Made That Way (8 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Taylor stirs from the depths of her morphine-induced sleep. She calmly considers her bandage-swathed foot and sends a message to her absent toe to wiggle. The last time she saw her toe it was rolling across the pavement into the dirt at the side of the road. Perhaps it is still there, she thinks, though more likely a raven has flown by and eaten it. Oh well. She hopes the nail polish isn't toxic. She is vaguely surprised that she's not frantic, but it's so pleasant to be taking matters in stride, and really it's just a toe, there's more to life than this. Dancing will be a challenge, but she will deal with that. Or not. Whatever.

There is a hum of conversation from the next bed. She rolls her head to the side and attempts to focus. Closest to her is a very tall form—that must be Dr. Cleveland, still visiting. “I've had a word with your pediatrician . . . .” she is saying. Taylor closes her eyes, opens them, blinks rapidly several times. She loses track of the conversation. Her lids keep wanting to stick shut, but if she blinks and partially opens her eyes and looks through her lashes, something fun happens, she can see contours around people. Dr. Cleveland's lines are very straight and precise. They shimmer slightly whenever she talks. Sitting on the other side of Sylvia's bed is that odd person with the strange name. Taylor sends a leisurely probe back to an earlier conversation, though how much earlier she couldn't say. Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, well it doesn't matter. Slowly she extracts the name Kansas. She's never heard of anyone being named that before. It reminds her of the line from The Wizard of Oz: “We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” Toe-toe, she thinks with amusement. And didn't Dorothy wear dancing shoes? Red shoes that she clicked together. Red toes. There had been a lot of blood. She won't want to wear sandals anymore, everyone will be staring at her toeless foot and feeling sorry for her. Kansas has fuzzy contours. She punches Sylvia's leg and a spark of light springs from the blankets. Sylvia's lines are a mess, broken and going off in all directions. And then everything changes. Kansas's lines firm up when she says words like
mare
or
foal
or
herd
. And Sylvia's contours fall into a more reasonable alignment and start leaping all over the place, she's excited about something. Then something really strange happens.

“How's my boy settling in at the barn?” says Dr. Cleveland. Her lines soften and loosen and get pushed out by a kind of glow emanating from her dark skin.

“Oh he's a good boy,” says Kansas and her lines soften too. “I watched him playing around in his paddock this morning. That boy can move.”

Dr. Cleveland smiles and it's as though someone has opened the curtains and let in the sunshine. “And how's Brooklyn doing?” There's a clattering sound as she drops the guard rail then takes a seat beside Sylvia.

The light smudges around the three figures on the bed. It's very strange, thinks Taylor. She lolls her head off her pillow and back again so the contour lines and lights swirl into a kind of glowing soup.

“Kansas lunged him for me. He may not be sound. The vet's going to look at him,” says Sylvia. Taylor hears the concern in her voice but there is deep pleasure too.

“He probably just has a bruised sole,” says Kansas.

Taylor thinks to herself, “Oh, a bruised soul, I can relate to that.”

But then she's not quite sure if Kansas is telling the complete truth. She has a sense that Kansas is holding something back, but this doesn't seem to matter to anyone else. The three of them nod their heads and make humming noises of agreement and understanding. They look like a coven of witches. The light encircles them, emanates from them, encloses them, is thrown out from them, and stops short of Taylor, clearly excluding her. She closes her eyes. She doesn't like being excluded but she knows if she says anything to draw their attention the spell will be broken, and she'd rather be excluded than have that happen because there's something comforting and exciting about watching them. As though there was something that was possible about life that she didn't know about before. Not that it is totally unfamiliar, it's just that she wasn't really aware. There were times, in dance class, working in front of the mirror, watching herself and catching glimpses of the other girls . . . concentrating . . . stretching . . . listening to the music . . . moving as one . . . .

Her eyes close but she doesn't sleep this time.

“I can hardly wait to ride,” says Dr. Cleveland.

“Me too,” says Sylvia.

They sound exactly alike. They could be the same age, the same size.

“What level is Braveheart going?” says Kansas.

She sounds the same too.

Probably Dr. Cleveland says, “We were schooling third level, showing second. But I'm so out of shape now, we'll have to go all the way back to training.”

Probably Sylvia says, “Do you think that Brooklyn could do third level?”

“Well he's not exactly up-hill. So it wouldn't be easy for him, or for you. But we can try. If he's sound.”

