Fireworks
On Saturday, July 14th 2007, I had arrived at a camp called Box T Ranch Bible and Saddle Camp. As its name suggests, it was a horse camp. I’d been there once three years before, since then I’d been a complete addict of the horse species. Going back was almost like going home- although it was no where near home. Box T was in Mercer, North Dakota. Home was in Minnesota, y’know, where everything we pronounce is “weird”, so I’ve heard.
I remember it seemed like twenty years before Monday afternoon, the day we’d all been waiting for, finally rolled around, I was so excited! I’m sure everyone in the entire camp, all twenty-two girls, had a certain horse in mind as we gathered in front of the barn after lunch to find out which horses we had been assigned. I was already a bit tense, Buddy had grown to become my favorite, he was a chestnut horse with a funny-looking sun-burnt nose. I knew if anyone was going to get Buddy it would be Cassie. She had been bugging Llewellyn, the man who ran the camp, about it the past two days. I would have been thrilled if I had gotten one of the especially good horses, like Blaze. Blaze was incredible, he was the fastest trained horse in the camp, just to sit on his back would be a dream come true.
But that would not happen. I was a beginner with little experience. I knew that Llewellyn remembered me from my last visit, I hoped he had decided to give me a decent horse. After getting instruction about saddling and bridling the horses, Llewellyn began to read off a list of camper names and horses. Without thinking I bounced slightly on my toes. I listened to name after name and became more and more convinced than ever that I was doomed to novice-level horse. My legs felt like jelly and it was so hot out that I could feel the sweat dripping down my forehead. My stomach lurched when I heard Cassie shreak as Llewellyn called out her name along with Buddy’s. I smiled at Cassie. It was one of those fake smiles, forced, like an eight-year-old boy when told to smile. Mentally, I ordered myself to calm down, I was being selfish, Cassie had just as much right to Buddy as I had had.
Finally, I heard my name called, the name that followed made my spirits sink down to the tips of my toes; Smokey. She was one of those white horses, there were about four of them in the whole camp and I’d always made a point of avoiding them. I never liked white horses and these ones were either old nags or mean ones you could never catch.
Marching down to the end of the line of horses tied along the fence, I spotted Smokey. She was almost completely white except for a place on her rump that slowly faded into grey. Her tail was dark, almost black, it discretely softened downward until the very tip was a snowy white. Her mane was clipped short, it stuck up like a zebra’s would. As I looked at her face I cringed inwardly at her bored, yellow eyes. She had a scar over one eye, and her yellowish muzzle seemed to be frowning fiercely.
Soon it was time to mount the horses and get them into the walking ring for practice. I unhooked Smokey uneasily and eyed her as I prepared to mount. I kept talking to her to make sure she was aware of my intentions, I didn’t trust her any more than I would a rabid dog. I swung myself up onto the saddle, but before I my right leg was even into the stirrup, Smokey began to move backward. I frantically grasped the reigns and gave them a gentle pull. But instead of stopping like she was trained to, she went even farther backwards. I opened my mouth to say ‘whoa’, but suddenly she wheeled around, causing a scream to escape. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Llewellyn, he grabbed Smokey’s halter and said with a firm voice, “whoa!” Smokey paused for a few seconds but then jerked her head violently, freeing herself from Llewellyn’s grasp. I felt air beneath my saddle as Smokey gave a little buck, I momentarily panicked and lost what control I had had left. Hanging on for dear life I heard Llewellyn’s voice.
“Hang on, turn her around, use your reigns!” he called. Getting a grip, I mutely followed his instructions.
“That’s the way”, he said when Smokey came to a satisfied halt, “Good job, now get into the ring.” I slowly directed Smokey towards the ring. Maybe I don’t have a boring horse after all, I thought as I joined in the ring. I wanted to like Smokey and I felt mean and unfair… but every time I looked her in the eye it was just horrible, she had a placid stare that froze me in my tracks.
The next day I mounted her and again went through what I soon began to call “fireworks”. When she was finished with her bucking and rearing fit, she would become slow and unwilling to do almost anything I asked of her. We tried the barrels that day, as I watched the other girls I became determined to get a good time, regardless of the horse upon which I sat. When it was my turn I gave Smokey a kick to get her going, but to my horror, all I could urge her into was a bouncy trot. As we neared the first barrel, she slowed into a walk and eased around it; like she was afraid the ground would fall away beneath her. I kicked her, and kicked her again, it made no difference. We bounced back to the other horses, my determination all but evaporated. I gulped as Llewellyn shouted out my time: twenty-eight seconds. Twenty-eight! I had been hoping for somewhere around twenty seconds, nothing spectacular, just a good solid time. I hadn’t expected it to be that bad. I glared at Smokey and ignored the comments that floated around me.
“Nice job Maria, you did your best,” said Kim, one of the counselors. Was she kidding? My time was terrible, it was worse than terrible, it was slow.
