This story received honorable mention in a writing contest, the It’s All Write writing contest. Hope you enjoy it! Note: I have an audio of part of this, attached.
I’d never really liked staying in one place for a long period of time. I suppose that was a good thing, because my family traveled a lot for my father’s job. But I’d always wanted a forever friend, someone who would always be there with me. I would survive without one, though. I mean, I’d been traveling all my life. It had been thirteen years already. But that was before it all changed, before my father lost his job, and we moved to a farm to “start over again,” as everyone liked to call it. I think my dad was just ready to settle down, and farming would help him do this. To be honest with you, I really didn’t want to move to a permanent home. I was really grumpy for the first few days, because I didn’t have anything of real interest to do. Sure, my mother could supply me with more things to do than I was ever likely to get done in a lifetime (mostly chores), but that was not exactly what I wanted. I wanted a friend, but I didn’t know anyone around town well enough yet, and I thought of the animals around our farm as just necessities of our new life. But my life at the farm was about to get more interesting.
It was an overnight change. It was not because I finally got good sleep that night, because I didn’t. You see, my dad and I had set up a tent on the edge of our property for a camp out. It had been as fun and interesting as mowing the lawn, up until the point when I decided to go for a walk. Normally, walks don’t excite me, but this one did, because of what I saw on that walk. I had heard about wild horses roaming the land out here, but at that time I had never seen any horses. But I did see one that night. Turns out, the horse didn’t really read the “No Trespassing” signs that bordered the edge of our land.
On that night, there was a full moon and no clouds, so I could see the horse very well. It was a pretty, snow-white horse, the rays of the moon reflecting off of its ivory mane and tail, all tangled and knotted. It turned its head to look at me. I could see sadness in the horse’s eyes. I extended my hand to the horse. It nickered, and trotted toward me.
I must say, my father was surprised to see me with a horse. “And where did you find that fine animal?” he asked me, his eyes twinkling.
“Over there,” I told him, pointing toward the flat land where I had found it.
My father nodded. “This is probably our neighbor, Mr. Grimshaw’s, horse.”
The next morning we headed over to Mr. Grimshaw’s place, and knocked hard on the door. A grumpy-looking man opened the door a couple inches. He was a short, stocky guy, probably, I guessed, in his mid-fifties. I glanced in at the interior of his house. The walls were painted a bright green, but there were no decorations anywhere that I could see. Perhaps the house had once been beautiful and homey.
“We’re here about a female Arabian horse that my daughter found, and we think that she is yours,” my father explained.
“Not mine no more,” Mr. Grimshaw said, and shut the door in our faces.
We knocked again on the door.
It slowly creaked open, and a less than happy Mr. Grimshaw appeared in the doorway. “What do ya want now?”
This time I spoke. “What did you mean when you said that the Arabian isn’t yours any more?”
“I set her lose, and I burned her papers. I am no longer her owner.” The door began to close, then Mr. Grimshaw spoke again. “She’s yours if you want her, kid.” Then he shut the door with a bang.
It took a long time for his words to sink in. But when I finally realized what he meant, I leaped with joy. A horse? Mine? I was stunned.
We hurried home with the mare, and put her in our barn. I hugged her. She seemed to love it, as if she had been hugged countless times before, and hadn’t been hugged in a long, long time. But there was little chance that Mr. Grimshaw had been the one to hug her. So, who had? Why did Mr. Grimshaw even have the Arabian? As far as I knew, Arabians were not great at cutting cattle, or other work that would need doing at Mr. Grimshaw’s cattle ranch. Just as a pet, then? Highly unlikely. I stroked the mare’s nose. “Why did he buy you?” I whispered to her.
After dinner that night, my father came into my room just as I was crawling into bed. “Honey,” he said to me in that “I’m-about-to-say-something-you’re-not-going-to-like” tone of voice that he used when he told me that he had decided to move us out to live in the country.
I tried to prepare myself for the worst, and I was really good at that, considering how many times my father had told me awful news, but I was not prepared for what my father said next.
“We can’t keep that horse,” he said as gently as he could.
“Can’t keep her?” I repeated, hoping it was not true.
My father sighed. “That’s right. We don’t have the money to care for a horse right now.”
“But we have the space!” I protested.
“It takes more than space to keep a horse. Think of all the veterinary bills, and everything else. We might be able to afford a horse later, but not now. We’re just trying to make ends meet out here. You have to understand. Now, you have two choices. You can either send the horse back into the wild, or you can give the horse to the animal rescue a few miles down the road.”
I took a deep breath. “I’ll go with the rescue. At least then I can see her, and she’ll find a nice and loving family.”
My father nodded. “We’ll take her in the morning.”
I couldn’t sleep that night, so I grabbed a blanket and headed out to the barn to spend the night with the mare. She blew her warm breath on me, and I blew back at her. She seemed to like that. I glanced up to look out the stall window just in time to see a shooting star flash across the sky.
The next morning we walked the mare to the rescue, since we didn’t have a trailer. It was a nice sort of place, run by a kind lady named Sarah Graham. She took the horse from us, and thanked us for bringing her. “If you like, I can call you and tell you when she gets adopted.”
We exchanged phone numbers, and headed toward the car waiting for us in the tiny parking lot, made up of about three parking spaces. My mother had come to pick us up. As we were leaving, I saw an old man standing off to the side, partly hidden by a clump of little evergreen trees. I couldn’t remember who he was for a moment. Then I realized that he Mr. Grimshaw!
My thoughts were on the mare for the next two weeks, but I couldn’t bring myself to visit her because it would just make it harder to say good-bye. When would Mrs. Graham call and tell me my dream horse had been adopted? Had she forgotten what she’d promised me, or did no one like the pretty, ivory mare? I had no idea how anyone couldn’t like her.
Finally, I could bear the suspense no longer. I found Mrs. Graham’s phone number in the phone book, and picked up the phone to call her. Someone answered the phone, but in my anxiety I didn’t even hear what they said. “Mrs. Graham, has the white Arabian mare been adopted yet?” I blurted out, without thinking.
“Nope,” replied a gruff voice on the other end.
“Can I come see her?” I asked. “Please, please, please?”
“You’ll have to call the rescue and ask.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, pausing for breath, “do you mean to say that this isn’t the rescue?”
“‘Course it ain’t!” There was a pause, then the person added, “Don’t use speed dial, kid.” Then there was silence.
Who had that been? I groaned when it finally dawned on me who it was. I had called Mr. Grimshaw! Names and numbers! So confusing!
I biked over to the horse rescue to ask Mrs. Graham if I could see the mare. I didn’t want to risk any more accidents with phones and phone books. When I arrived in front of the little, red barn, I could see Mrs. Graham mowing the front lawn. When she saw me, she stopped.
“Come back for your Arabian?” she called to me.
“I just wanted to see her,” I explained. “Please?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Graham led me into the barn, and took me to a roomy stall. Inside was the mare! She nickered happily when she saw me, and stretched her head toward me.
I rushed forward, and hugged her around the neck. The mare still remembered me! I was worried she might have forgotten me.
Mrs. Graham took a lead rope hanging from some nails on the door, and clipped the rope onto the Arabian’s black halter. “I’ll take you outside to the pasture where you can hang out in a less cramped space.” She smiled at me, and took us to the pasture. I hugged the mare again and again, and blew at her just the way she loved it.
I did not have much time to spend with the mare. I left the rescue just as the sun was getting low on the horizon, and biked home down the darkening, lonely road.
The next afternoon, I couldn’t keep myself from bicycling up the bumpy road, past Mr. Grimshaw’s house, to the horse rescue. I felt myself being drawn to the mare like a magnet. I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible before she was adopted. I knew it would hurt to see her go, but I could not resist, after seeing her yesterday.
After that, I went every afternoon without thinking. Every time I went to see the mare, I had to pass Mr. Grimshaw’s house. I always hurried past. I felt like someone was watching me.
One afternoon on my ride to the horse rescue, a truck and trailer passed me going the opposite direction. When I arrived at the horse rescue, Mrs. Graham stopped me from going inside the barn.
“The owner of the mare turned up this morning, and he just drove away with her. I’m sorry. Why don’t you go home?”
“Who was it?” I exclaimed, puzzled. When Mr. Grimshaw had given me the mare, he had said he’d burned her papers. How could someone claim the mare, then, without papers?
“The owner told me not to tell people who he was,” Mrs. Graham told me.
The two miles home seemed longer than ever. Someone had claimed the mare, and I might never see her again.
When I arrived home, I was shocked to see a truck and trailer in our front yard.
To my surprise, Mr. Grimshaw was standing beside the trailer! And he was smiling! I could not believe my eyes. But what was even more surprising was the beautiful horse standing beside him. The ivory, Arabian mare whinnied excitedly when she saw me, and I rushed toward her, throwing my arms around her like I’d never let go.
Mr. Grimshaw actually grinned at me. “She’s yours.”
I looked up in surprise and disbelief. “Mine? I’d love to have her, but we can’t afford to keep her! And how did you get her back?”
“Oh, my wife always used to keep two of everything; two car keys, two flower vases, two records of my ownership of this horse.” Mr. Grimshaw actually patted the mare. He looked truly happy.
He smiled. “I got this horse for my daughter’s birthday. She loved this here horse more than anything in the world.”
I frowned. “Why did you turn the horse loose, then, if your daughter loved her so?”
The old man sighed. “My daughter died. I had no idea what to do with the horse. The mare looked depressed and sad, like she knew what had happened, and I could not find any way to make her happy. Also, seeing the mare reminded me too much of my daughter, so I just turned her loose. I thought she would enjoy some freedom, and hoped one of the mustang herds would accept her. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Then you found her, and I gave her to you because I wanted to get rid of her. But you gave her away, because you couldn’t afford to care for a horse just now, I guess. I saw you going past my house every day to the horse rescue. I saw that you care for the mare. So I want her to be yours. I will pay for her care, and she can stay at your barn. It makes me very happy to see you and the mare happy.”
“After my daughter died,” he continued, “I shut myself up in my house. I thought that I would be happier that way. But I realize now what makes me happy is to make others happy.”
That really explained a lot. I felt sorry for him. I should not have judged him without knowing more about him. I had really been focused on the mare and myself over the last few weekss. Now he was being kind to me by giving me the mare. I had done nothing for him. Maybe I should have been less “me” focused.
My thoughts turned back to the mare. I blinked. Could this be real?
“Aren’t you forgetting to do something?” my mother asked.
“Oh, of course!” I exclaimed. How could I have forgotten? I pulled a sugar cube out of my pocket and gave it to the mare. Then I turned to Mr. Grimshaw. “Thank you!”
He laughed. “This is a new beginning for your horse, so I suppose she should have a new name. Whatcha gonna call her?”
I thought back to all that had happened in the past month, remembered that night in the barn with her, and the moment I had looked out the stall window and had seen a shooting star in the night sky. I grinned. “I will call her Shooting Star.” I blew to the mare, and she blew back. We were going to be friends forever. Nothing could separate us now.
