My childhood was amazing and unique. In fact, it ruined my life in many ways. I remember when I was seven, listening to the radio in my parents' room in Australia, eyes closed, lying on the rug with my head on a pillow, the sound of the branches and leaves blowing in the wind outside. I often wonder, is this a dream and am I still in Australia? Will I wake up and be able to do it all differently? Or is this my life and my memories will always be an albatross around my neck?
1958 Biquet
His body is hot and sweating. He is snorting after the tough ride around the arena. He never has liked to jump. Suddenly we are called into the center and Odette asks me to get off. When I ask why, she just shakes her head and looks down at the ground. After I take off his saddle, she hands me a halter and a brush. She tells me brush him quickly, but to do it with care. She still will not tell me why. As I rub his wet coat, he turns around and nuzzles me. He is not a jumper, but no one minds riding him because he is so dear. When I am done, Odette asks me to lead him into the courtyard and turns away. All the other riders have stopped and are watching as we walk out into the sunlight. When I see the truck that says ‘abattoir,’ my feet stop and I cannot make them move forward. Inside I am screaming, no, you can’t take him. But when the man reached his hand forward to take the rope, I hand it to him. My mind is racing, maybe we could buy him, we could give him to Odette. But meanwhile Biquet has walked to the ramp of the trailer. He turns and looks at me and then goes inside. As he disappears into the darkness, one of his shoes comes off and falls to the dirt. The man closes the ramp and suddenly Biquet has gone to his death. Inside my head is an echoing silence. Still in shock I walk over and pick up Biquet’s shoe.