Guest Post: Danny runs
From a memoir, a child's exhilaration of riding a race horse at full gallop
Elizabeth Banicki is an Austin writer who came to my attention with her surprising take on how bad horse racing is for horses. Apparently that’s a thing, and I had no idea. She wondered if I would be interested in publishing the first three pages of the memoir she’s working on, but she clarified that it wasn’t her memoir. It was her horse’s memoir. Of course, I said yes.
Last night’s storms left a patchwork of puddles across the barn area. For
some minutes I stand by myself in the mud staring into the reflection of the thick
dark skies. The barn is dim but glowing under a dusty lightbulb. He’s watching
with bright eyes as I approach. Tie the lead rope to one side of his halter then fling
it around his neck and tie the loose end to the other side. His joints pop and crack
awake walking down the aisle. I line him up, so he passes alongside a bale of straw
and step up on the bale, grab a fistful of mane, swing my leg over him.
Outside washed air pushes into my lungs and Danny’s body is warm against
my legs. We come to the path leading to the entrance of the track and with no
guiding foresight my hand to pulls the rope. Danny’s head moves left, and we are
walking up the path towards the racetrack. His ears prick forward and shoulders
bulge as he dances us to the top of the hill. Hit by a gust of wind carrying the
mineral smell of rain my skin flushes with bumps as I look out over the track, this
ghostly lonely paradise which has haunted my thoughts for months. Danny bows
his neck and pulls against my hands through the rope. He forgets me though my
heart is racing, hammering the insides of my ribcage.
Onto the track, counterclockwise and mesmerized by the surface sealed flat
by rain. The stretch in front of us looks like the ocean shore at low tide and we start
jogging between land and water. The inside and outside rails are just over a car’s
width from each other. I twirl my silver-ringed fingers into Danny’s mane as he
moves down the middle of the track and hug my legs around him to anchor my
body to his. His hooves slap the ground pop.. pop.. pop. He feels me passing
authority to him as I no longer know how to ride like I always have. I am
ascending quickly in this moment. The rain begins to fall in large heavy drops,
hitting me on the forehead and the tops of my bare feet. We break into gallop, pop
pop pop.. pop pop pop.. pop pop pop. He pulls the rope and I gave him all he
wants. His head lowers and his neck and body travel parallel to the ground. I bend
my knees, press into his sides from the inseams of my shorts down to the insteps of
my feet. My chest falls onto his withers and his red mane lashes my face. Water
floods my eyes and I can’t make out more than just a peripheral blur of the rails
streaming by. Danny runs. I close my eyes and put my face into his mane to smell
his salty earthiness. Heat between our bodies builds so I fold deeper into him to be
closer. He goes into the turn tilting us slightly inward. “Thank you,” I tell him. I
never could know myself without knowing this.
We come out of the turn and he switches leads so that his right front leg
dominates the stride. The stretch lay before us and he opens up, pop pop pop POP
pop pop pop POP pop pop pop POP. My heart pounds through my throat leaving
room for only short spastic breath. The world washes away in a blur behind us
drowned out by the sounds of hooves hitting the ground and his breath pumping.
His body expands in all directions as we blow down the stretch against sheets of
rain that hit my skin like needles. I open my eyes and focus on my thin wet fingers,
tangled in mane and rope. Danny carries me through a vortex to someplace where
nothing feels familiar, yet my very existence makes more sense than it ever has.
As we come into the second turn, he eases his stride. We’ve gone one full
turn around the five-eighths of a mile track. He falls into a jog and then a walk.
Rain and sweat mix on the backs of my legs so that a white lather has developed
from the friction. Danny pulls in and puffs out air through flared nostrils. His head
hangs relaxed as we walk off the track. “You beautiful,” I tell him and there is
pride in him. We cross the field under a thundering sky and find our trail that we
have traveled together countless times. But today the palmettos are sharper green
and the turpentine smell of the pines sting my nose more intensely than ever
before. We move through the brush with eyes aglow beneath an awning of
dripping lashes and it is this moment that I know what my life is meant to be. And
I am eleven years old.
What I’m doing under quarantine
In this section, I’ll offer pandemic response tips — how to survive, how to help others, how to profit from this opportunity. Post your own tips in the comments below.
I am buying T-shirts that small businesses and bands made for SXSW. This one was for Dayglow, a local band that was about to have a buzzy moment with a fun new album, Fuzzybrain.
What museum are you visiting this weekend?
Are you seizing this moment?
What I’m reading
This is probably the last edition with COVID-focused articles. I need to cut way back.
Here’s why people avoid news during a crisis.
Can we digitize our culture?
What the most trusted source of coronavirus information is depends on which G7 country you’re in. Oh, Canada.
Analyzing newspaper articles might yield a more agile economic indicator.
There is a Waffle House index for disasters. And it’s pretty accurate.
These are the seven best COVID-19 data-driven visuals.
Made this for dinner. Didn’t suck.
What I’m watching
I really need suggestions on what to watch, but want to pass along my enthusiastic recommendation of Picard, the streaming show on CBS All Access. S.N.V. is the Trekkie, not I, but I watched a little over her shoulder and got sucked in. (I’ve asked her to write about it. If you know her, throw some encouragement over the transom.) The season has something to say about this moment and who we are to each other in a global pandemic. Take from that what you will, but make some time for this show.
What I’m listening to
Thanks to reader M.H. for passing along her excellent COVID-19 playlist. Love the addition of Prince’s acoustic recording of “I Feel For You.” You got a playlist you want to share? Post a link in the comments.
Want to learn something interesting? Spotify streaming declined when the US moved to remote working because people stopped commuting. Now we’re adjusting and reintegrating music into our new lives at home. Into this moment of isolation comes Childish Gambino (Donald Glover’s musical alter ego) with 3.15.20, which Wired called “apt” and I’m listening to on noise-cancelling headphones while I work. This music won’t get in your way, but it will get into your head.
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