The next few days were even worse; I think I set the record for the slowest time ever: thirty-two seconds! I had kicked Smokey so hard that, in more than one instance, my foot had begun to throb. My emotions spewed inside of me like a volcano before eruption. I would mount Smokey, put up with her “fireworks” and dread barrel racing. Despite my horse difficulties, the week did manage to go by quickly, on Saturday night after supper Llewellyn made some announcements, he told some of the girls that, since their horses were apparently not fit for them; he would be switching them around. I seethed with jealousy as about five girls got to change their horses. I angrily brushed away the tears that threatened in the corners of my eyes. It wasn’t fair. When I asked Kim why I hadn’t gotten a horse change, she said that Llewellyn liked me with Smokey. Seeing my blank expression, she explained that I did an excellent job controlling and kicking my horse. I laughed with her as I got up and headed for the barn.
The thing is, I’m talented at hiding my feelings and as soon as I was far enough away, tears once again blinded me. I trudged to the pasture to retrieve Smokey. When she saw me approaching, she ran to the farthest corner, way over by the fence. I glared at my horse with distain and yelled, “I love you too!”
The girls around me laughed, but I didn’t think it was funny- I was furious. It took me a while to catch Smokey, and then I saddled her and went through those famous “fireworks” again. Earlier that week I had gotten smart and left her tied while I mounted her so she wouldn’t run away. This time she yanked so hard on the knot that it tightened till it was impossible to untie. Smokey was more snotty than usual today, she didn’t want to listen. To my absolute horror I saw that instead of warming up first, we were headed straight for the barrels.
I watched as the other girls went first, all the horses seemed to be getting their best times today. I looked down at Smokey with disgust… you’d better run today, I silently threatened. The sound of loud cheering snapped my attention back to the barrels, Kylie; the girl assigned to Blaze, was whipping around her last barrel and heading for home.
“Sixteen seconds!” called Llewellyn from a distance away. Kylie let out a squeal you could have heard a mile away. She’d come near to beating the camp record of fifteen seconds.
I knew I should be happy for her, I should have been excited like everyone else, but instead, jealousy burned inside me sending hot tears right back where I didn’t want them. Sofia was next and as she galloped away on Apache, I brushed my tears away- thoroughly annoyed with myself. I adjusted the reigns in my hands, Sofia rode in sporting a time of nineteen seconds. I was next. Sofia smiled at me and wished me good luck. I tried to smile back but it probably looked more like a grimace.
I dug in; giving Smokey a good hard kick… she stood there. Frustration surged through me as I once again began to kick Smokey, finally urging her into a slow walk. With more insistent kicking, she went into such a bouncy trot that I felt like someone had simply picked me up and started to shake me. She slowed back into a walk even before she reached the second barrel. I could hear the girls from the line of horses shouting encouragement, but I was too angry to care. As we started towards the third barrel Smokey resumed her brain-jarring pace. I was focusing so hard on kicking that I got off beat when posting. My hard landing in the saddle caused more tears of complete frustration and with one final kick, I gave up.
As we plodded towards the line of horses I heard Llewellyn’s voice.
“Bring that horse here,” he said with a cool, almost angry tone. Great, I thought, now I’m in trouble. I knew I was kicking Smokey too hard, I blamed myself. I reached Llewellyn and he handed me a strap.
“Do it again,” he said. “And this time, hit her hard.” I stared at him in shock. Hit her? Me? I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to; I was scared, yet willing at the same time. I took a deep breath and positioned Smokey. Giving the strap one last look, I gave her a whack.
Suddenly, Smokey came to life; she leaped forward as if startled at first, but then broke into a dead gallop. Clinging franticly to the saddle horn, I saved myself from being flipped forward, out of my seat. Quickly shifting my weight, I guided Smokey around the first barrel. Once around, I hit her again, gaining another burst of speed. Smokey turned sharp, pinning my foot painfully against the barrel. There was no time to even think though; Smokey was moving fast, faster than I’d ever ridden before.
As we reached the third barrel and circled it I heard the loud cheering from the girls, now directly ahead. I gave Smokey a kick and, needing no more prodding, she charged toward the line of horses. Riding on Smokey was the freest feeling in the world; her smooth gallop was as close as I’d even been to flying. The cheers faded into the background as I focused completely on staying with Smokey’s rythmetic stride. It was exhilarating. Suddenly, it was time to stop- and fast! I pulled Smokey into a choppy halt; she would have run right through the line of horses if I had let her. I looked down at Smokey, her nostrils were flared and she was breathing heavily. I viewed her with a new-found admiration because I realized now that Smokey’s problem wasn’t that she was slow, she just hadn’t been trying. I bent down and petted her sweat-soaked neck.
“Good girl Smokey,” I said.
I didn’t remember Llewellyn calling out my time. Kim rode up next to me, breathless with excitement.
“I’ve never seen Smokey go so fast before- awesome job Maria!” she exclaimed.
Looking back, I think the reason I remember this incident so clearly is because, for the first time, I realized that life is a bit like ‘fireworks’. They can be terrifying or beautiful, depending on how you view them. Even though what Smokey and I had accomplished wasn’t as impressive as nearly beating the camp record, we did the best we could with what we had. It felt amazing.