Chancey of the Maury River (19 page)

Trevor said nothing after Claire’s outburst. He kicked the wall hard. Then he kicked it again. Down the line, the other horses danced around and gave halfhearted whinnies of displeasure. Across the way, Dante began kicking his own wall.

Claire brushed me roughly then turned to face Trevor. “And Chancey’s not stupid! You’re stupid!” She turned her back on Trevor.

All of the other horses turned to watch my room. Mrs. Maiden did not emerge from the tack room, nor did Mrs. Strickler. Stu, who had been mucking stalls, parked the wheelbarrow outside of Gwen’s room, next to mine. He listened and watched but did not intervene.

Trevor did not hold back. He screamed at Claire, “My mom makes me come to this stupid place! I hate it here, and I hate your horse!”

Claire spun around to face him, but Trevor didn’t let up. Trevor’s lips sprayed saliva on my muzzle as he spoke. “It’s an old, stupid, smelly horse. I wish it were dead!”

For the first time, Trevor stood right next to me. I could not see him, but felt and smelled that he was at my left cheek. He smelled precisely of an oatmeal cookie. In fact, I was certain a cookie, or part of a cookie, remained in his shirt pocket. Claire moved closer to my face and closer to Trevor. I had no trouble hearing either of them.

“Shut up! Shut up and leave Chancey alone, or you’re going to wish you were dead!”

I nickered at Claire, trying to calm her down. I feared she had gone too far, but it was too late. The boy had egged her on purposefully, it seemed. In fact, I sensed that he needed someone, like Claire, to give him room and reason to say what came next, for he said it without anger, without any emotion, really.

“I am going to be dead. I have cancer and I am going to be dead. Don’t say you’re sorry, either. Don’t say anything.”

Claire did not speak, at first. She picked up a currycomb and began circling it on the dirtiest part of my body, starting at my neck. Trevor remained in the room with us, and he did not turn back to the wall. He stood facing Claire, waiting for something. Finally, Claire spoke to him.

“Don’t just stand there; pick up a brush. If you’re going to come every week, you might as well have fun.”

Trevor didn’t budge.

Claire kept talking to him anyway. “When I first met Chancey, my parents were getting a divorce. I hardly remember anything about that time it hurt so bad every day. Everybody at school and at home started treating me differently, like they felt sorry for me or something. Even though I felt like a different person, I wanted to be the same person, and I wanted everybody to treat me like the same person. Does that make sense?”

Claire did not wait for Trevor to respond; Trevor remained silent. Claire had rarely spoken of her parents’ divorce, though I knew her heart ached because of it. Claire continued talking to the stone wall of Trevor.

“What I do remember is that Chancey was always there for me. If I needed to talk, or be goofy and ride him backward, or just stand in his stall and smell him, it didn’t matter. I was always his Claire, the same Claire every day.”

She turned to look at Trevor, still silent. Claire kept talking to the air. “I know a divorce is not the same as cancer. For me, though, it’s the hardest thing ever in my life. I miss my dad a lot when I’m with Mother. When I’m with Dad, I want to be with her. I know it’s not the same, but it still hurts.”

Trevor’s posture softened. He put a hand on my cheek. Claire rested her head against me, perhaps remembering the day we met.

“Mrs. Maiden told me one time, ‘Claire, you need to let your pain out and let love come back.’ All I’m saying, Trevor, is the same thing. Chancey is good at letting love in. He will love you as deep as an atom is small, if you let him.”

Claire put her arms around me and held me close. Then she turned and looked at Trevor. “Besides, Chancey has cancer, too. Y’all have something in common.” Then Claire ignored him.

She had learned, from fraternizing with horses for so much of her childhood, that if you ignore us, our curiosity will almost always demand that you not. Neither Claire nor I were surprised when Trevor picked up the body brush and began brushing my neck alongside Claire.

“Slow down,” corrected Claire. “Here, brush him like this, softer, in long strokes. See how he closes his eyes? That means he likes it.” I closed my eyes again to demonstrate for Trevor.

Finally, Trevor spoke. “Does it really have cancer?”

Claire put the currycomb in the brush box and turned to Trevor.

“His name is Chancey. Here, I’ll show you.”

Claire moved around to my right side and pulled the lid of my eye down toward her hand. I stood still so that Trevor could see my cancer.

“See that kind of white-pink blob right there? That’s cancer. He has it in his left eye, too, but you can’t see it because we had the tumor taken off that eye last month. But the cancer’s still growing. He’ll need another operation at some point. He’s probably had six operations since I got him three years ago.”

Claire released my eyelid and kissed me on the nose.

“Can it see?” Trevor asked about me.

Claire patiently repeated, “His name is Chancey.” She waited for Trevor to repeat the question satisfactorily.

“Yeah, whatever. Can it see?”

“No, not ‘yeah, whatever.’ Chancey is his name; don’t call him ‘it.’ To answer your question,
he
can’t see on his left side, but
he
seems to see all right on his right. We did have to take a tumor off of his right eye last year, and this one will probably come off soon.”

I had not let on to Claire that my right eye’s vision had begun its deterioration. Mac and Gwen knew, and they covered for me quite well by always staying nearby and giving me guidance whenever I got into trouble in the field, mostly at night.

“Can you teach me to ride him?” Trevor asked. “Can you teach me to ride Chancey?” He repeated the question again with my name, to show Claire his sincerity.

“Sure! I’m an awesome rider and Chancey’s an awesome horse. I’ll teach you to ride, no problem. You’ll be winning ribbons before you know it,” Claire boasted.

The smells of sugar, oatmeal, and raisins right under my nose had caused me too much agony already. I nudged Trevor’s shirt pocket very gently, certain that the remnants of an oatmeal cookie with raisins waited inside and hopeful that it waited for me.

Claire cocked her head. “What, Chancey?” she asked me, tickling my chin. Then Claire laughed. “Trevor, did you bring Chancey a treat?”

Trevor reached inside his pocket and pulled out half a cookie. “Oh, yeah. I don’t like oatmeal cookies. So, I, uh, well . . .”

“You did! You brought Chancey a treat! You were going to make friends with Chancey on your own, weren’t you?”

Trevor pushed his bangs around and stood looking at me. He made no move for the pocket that contained the cookie. I nibbled at his shirt. He laughed and reached inside.

“No, not like that,” Claire ordered him. “Hold your hand out flat.”

“You’re so bossy,” Trevor told her. “Are you always this bossy?”

He did as Claire told him, held his hand flat, and fed me the oatmeal cookie. I rested my head on his shoulder. He exhaled and began to breathe evenly.

The boy grew quiet. “Claire, I might not be able to get good enough to win a ribbon. That takes time.”

Claire understood, as I did. Trevor meant he didn’t have the time it would take to become an accomplished rider. Claire, being Claire, had no problem making big promises.

“Trevor, it won’t take long at all. We’ll have to pick the right event and you’ll have to practice, but sure, no problem.”

“Really? Like you think we could be champions?”

“Definitely, you two could be champions. But you have to promise two things. One, that you won’t call Chancey stupid ever again, and two, that you’ll try to have fun.” Claire stuck her hand out to Trevor. Trevor accepted the deal and we set to work that afternoon.

Over the summer Claire began working closely with Mrs. Maiden to teach Trevor to ride, forgoing her own time with me to focus on instructing Trevor. Despite his illness, Trevor was still a strong boy. Like Claire, he asked to learn everything right away. While Claire was content to just be near horses, whether mucking our rooms or feeding hay, Trevor was impatient to learn to ride and to win a blue ribbon. Having never won a blue ribbon, I had just about given up that goal for myself.

Claire never let Trevor cut corners. Whenever Claire would make Trevor go back to the barn to stretch me before riding, he would get frustrated. Trevor’s impatience would show.

“Claire! We only have one hour; can’t I just ride?”

“Okay, if you just want to argue with me for the fun of arguing, we can argue the whole hour. Or you can start stretching him right now and be done with it,” Claire would insist.

She always won, and soon enough, Trevor did not forget to stretch me. Though I understood the boy’s urgent need to learn quickly, I very much appreciated Claire’s insisting that he care for me properly.

The first time he was in the saddle, Trevor kicked me hard in both ribs and shouted, “Yah, boy, yah!”

I did not move. I blinked my eyes twice to show Claire that I understood Trevor’s request but would not respond.

“‘Yah, boy’?” Claire laughed so hard her face turned dark. “Where’d you learn ‘yah, boy’?” She tried to catch her breath.

Trevor giggled and squirmed around. “I’ve just always wanted to say it, that’s all.”

Trevor was motivated and fast to pick up the technical aspects of where to place hands and legs. For the first few weeks, Claire worked with him from the ground, teaching him to find his seat, making sure he placed his legs just behind the girth. He quickly grasped the idea of rising to the trot in time with my outside foreleg. He had more difficulty learning to ride with an open heart, but Claire was insistent that he must learn this, as well as how to post on the correct diagonal.

“Trevor, you’re straight as a board. Relax. And don’t forget to breathe. You’re holding your breath,” she scolded him. He did not immediately experience the contradiction of riding with a posture both straight and relaxed.

“You said, ‘Sit up straight and tall.’ I am sitting up straight and tall,” he complained.

“Try this, Trevor. Sing your favorite song while you’re riding. That will help you relax, and plus, you can’t hold your breath while you sing.”

“I don’t have a favorite song,” he protested.

“Seriously? You don’t have a favorite song?” Claire was incredulous. “Do you know any songs?”

“My mom always sings a stupid one to me.” He resisted Claire’s suggestion.

Claire did not cut Trevor any slack, ever. “Everything can’t be stupid all the time, Trevor. Okay, sing your mom’s stupid song, even if you hate it. Sing it while you ride. Go ahead, sing.”

Trevor asked for the trot and held his breath.

“Sing!” Claire screamed at him. She threw her arms in the air.

“All right, Claire. You can’t get me to relax by yelling at me.”

Claire laughed at Trevor because she knew he was right. “If you would just do what I say, I wouldn’t have to yell.”

That made Trevor laugh, and he began to sing his mother’s song.
“‘’Tis the gift to be simple; ’tis the gift to be free.’”

Right away, I felt Trevor relax. He loosened his hands, which had been tightly gripped on the reins; his back softened. Trevor began to breathe.

He sang on.
“‘’Tis the gift to come down where you ought to be. And when we find ourselves in the place just right, ’twill be in the valley of love and delight.’”

People are often astonished at the nearly imperceptible movements and shifts that are felt by horses of their riders. I can feel where my students’ eyes are looking. The slightest fidget of a seat feels like a tremor to me. I felt Trevor smile. We remained at a posting trot many times around the ring. Claire called out our instructions: “Now, add circles in your corners, but keep singing and keep posting.”

Trevor’s shoulders opened up, and he sunk deeper. What had been a tentative effort turned into a full serenade.
“‘When true simplicity is gained, to bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed. To turn, turn will be our delight, ’til by turning, turning we come ’round right.’”

“Now you’ve got it, Trevor. That’s perfect,” Claire praised him. She called for him to halt, which he did smoothly and gracefully. I squared my legs, so that Claire would compliment Trevor again.

“Look at you, Trev,” Claire said. “Who taught you to halt Chancey square like that? I think you’re ready to go on the trail. Hop down for a sec.”

Trevor lowered himself to the ground tentatively and patted me on the neck. “Good boy, Chancey. You’re making me look good to Claire.”

One afternoon toward the end of August, after Trevor had been riding but three weeks, Claire unbuckled my saddle and hung it over the fence. She cupped her hands tightly together and gave Trevor a leg up.

Without a saddle, his rhythm improved and Trevor was able to mold his body to mine more easily. As Trevor felt the warmth of my own body, he relaxed the tension in his legs and core. He held my mane tightly with both hands, while Claire led us away from the ring and down to the river for Trevor’s first trail ride. Though Trevor did exactly as Claire asked him to do, I could sense his uneasiness; Claire could, too.