I bounced along in a fast and much too dangerous canter, which I’d just learned is like a gallop with a missing beat. I had been trotting so well, too, even lifted a hand from the saddle to give my mother-in-law a wave as I went by. I’d given the horse a little kick, as instructed, and here it was a mere two seconds later and everything had changed, all confusion, like a wave knocked me over from behind and its pal the undertow snatched me and dragged me away.
I’m not good at making decisions even when calm, and now I was just one yippee-ki-
yay away from a broken neck if I didn’t do something fast. That pommel was there for a reason, and I clenched it with both hands as hard as I could, the exact strategy I’d used when whitewater rafting, block everything out and focus all my will on staying on, never get out of the boat, don’t give an inch, the opposite of the relaxed confidence I needed while riding a horse.
During all this bouncing and clenching, I got the impression that the horse was beaming a message to me:
Um, you’re aware that you have to tell me whether you want to go left or right up ahead, right? Um, human, excuse me and all, but a wall is approaching us, and you don’t expect me to canter straight into a wall, do you? Is that your plan or what?
Even though I picked up on an inkling of this, I was quite busy with my whole holding-on-as-tight-as-I-can strategy, so I started to imagine that the horse would turn left. The wall continued to approach us, and at the last possible second, the horse went right. Meanwhile my whole being, my legs, my hips, my arms, all my bits everywhere, were still operating under the idea that we would turn left.
At that point, it didn’t matter what my bits were expecting. They all leaned one way while the horse went the other way, and basic physics decided for me that it was time I made a clean slide off that horse, a fluid smashing of my face into a fine silt that seemed to rise up to meet me, that covered me so completely that my mother-in-law, who was one of the nicest women in the entire world, had to make sure I was not grievously injured while trying her hardest to suppress a smile at how much I was utterly caked in dirt.
I had thudded onto that ground hard. I was gripping and gripping the whole way down–never get out of the boat!–not even turning to instinct to break my fall. I just slid right off that horse like a diver off the 10 meter platform slides right into the water.
I looked at the horse standing a few feet away, twitching its ears at me. It beamed:
Really? That was your plan? Are you happy with how that plan worked out? Did you even realize that you were in charge?
Was it suppressing a smile? It was hard to tell with its horseface and horsemouth, but I think it was trying its hardest not to laugh. I made a decision right then and there: I would not get back on that horse.
This is part of an occasional series, Scene from a Memoir.