Talk 

by Emma Espositio

 

I felt him tense up, his whole body shift from a quirky canter to a ruthless gallop.

 

I had lost control.

 

The best thing to do would be to hold on and hope for the best. And that’s exactly what I did. Thinking he’d stop when reached the barn, I sat up in hunt seat position, half halting trying to calm him down.

 

I guess the beastly animal had misunderstood my actions. He went completely off the path swerving , heading directly towards the giant oak tree standing ahead…

“Oh no,”  is all I could manage. I ducked down as far as I could, but the 15.4 hand American Quarter Horse was inches too tall. I heard the thick branch smash against my Troxel practice helmet. Instant pain reared from the back of my head—out of instinct, I suppose, I threw my hands up and grabbed my throbbing head, which was not a good idea considering Zeke was still cantering along the driveway, and I was extremely dizzy. 

 

Then blackness.

 

It was almost as if I fell asleep for a few moments. I don’t remember falling off, nor do I remember being carried to the garage.

 

I “woke” up lying down on a cooler with a bag of Green Giant peas on my head. Covered in blood, I caressed my head and tried to sit up, wondering where my horse was, but I was soon stopped by Mr.kevin, a barn aid to me, but certified EMT according to him, set me back down telling me not to move.

 

“Are you nauseas? Tired? Do you know where you are? What day is it?”

 

Mr.Kevin bombarded me with questions.
 

I just sat there looking around at everyone. I must have looked terrified because Emily’s mom came up to me and calmly said, “It’s going to be okay,” then proceeded with more follow up questions.

 

But that was the thing.

 

I wasn’t scared at all.

 

I knew I was going to be okay. It was almost as if my brain was telling me I was fine and not to worry.

 

If anything I was more confused than anything. I didn’t remember hitting the ground, or getting up and walking towards the garage…but next thing I know, I’ sitting there watching a little girl with her mucked up riding boots pacing back and forth, next to Sparkey, her adorable 13 hand Welch pony who was still connected to the bridle latched on her arm. She got a hold of my dad and he came straight away.

 

The car ride to the hospital wasn’t awkward but tense. The occasional “you still awake Em?” from Father and whimpering from me. When we got to the hospital my Dad helped me hobble right in. I then went to take a seat but was pleasantly surprised when they called us in right away.

 

The room gave off a pale yellow glow and dreary feeling. I sat in the hospital bed sort of giving myself a short summary of what just happened. One of those peppy nurses with the colorful scrubs and warming smile popped her head in.

 

“The doctor will be right with you,” she said.  

 

I just stared at her, too tired to make any motions. Her smile faded and she cautiously backed out shutting the door behind her.

 

Dad and I waited and waited and waited, until finally the doctor greeted us. She asked me all sorts of questions. Trying my best to answer them, my dad ended up taking over.

 

I was next sent to another room, covered in that same dull paint. My head starting to clear up, I could see what I was doing now…I crawled up on a tall, cold piece of metal. Flashing lights and loud obnoxious beeps went off and I felt as if the room was spinning. But it wasn’t the room, it was that machine that I was in. I didn’t like it. I was finally sent back to the room and cleared with the doctor to go home. 

 

Instead of going home I went back to Zeke, I lay there on my bed though starring him in the eye and I whispered to him, but no words came out. For the language between a girl and her horse is something no one else could ever understand. It is silence, and at that moment when he took off we weren’t communicating. He meant no harm, he was asking for directions, which I failed to give him.

 

Then, I realized something. You can’t let your guard down. You can never stop talking when you ride, even if the talking is through body language.  Every movement, every head turn, even the direction you’re looking in gives the horse a different signal. It’s almost as if you and the horse have a secret connection. But the second you think its okay to sit back and enjoy the ride, something will go wrong.

 

You always need to be talking.