Believer

It was a scene, at least I like to think, straight out of a movie. A horsegirl movie, the kind that makes you cry like every good movie about animals does. But there were no happy tears that day, because I was saying goodbye to a friend. To a horse that a year before stood in the field, ignored and unwated because people broke it and no one wanted to take on the responsibility of fixing it. I did.

I found the owner and told her that all I want is a horse I could treat like my own without having to pay for it and she accepted. That was my moment, my thing that finally made me the responsible adult I was supposed to be.

And damn it, I did it. I took that horse and I fixed it. I loved that crazy red mare and she loved me back. We spent the whole summer together and then the autumn and then the winter. Most of the winter anyway. We never got a spring.

The owner decided to sell her and I found out the day the buyers came to look at her. A nice family with two little girls who told me that I could come visit any time I wanted. Then the mom told the little girls, "She'll be perfect for you. You can teach her anything, she'll be yours."

I wanted to tell them, "But she's mine." But she wasn't. In the face of someone offering money for her, I had no claim to the horse that I taught how to ride and run and love people again. That mare was who she was because of me and in the blink of an eye, I was losing her.

I couldn't do it. I called my mom to come pick me up, grabbed my jacket and walked away. I was strong. I held in it. Then my mom asked, "What's wrong?" and I broke down. I climbed into the shotgun seat crying my eyes out and as my mom started the car to take me home, to take me away from the horse I loved but would never see again, the radio started playing, "Pain! You break me down and build me up, believer!"

Six months later, I was back in it and this time, I wasn't taking any chances. I bought my own horse, so no one could rip it ouf of my hands this time, a young one, a strong one, happy and full of life. I loaded her up and got into the car to drive her home. The radio turned on and as we turned onto the main street, I noticed the same old song playing. "Pain! Oh, let the bullets fly, oh, let them rain!"

It was a sign, right? That damned song that I haven't heard since I broke down in my mom's car was playing again, surely that meant something. This was my poetic happy ending and nothing could hurt me now.

But my new mare was sick a lot. I thought, oh, that's nothing. This is typical for her breed, we just need to be more careful with her food and buy more supplements.

She was crazy and wild. She loved to do her own thing, but everything I tried to teach her, she picked up so quickly. She had the steadiest gallop I've ever seen. She'd trip on air when she walked, but let her run and I knew she would never fall.

She made it ten months. I could buy all the supplements in the world and it wouldn't have helped. The vet was there the whole afternoon. I begged her. I told her, "You're so young, you have more than this in you, I know you do." She didn't. She wanted to, she wanted to so badly, but she didn't. I was going to take her to the forest on the weekend.

When my mom took me home that evening, I didn't turn on the radio. My happy ending shattered in my hands in the span of one afternoon, I didn't want to know. But to this day I wonder, if I turned on the radio, would I have heard the same tune?

Today marks exactly one year since I bought her. A little over two months since I lost her. I haven't listened to the song since but sometimes, when I'm crying and breaking down, all I can think of are the lyrics. My life, my love, my drive, it came from pain.