Willow Chapter 2: The Stable
Willow had carried so many beginners like this one, still she never lost her willingness to teach. The girl in the saddle tried to rise in the correct rhythm for a trot, grabbed awkwardly at Willow’s mane, and fell back too soon. All the while the white horse trotted patiently and steadily, doing her part to help the girl learn.
On the ramp watching was the next student, one Willow had come to notice apart from the others because of how quietly she held the reins when she rode. And she was constant; this one was not absent for long weeks like so many others. Winter and Summer for the past two years the Girl had come, once every week, making gradual progress. This Girl was never rough, and always pulled slices of carrot from her jacket pocket at the end of the lesson.
“OK, that’s good for today, bring Willow into the center. Sonia, you come in and get mounted up.” The riding instructor, a young woman, waved the Girl on the ramp into the ring. The student on Willow’s back guided her to the center and pulled back on the reins to stop. It was unnecessary. Willow knew the drill by heart: Out to the rail, walk, trot and canter for half an hour, back to the center for another rider. The work was not as hard as her old life.
Decades’ worth of fine particles of manure and dust lay over everything, including the windows. Industrial fluorescent light fixtures hung from the ceiling, burning day and night to counteract the dimness. Their presence, along with the intercom system that allowed the office to communicate with the grooms on the second and third stories, were the only modern touches. Canvas fire pails still hung at intervals along the wall, although the hope that they could make any difference in the event of a fire had dried up with the last of the water kept there. Inside the crumpled canvas fire pails, a perfect record collected of every footfall in the ring for years past, for every stride of every horse sent a little more dust into the air.
Sometimes in Spring, if the wind blew just right, Willow could catch the scent of plants budding and grass growing in Central Park. Then she might stop and raise her head, flaring her nostrils to gather and concentrate the scent as horses sometimes do. It made her trot more briskly. As a filly she leaped and ran in pastures filled with such scents. But that was so long ago, so many footfalls and saddlings and feedings ago. It was dim now, more of a feeling than a real memory.
The Girl was on her back now holding the reins and adjusting the stirrups to the right length. Willow stood and patiently chewed the bit a few times. There had been so many days and nights, so many times of being brushed and readied for work and then of being untacked at the end of the day and fed. Always the Man had been there to rub her down and scratch her ears at the end of the day. Then, a few times, the Man had been there to help her when she foaled. That was different, then they hadn’t put the harness or saddle on her for many days while she nursed. Then suddenly that time would be over, the foal would vanish and she was put back in work.
The Girl asked her to walk out to the edge of the ring with a gentle squeeze of her lower leg. Willow moved off willingly as always, one ear flicking back towards the Girl as she waited for the next cue. She snorted, letting out a long breath while dropping her head a little. It was good to have a rider who didn’t pull on the reins to balance herself.
Willow stretched into the reins seeking the connection she usually made to a good rider’s mood and intentions, but felt oddly blank. They were out on the rail and trotting now, but the Girl was mechanical in her motions. Willow shook her mane in resignation and continued through the usual paces of the lesson, following the instructor’s shouted commands. Every so often she touched a hard corner of the Girl’s feelings, but today their usual continuous interplay of subtle cues and responses was absent.
As the lesson wore on Willow felt the Girl relax a little, and a flood of sadness overcame them both. At the end of the lesson, the Girl slid off her back and buried her face in Willow’s mane. Images came unbidden to the mare. She saw a heavyset man and felt his pursuit. It was a shadowy place, there was an oppressive feeling of great weight overhead. Long shiny carriages sped through tunnels, moving faster than any horse could run. The man was close now, touching the Girl with a knowing leer on his face that said I know you cannot escape. The crowd of other humans pressed on the Girl from all sides.
The Girl tried to shrink within herself, willing herself to disappear. She was in suspension, her breathing shut down. The agonizing minutes dragged on until suddenly something shifted and the Girl detached. Still caught in the crowd next to the heavy man, his groping hands invading her even as his acrid odor seared her mouth and nose, suddenly her essence floated free above the scene. Willow glimpsed the Girl’s destination. They looked together through the dirty tile walls to a green field a great distance away. It seemed none of the other humans could see this field, they were as oblivious to the Girl’s escape as they had been to her distress. The field was peaceful, with a shade tree commanding the middle of it. Horses grazed at the bottom of a slope, and the wind rippled through a field of sunflowers over the fence.
When another line of carriages came screaming to a stop the crowd surged onto it, taking man’s cover away. He moved with the rest of the humans onto the carriage, his look both sneering and triumphant as he moved past.
The Girl remained frozen in place, her mind fixed on the refuge she had seen. It was so inviting and yet so far away. Slowly the rigidity left her muscles and she came back to herself, losing sight of the field. Around her after all was nothing but the filthy platform and graffiti covered walls, and subways that were unbearably loud, although no one else seemed to notice. Amidst this warren of people she had been as alone as it is possible to be.
Willow shook her mane, bringing the Girl back to the stable. The instructor was calling for the next student, and the Girl reluctantly let go. This day she did not have a chance to slip Willow her carrots.
A note to readers: Thank you for giving this book chapter a chance, I hope you enjoyed it. I plan to share one chapter per week of Willow. In case you are wondering, publishing this book chapter is part of my new mission to share some writing that, thanks to the dynamics of traditional publishing, has never seen the light of day. On the other hand, my work on historic African American schools and on sharecropping has been published in various venues and featured at dozens of film festivals. To link to those articles and to view my documentary films, please see my website: