Mouthy Monday

Heidi wrote,

Although I do not have my own blog, or even a Facebook page, I do enjoy surfing the Internet and writing stories. When I found the Mugwump Chronicles, I was hooked and felt the urge to share.

I was twelve when my world crashed down. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I was being harassed and teased by the last person I would have expected: my best friend, the first friend I’d made when we were still preschoolers. The reason behind the teasing was just as baffling to me. I love horses. Yes, that was the whole reasoning behind the teasing.

I felt so incredibly betrayed and crushed. I had actually been under the impression that my friend liked horses too. I mean, I’d let her ride on my rock-steady-as-bombproof-as-they-come pony whenever she came over to play. She seemed to like horses enough to somehow convince her parents to get her a horse (I was so jealous of her when she dropped that little bomb). There had to be something seriously wrong with me if someone with whom I shared a common interest could turn on me like that.

As a result of a failed friendship, I buried myself in horses even more. My pony became the patient receptacle of all my tears. Her sparse mane could soak up a surprising amount of salt water. I would drape myself over her back and breathe in the scent of my favorite perfume: Eau de Equine. Her trot could bounce my depression out of my body and substitute it with peace. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be with my pony, my sanity, all day. I needed a way to make that happen.

It didn’t take long before I found my solution: I would run away. I was mistakenly under the impression that every person in my life (even my very-supportive-of-my-horse-addiction family) was looking down on me because of my fascination with horses. If I was that repulsive to other people, I would take my pony and leave. The next morning after making my decision, I woke up early, made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, grabbed my coat and snuck out of the house.

Now, as early as I had gotten up, I wasn’t the first person awake and outside. I grew up on a farm and my dad was already out doing the morning chores. In fact, he’d staked out my pony so she could eat down some of the long grass by the barn (how very considerate of him). Now, all I needed to do was bridle my pony up, hit the road and all my problems would be solved . . . or so I thought.

My pony, a pony I could walk up to in the field and easily catch (even while holding her bridle in full view), who took every possible outrageous riding stunt I threw at her with the smallest of sighs, wouldn’t let me lay a finger on her. No matter what I tried, I was always left facing her well-rounded rump. She never offered a bite or a kick, just a very clear “No.”

Defeated, scared that I would be discovered, I walked into the barn and sat down in a pile of loose hay. The barn cats gathered around me as I rethought my brilliant plan and slowly came to the realization that my pony was smarter than I was. No, running away wouldn’t solve my problem, it would only create new and bigger ones. I had nowhere to go and no way to take care of either of us. I sat there in the hay as the truth of the matter sank in and cried in despair. That was the state of things when Dad found me a short while later.

My parents kept me home from school that day and did their best to raise my spirits. A more confident person could have simply shrugged off the entire incident and attributed my friend’s turnaround to the fickleness of a pre-teen girl. But, I was very shy, unsure of myself and could count my close friends on one hand. The only thing that remained constant for me in the aftermath was the love I felt for my pony and the (now recognized) support of my family.

In the decades that have followed, I’ve done my best to overcome the damage done to my psyche. I made new friends, went on to complete a masters’ degree, married a wonderful man, and together we are raising three healthy children. My parents are still living on the farm and Dad has taken in a couple of twenty-something geldings for their retirement (and to give a few pony rides). While I may not live with horses now, they still reside in my heart and that is something on one can ever take away from me, no matter what they say.

 

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