“I think he's sound. I think he's fine.”

“A fine animal.” Taylor thinks this is Kansas, but she's using an accent for some reason. Two people are laughing.

“What?” says the third person, who starts laughing anyway.

Taylor wants to laugh too. She wants to join them even though they speak a foreign language and she doesn't have a clue what they've been talking about. Something about horses. She recognizes that normally she's terrified of horses but right now she sees they're really nothing to be afraid of. They're just big animals. She hopes she can remember this. She wants to tell Sylvia that her thinking has changed, that she's not afraid any more. She strains at her eyelids to get them to open. They flutter, let in some light and she realizes that she prefers the darkness. Resting is good and she feels herself sliding back down towards that peaceful dark soft resting place. Oh well . . . .

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When I'm released from the hospital Mom picks me up and drives me home. She takes the day off work. I can't believe it. Mom never takes time off work.

She fluffs some cushions on the couch in the living room and tells me to lie down. She gets me a blanket. I'm still feeling kind of wobbly.

“Anything else you'd like?” she asks.

I think about asking for my Greenhawk Saddlery Supply catalogue, but it's hiding in my pile of comic books, and I'd rather she didn't know about it. “My Pony Club manual?” I say.

She looks a bit disappointed by this, but brings it to me anyway. Along with something else.

“I found these great visualization exercises,” she says, leafing through a booklet. “They're wonderful for anxiety.”

“Mom, I don't have anxiety. The headaches were from the growth hormone. Remember?”

“Honey, everyone can benefit from relaxation and visualization exercises.”

Oh god. The hospital was better than this.

“Let me read you one,” she says.

So I have to lie there, and close my eyes, and breathe into my body, and go to my secret safe place, and then I stop listening. I fake it. I breathe slowly, and think about Brooklyn, and how it's going to feel to ride him, and whether he's going to be over his lameness, and whether things will be better at school in September if people know I own my own horse which makes me an athlete. Maybe Amber and Topaz won't care, they could tease me anyway and tell me I smell like a horse, as though that's an insult. But Logan Losino might be impressed. I wonder if he grew this summer. I wonder if we'll have any classes together this year, or maybe I'll only see him at lunch, and maybe not even then. Well, as long as I can ride every day, it won't matter. Or even if I can't actually ride, if I can just hang around the horses I'll be fine. I hope Brooklyn likes to be groomed. I imagine what it will feel like to lean against him and slide my fingers up his neck and under his mane . . .

Mom is saying that I need to come back to my body now and back to the room and, when I'm ready, to slowly open my eyes. I wait ten seconds, and open my eyes, and smile at her.

“Now, don't you feel better?” she says.

“Sure I do, you were right, Mom.” And then I am struck by a brilliant idea, because if there's anyone who could use visualization exercises, it's my mom. “Now it's your turn,” I say, reaching for her booklet. “Let me read one for you.”

“Oh, no, Honey, I don't need that. You're the one in recovery.”

“Mom, you said
everyone
could benefit. It's your turn.”

She looks around as though there's nowhere to lie, so I toss one of my cushions on the carpet and point to it, and while she's getting settled I flip through the booklet looking for the best exercise for her.

I lead her through the relaxation part, where she has to breathe slowly and relax her toes and her fingers and everything in between.

“Now imagine you are going down an elevator,” I read, “deep, deep into the Earth. It's lovely and dark and quiet and peaceful and you are completely safe, and totally in control of the elevator. You can put your hand on the control panel. There's a switch for the speed, so you can go faster or slower. There's a button to stop when you're ready, and another one to take you to the surface whenever you want so you're never trapped.” This is pretty hokey, I think, but I glance at my mom and she has a very peaceful look on her face, so I keep going. “When you're ready, push the button to open the elevator door to your perfect secret safe place. Maybe it will be a cave or maybe it will be a meadow. Maybe you will be alone, or maybe there will be birds and animals and flowers, and maybe there will be a wise person. I'm going to be quiet now for five minutes, so you can explore your safe place. Perhaps you can ask someone a question while you're there, but I'll let you know when you have to come back.” I lay the open book on my tummy and check my watch so I'll know when five minutes have passed.

I look at my mom. There are tears coming out of the corner of her eyes, but she looks really happy, and relaxed. I get a lump in my throat. I haven't seen her look like this for years. She even looks younger, but maybe that's because she's lying on her back and gravity is holding down her face so it doesn't fold forwards like it does when she's standing up and leaning over me like she does all the time because I'm so short.

