side by side through the shallow water.

  "Adele?" Lucy said, squinting at me beneath her helmet.

  "Hmm?"

  "You know how you want to show-jump for a living?"

  I stared at her. "Yeah?"

  "Well," she glanced down at Bugs' neck. "Basically, I was wondering what will happen when Gypsy can't take you any higher?" Lucy asked quickly.

  "She jumped 1.35 metres yesterday," I said.

  "Yes, but it's different jumping just one jump as opposed to a course. And even if she can compete at 1.35 metres, that's only 10 centimetres higher than what you're competing next week. If that goes well, you could be up at 1.35 metres in no time."

  I stared at Lucy, confused. "You say that like it's a bad thing!"

  "What I mean," Lucy spoke slowly now, as if explaining herself to a child. "Is what if she isn't comfortable competing over 1.25 metres? Or even 1.35 metres? Whatever. I mean, she is only small."

  "You said just before that height doesn't always matter!" I cried, annoyed.

  Lucy looked away. "She's not exactly bred to be a high level jumper either though. I mean, how many Quarter horses do you see competing at huge heights?"

  "She's half Thoroughbred!" I spoke shrilly.

  "But she's built more like a Quarter horse."

  I twirled a piece of Gypsy's mane around my finger. I knew Lucy had a point, and to be honest I didn't see Gypsy taking me much higher than 1.25 metres in the competition ring. I knew deep down that she was nearing the peak of her potential, but Lucy knew I never wanted to sell Gypsy so why was she so insistent on making me think about that right now? "I'll have to get a new horse," I said finally. "But I won't be selling Gypsy. I'll have two horses."

  "How will you afford to buy a new horse then?" Lucy asked. "You and I both know that not just any old horse will be capable of living up to your expectations."

  "I'll get a part-time job. You know, until my riding career kicks off." I smiled, satisfied and relieved with my answer. I had reassured myself that everything was going to be okay. "Maybe I can find a cheap ex-race horse like Bugs to train up," I said. "A lot of off-the-track Thoroughbreds have made it big in jumping," I added thoughtfully.

  Lucy grinned. "Well, Bugs has turned out to be pretty brilliant."

  At that moment, Bugs threw his head in Lucy's face and began to jig-jog again, the water foaming around him.

  "Well, he can be a bit naughty?" Lucy mumbled. "He's probably not going to the Olympics either. But there are nicer Thoroughbreds out there who would put Bugs to shame," she admitted. She then leaned forward and covered Bugs' ears with both hands, causing him to chuck his head again. "You didn't hear that Bugs."

  I smiled, calm again, and grateful to be riding such a laid back horse in comparison.

  "Do you mind if we canter?" Lucy asked suddenly. "It'll be good for him to let off some steam!"

  "Sure," I answered.

  Lucy slid her leg behind the girth and Bugs leaped high into a canter, yanking hard at Lucy's hands before giving in and lowering his head. Gypsy calmly popped into a canter behind him, her usually smooth gait, rough in the ocean. Waves crashed against us, throwing water into my riding boots, soaking my leggings and socks.

  Gypsy's short copper mane flew up with every stride. With a burst of speed, we were now beside Bugs and Lucy, closest to the shore, her canter small and quick in comparison to Bugs' long, ground-covering strides.

  Bugs, still a race horse at heart, pinned his ears flat and tugged against the bit. Lucy leaned forward and gave with her hands, allowing Bugs full freedom of his head and neck. I followed suite and stood in the stirrups as both horses increased their pace.

  We veered left onto the wet, compact sand where both horses sped up once more. Faster and faster we went until both horses reached full gallop. Despite her size, Gypsy managed to keep at Bugs' heels for a while, her legs moving wildly beneath me. However, although an average race horse among other race horses, Bugs was still a big, long-legged Thoroughbred, and Gypsy was still a short, stocky crossbreed; so with the subtle cue from Lucy, Bugs lengthened his stride once more and ate up the ground, leavin
g Gypsy and me for dust.

  My hair blew wildly into my face and damp salty air burned lightly at my skin. The ocean flew by in a blur of green. I stood in the stirrups, perched low over Gypsy's back, a handful of mane in one hand for extra balance. I gazed through Gypsy's ears, which kept flickering back as she listened to my heavy breathing. We were going so fast, yet Bugs and Lucy appeared to be a speck in the distance and I silently vowed myself to ask for a gallop on Bugs next time.

  Fit from full work, Gypsy continued on strong and I wanted to shriek with glee as her hooves thundered upon the hard sand. Besides showjumping, I couldn't think of anything more amazing than this; the freedom, the speed and the bond between Gypsy and I left me exhilarated.

  All too soon, Bugs and Lucy appeared nearer and nearer and I realized they were walking now. I slowed Gypsy to a canter, a trot, and finally a walk. She took the contact and lowered her neck, stretching out towards the ground. "That was fun aye girl?" I murmured.

  "It was amazing!" Lucy exclaimed.

  "Bugs is very fast!" I commented. Bugs walked calmly now, blowing hard, his thin coat lightly glistening with sweat.

  "Yup; all he needed was to blow off some steam," Lucy said matter-of-factly.

  Chapter Three

  I felt so tired after our big beach ride. However, when the time came to go to bed, I was wide awake. I switched on the bedside lamp and grabbed my book, The Horse Whisperer.

  I was halfway through The Horse Whisperer and I had been enjoying it thoroughly, but tonight I struggled to get into it. When I found myself reading the same line repeatedly, I shut the book and placed it back on my bedside table.

  I then leaned over and reached beneath my bed where I kept my photo album. This album was full entirely of horse photographs and I intentionally kept the album there for nights like this. The first photo was of me mounted on Missy, a fat, grey Welsh pony I rode when I started riding lessons as a six-year-old, with a lady named Mel. Missy would have been lucky to be 12-hands-high, yet I looked so small up there in my pink jodhpurs and miniature jodhpur boots. I wore a huge, happy grin upon my face. Missy on the other hand, stood half asleep with her head lowered and both ears out to the side. It was just another day for Missy. Day in, day out, Missy carted around kids as they bounced on her back, struggling to follow Mel's instructions. Such a patient pony was Missy.