When five minutes are up, I lift the book and start reading again. “Okay, it's time for you to leave your special place now. You can come back here whenever you want. Take your time. Make your way back to the elevator. Put you hand on the control panel. Close the door. Take a deep breath as you make your way to the surface. And another deep breath. When you get to the top, take a few seconds before you open the door.”

I close the book. I wait for my mom to regain full consciousness. I don't think she faked it like I did. I think something really happened for her. Weird. I hear her adjust her head on the pillow.

“Oh Honey,” she says. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”

“What happened?” I ask. “Can you tell me?”

“Oh it was silly.” She rolls to her side and slowly gets to her feet. “Something I haven't even thought about for a long long time. I'd forgotten actually.” She looks at me, and her face is full of softness. “I'll tell you some time.”

“Okay,” I say, because it is okay. This is different from other times when she won't tell me things because she thinks I'm not ready. Now she's not ready. I can wait.

Then the phone rings. It's Dad. He wants to know if I'm okay. And my mom goes back to normal.

“She's fine, Tony, I'm helping her with some visualization exercises,” she says. She taps her foot. “Well maybe you should try one yourself before you pass judgement.” She looks over at me and rolls her eyes. “No, of course I'm not taking her out to see her horse. Do you want to talk to her?” I hold out my hand for the phone, but she shakes her head. “Oh, okay, we'll see you at dinner then.” She hangs up. “He had another call,” she tells me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kansas delays making the appointment with the veterinarian for two days until I'm back on my feet. She says it's a good idea for me to be there because Brooklyn is my horse and I'm responsible for him, as if I don't worry about that enough already. I wonder if the veterinarian can sue me if Brooklyn bites her arm off.

I'm still not feeling quite right, I guess from the accident or maybe I'm in withdrawal from coming off the growth hormone. So Kansas says she'll handle Brooklyn. She has him tied in his stall eating hay when my dad drops me off at the stable; she says she doesn't want to be chasing him around wasting the vet's time. We watch him over the stall door. I'm standing on a bucket, as usual. I didn't grow when I was in the hospital. This is going to be it for me, height-wise. A shrimp forever. I don't care.

“I'm making some progress,” says Kansas. “It only took me ten minutes to get the halter on the little bastard this morning.” Then she looks at me and apologizes.

“You hate my horse,” I say.

“Oh no, Sylvia. Not at all. He's a challenge, that's all.”

“You mean a challenge to your authority?”

“More like a training challenge. He'll be fine.”

I think she's lying. I don't know what's worse, that Kansas thinks she has to lie to me or that she hates my horse. I stare at the stall floor. Already I'm feeling tired. Then I think: How would Electra handle this? And I fix Kansas in my sights.

“Kansas, if you don't hate him why did you call him a little bastard?”

Kansas has the decency to consider my question for a moment instead of reacting immediately like other adults do and tell me I'm wrong. She cranes her neck and studies the rafters above the stall. “Okay, Sylvia, you're right. I'm over-reacting. But I don't exactly hate him. I think I resent what he's done to your riding career. I wanted you to have the perfect first pony, and this guy's going to be tough. He's got some behavioural problems and some health and soundness issues. And his conformation isn't ideal, despite what Declan says.”

I can tell by the end that she's softened a bit, but I don't know if it's just because she thought of Declan.

“Okay,” I say.

Kansas clears her throat, but her next words come out sort of raspy anyway. “Sylvia, you're special to me. And I think you've got a great future ahead of you with riding. You have talent but more important you have heart. I'd hate to see that ruined by having the wrong first horse, and this can happen. It happened to my little sister.”

I'm special to her? What does that mean? No one's ever said anything like this to me before. I don't have a clue how to handle a comment like this, so I say, “You have a sister?”

A truck honks in the parking lot, saving me from further embarrassment.

“The vet's here!” says Kansas quickly. I guess she's embarrassed too. “Let's get this show on the road.”

Kansas pops into the stall, unties Brooklyn's rope and leads him out into the alleyway. I follow behind them. Kansas reminds me to stay well back, but I know all about that. I know how horses can kick. I see Brooklyn's muzzle touch Kansas's sleeve and his lips open a fraction. Kansas gives the rope a tug and growls, “Don't you dare.” His great ears perk forward and he follows her mildly out into the sunlight.

When Kansas stops, Brooklyn halts squarely beside her just like a well-behaved well-trained horse would. His head turns and he looks at me, but then his attention is taken by the veterinarian who has climbed out of her truck and is walking towards us. Brooklyn's neck arches and a funny noise comes from his throat, almost like a whimper. I've never heard a horse make a noise like this before and I guess Kansas hasn't either because she looks at him in total amazement.

The veterinarian introduces herself to me. Her name is Dr. Bashkir but she says I can call her Tanya. I think she's really nice. She's probably a bit older than Kansas, and she's really pretty. Her hair is short, tidy and blonde with gold highlights. She apologizes for arriving late but says she had to attend a foaling emergency. Kansas has met her once before, back in the Spring when the horses were vaccinated and their teeth were checked for uneven wear. Kansas has told me she thinks Tanya is a great vet. She says Tanya's very smart.

“So what have we got here?” says Tanya, standing back and having a good look at Brooklyn.

Kansas says, “We don't know much. He was shipped out from Saskatchewan last week. His previous owner broke his hip and ended up in extended care. He's an old friend of Sylvia's grandfather who bought the pony and sent him as a present. There are no registration papers.”

“Well that doesn't surprise me,” says Tanya.

Kansas looks at me for a second then carries on. “The pony was off on the right fore initially, but Declan, my . . . uh . . . farrier trimmed him up and carved out something that was pressing between his frog and the bar of the foot. I guess the pony could still have a bruise in there, but he seems fine in his paddock and hoof-abscess-lame when I lunge him in the ring.”

“Oh,” says Tanya. “Declan. I've met him.”

I think Kansas was about to say something more about Brooklyn, but instead she slams her mouth shut.

Tanya takes a step toward Brooklyn, and I have to tell her to wait because Kansas hasn't provided some crucial information about Brooklyn, who is, after all, my responsibility. “You need to know his teeth are kind of sharp. And he bit the driver of the transport truck.”

Tanya nods. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Though he only bit him because the driver said Brooklyn was a not a bad little guy,” I continue.

Kansas clears her throat but doesn't say anything. She's watching Tanya but doesn't look very happy with her any more. “How do you know Declan?” she asks.

I guess Tanya doesn't hear her, because she doesn't answer. She's focused on approaching Brooklyn. She lets him sniff her sleeve. “I suppose you've run into people who smell like me before,” she tells him. She strokes his neck, runs a hand down his face then parts his lips to reveal his teeth. “Though it looks like it's been a while,” she says. She wipes her hands on her pants. “I'll be wanting to tranq him, then use the power float on those teeth. I think we should test his soundness first before we load him up with drugs.”

“My dad would say no x-rays,” I say.

“There are money issues,” explains Kansas.

“I understand,” says Tanya. “Why don't we give him a good old-fashioned look-over?” She moves to stroke Brooklyn's forehead but her hand stops in mid-air. “Maybe we should have a look at this first,” she says, gently lifting his forelock.

“I figure he scraped himself in the trailer,” says Kansas.

“I don't think so.” I'm horrified to see Tanya extract a pair of reading glasses from her chest pocket and perch them on her nose. “I think I may take a scraping here,” she says uncertainly, taking a closer look. “Or maybe a biopsy.”

“I don't think I can afford those,” I say, hoping I can put off an investigation on money grounds. Some things are better left unknown. Such as whether or not unicorns really exist.

“Oh don't worry about it,” says Tanya. “This one will be on me, to satisfy my professional curiosity.”

“Brooklyn won't like it,” I persist.

“Sylvia, it's okay, it won't hurt,” says Kansas. “Or not much anyway, right Tanya?”

But Tanya is snapping into her latex surgical gloves, paying no attention.

Kansas tightens her grip on Brooklyn's halter and says to him, “We don't want you taking a piece out of the vet while she takes a piece out of you, now do we?”

But Brooklyn offers no resistance. In fact he acts resigned, if not depressed. Just like I feel.

Tanya quickly collects and bags her samples, then asks to examine the foot that Declan worked on.

“You don't have to hold him quite so short,” she tells Kansas, indicating her death-grip at the top of the lead rope. “His head needs to be free if he's going to show us when he feels some pain.”

Tanya picks up Brooklyn's foot. “Well, isn't this interesting,” she says, just like Declan did. Then she pops his leg between her thighs and holds it there. She uses her hoof-testers to apply pressure to several points on Brooklyn's foot. Brooklyn doesn't flinch, but cranes his neck around and sniffs her bum. Kansas slides her hand back up the lead rope. Neither of us relaxes until Tanya lowers the hoof and steps away.

“Okay, Kansas, how about you walk him up the driveway and back and we'll watch how he goes.”

As Kansas walks Brooklyn away from us, Tanya explains to me that she's watching for any irregularity in stride. I stand quietly so I don't interfere with her concentration. Kansas walks Brooklyn directly back to us.

“That looked fine,” says Tanya. “Now again at the trot.”

Kansas trots the pony away, stops, turns, and trots him back.

“Listen to the footfalls,” Tanya tells me. After a minute she nods and says, “Regular as a metronome. And see that—no head-bobbing either.” Then she calls out to Kansas, “And again, but I'll look from the side.” And she repositions herself for a different view from the driveway.

Kansas is puffing by the time she's finished. Brooklyn looks like he's enjoying himself, as though he likes being the center of attention.

Tanya says, “Well he looks fine. You say he was unsound on the lunge? Why don't we try that before we get into flexion tests.”

I grab the lunge line and whip from the tack room and we head over to the riding ring. Kansas leads Brooklyn in and shuts the gate behind her. Tanya leans on the fence. I climb up and stand on the bottom rail and hook my elbows over the top. This is kind of fun. I'm beginning to relax and enjoy myself. Hanging out with horses and horse women—what could be better?

Kansas moves to the center of the ring and sends Brooklyn out on a circle. He saunters along lazily until Kansas brandishes the whip and asks him to move forward with more energy. He staggers. I think my heart is going to stop. Brooklyn takes another step and nearly trips and falls.

“Yikes,” says Tanya. “That's some kind of lame. Try him the other direction.”

“Isn't that enough?” I say.

But Kansas turns him and asks for a walk in the other direction. Brooklyn doesn't have to be pushed this time before starting to limp. In fact he lurches more dramatically with each stride.

I groan. “Oh poor Brooklyn!”

Tanya puts her arm over her mouth and coughs. “Do you think you could get him to trot?”

“Really?” says Kansas. “The poor guy can barely walk.”

“I don't want him to trot,” I insist.

“I want to see what he'll do,” says Tanya. “Just for a few strides. I don't think he'll come to any harm.”

Kansas flicks the lunge whip behind Brooklyn and tells him to trot. He pushes himself off his left front, drags the right, comes back down on the left and almost collapses.

“Oh no,” I say. I think I'm going to cry.

Kansas looks at me and grimaces. “Sylvia, I'm sorry. But he'll be okay. Maybe it's the footing in here. Maybe it's too deep and it pushes on something in his hoof.”

“There's nothing wrong with your footing,” says Tanya. She coughs again, but there's a catch in the sound and I realize suddenly that she's trying not to laugh.

Kansas has noticed the same thing. She glares at Tanya. “You're laughing at some poor kid's lame pony?”

Tanya shakes her head. There are tears in her eyes. “Oh forgive me, but he reminds me of someone, a horse I had when I was young. He was my first horse too,” she says to me, and then she laughs until the tears overflow.

My eyes might be about to overflow too, but not with tears of laughter. I am totally confused.

“Sorry,” says Tanya. She takes a deep breath. “Let's try something. Would you be okay, Kansas, if he was at liberty in your ring?”

Kansas hesitates. “He's not easy to catch,” she says. But then she shrugs and says okay. She unbuckles the halter, carries the gear back to the gate and slips through.

Tanya takes the lunge whip, moves away from the fence and flicks the whip into the yard. It cracks like a pistol shot. Brooklyn's head comes up and his ears perk but he doesn't move his feet. Tanya cracks the whip again and Brooklyn stares at her.

“I see,” says Tanya. She turns to Kansas. “How about you go get that pretty little mare of yours and bring her into the yard for a visit?”

“Electra?” says Kansas.

“Right, the chestnut,” says Tanya.

Kansas glances in my direction. “Electra won't want to visit,” she says, then looks at me apologetically. “Electra doesn't like Brooklyn. Nobody does.”

This is news to me, and I'm upset that Kansas hasn't told me, but more upset for Brooklyn. I know what it's like not to be accepted by the herd because that's what happens to me at school.