photoart by Thiel

Nobody Told the Horse

    The dog pulled on its lead, and the owners pulled back. They said I shouldn't hang around. I was making things worse. The dog was hard to control. It was my fault it got angry. They pulled, and the dog pulled back. They shouted, and the dog barked. I smiled.

    “Why don't you try a little understanding?”

    They looked at each other. I backed away. They let go of the lead.

    “You're such an expert, try walking our dog.”

    The dog's paws landed on my chest. They laughed.

    “We've got to go. See you here at six, with the dog.”

    And off they went, laughing. I looked at the dog. I'd never walked a dog before. The dog looked at me. I took hold of the lead, and set off into the wood. It led me through the wood, but I noticed something in its mouth. A bone was sticking out of its mouth. I never saw it swallow a bone. The dog was coughing and shaking its head. It wanted rid of the bone. A dog might choke on a bone.

    I grabbed the foot, and pulled, but the dog took a mean kind of defensive stance, and growled. It was terribly good at the fight for food. I stood on the foot. The dog backed away. The bone came out of the dog. The dog looked up at me. I wanted to leave the woods. In the woods, a dog could pull tricks using its extensive knowledge. It had an unfair advantage.

    We came to a wall. There was a ladder over the wall. The dog stopped at the ladder. It spun in circles under the lead, and I pulled. It dug in. It didn't want to go into the field. I gave it lots of leadership, no contradictions, and no double meanings. I was half way up the ladder, showing it the way.

    “Let's go.”

    But it dragged me off the ladder. I heard hooves. I stood up, and looked into the field. A horse was crossing the field trying to kick off its saddle which had slipped. The horse didn't have eyes in the back of its head. The horse didn't thrive on excitement. The saddle resembled a tiger, intent on killing. No one told the horse there was no tiger.

    The dog stopped spinning, and put its head on its side. It considered the danger had passed. The dog had known about the horse before I did. I was glad I hadn't got in the way of a runaway horse. It was ready to go, but I watched because I wanted to know what happened so I could learn some human anxiety. The horse ran into the road. A car headed towards the horse. It hit the brake, and missed the horse.

    I didn't stick around. I was up the ladder after the dog. We reached the top of the field, and a man in riding gear ran towards us. He was red-faced, and out-of-breath. He asked me if I'd seen the horse that threw him. I said I'd seen the shadow of a horse, and they ran in the direction I pointed.

    We completed a circle, back to the car. We waited by the car. I was sure they'd abandoned their dog. It lay on its side, ears and nostrils active as though it feared the arrival of a dinosaur at any moment. Nobody told the dog there was no dinosaur.

    It sat up, and sure enough, an SUV arrived. The dog's owners. They stopped in front of us. They wound down the window, and asked me if I'd seen a horse. They said there was a full scale search for a runaway horse. I shrugged. They asked me if I'd be there tomorrow. I said I'd require a fee. They laughed. The dog jumped in the back. They slammed the doors, and left.

    I unlocked my car, and heard a noise. I looked round. In the corner, by the fence, was the horse. The horse wanted to run some more. You see, nobody told the horse. Nobody was going to tell the horse. The horse was going to have to find out for itself.

I Hadn't Even Started

    I took half steps. I passed neat lawns, and tiny conifers. I stopped at a fishpond, and then I was alongside her. I couldn't believe anyone could walk so slowly. She had her head down. She didn't say a thing. She just carried on with her head down as though I wasn't there. We reached her house. I coughed, and I looked up.

    “Not bad.”

    “What's the point? I'm not taking any more. I'm not going to pass.”

    I held up my arms.

    “There's always next year.”

    “Go to hell.”

    She slammed the front door. I hadn't even started.

    I stood in the doorway of her room, and held two suitcases.

    “Where do you want these?”

    She dropped her student information pack on the cushion, and picked up a coffee. She leaned back on the bed, and nodded towards the sink. I put the suitcases down. A couple started hitting it off on the tiny bed next door. She thumped the wall.

    “What kind of a place is this?”

    I shrugged. I could hear her travel clock.

    “It's a just an ordinary sort of place. So what happened?”

    “About what?”

    “Exams?"

    She pulled the bedspread into tiny peaks, and looked out of the window.

    “I did retakes. My mother got your number. She wants me to be a doctor, and then we can all be doctors. A whole family of doctors.”

    “No surprise there. Do you want to be a doctor?”

    “What do you think?”

    I looked out of the window. We were three floors up. I could see people drifting in and out of the cars below.

    “I think you should do what you want.”

    “How can I do what I want with them breathing down my neck?”

    I looked into my coffee cup. She had a point.

    “My parents lost hope. My mother took me to audition for Oliver with just a copy of the People's Companion to read out loud.”

    She looked up.

    “Nothing to sing in Oliver?”

    “I was supposed to float through on pure talent.”

    “What did you do?”

    “I improvised, ‘Ya gotta pick a pocket or two, ya'll.' The director berated me in front of everyone. I cried. I was eleven.”

    “Was your mother sorry?”

    “Sorry? She told everyone what happened. Killed my confidence stone dead.”

    “Forever?”

    “Put it this way, she stamped on the last embers of family duty.”

    I stared at the floor. She rotated the cup, tipping it until the coffee hit the lip.

    “They wanted my brother to be a doctor too.”

    “I know.”

    “He cut up eyes, sliced up frogs, blew up a sheep's lung in his bedroom, covered the ceiling with gore, mad on anything medical, always experimenting. Right in the middle of my exams he had to go and try something like that. That's what they say isn't it? Try everything once. Some joke.”

    She stared into the cup.

    “Sing me something from Oliver.”

    “I don't have my People's Companion.”

    She laughed and we were face-to-face.

    Her parents met with my parents. They came up for a weekend. They all crammed onto her bed. There was no space so we stood in the doorway. The couple next door were slamming the headboard against the wall. Her father looked up at me, searching my face.

    “So how are you two getting along in a place like this? You're both enjoying yourselves aren't you?”

    I smiled.

    “We talk a lot about death.”

    He coughed into his clenched fist.

    “Well, it's good to see you young people getting along.”

    “You used your medical connections to cover it up didn't you?”

    He leaned his chin on his clenched fist, and smiled.

    “Now why would I pull a trick like that?”

    “Because he got the pethadrine that killed him off you.”

    “That's not how the inquest saw it.”

    I left, and slammed the door. I started walking. I reached the dog leg in the corridor. She grabbed my arm, and pulled me back so I faced her with my eyes closed.

    “Why did you say that?”

    “Why do you think?”

    She stared at me.

    “Make a bad situation worse, why don't you?”

    She turned away, and walked back to her room. She stopped, and gave me the finger. She went into her room with her parents, my parents, and my brother.

    There was a knock at my door. I put my guitar down, and opened the door. She stood with my brother.

    “What?”

    They smiled. They held hands. They lifted their hands so I could see. It was as though they thought I couldn't see.

    Convention says there has to be a best man, and the best man had to be me. The ceremony took place. We went to the Gordonstoun suite in a hotel in Preston. Both sets of relatives assembled. Someone tapped a fork, and prayed for silence. I stood. A horseshoe table full of people stared at me. I looked at each of them, and then silence took over. I held my piece of paper.

    “The best man's speech is where jokes are like marriages. They start off well, and end in silence.”

    I waited for laughter. Laughter was not my forte.

    Someone said, "Get off".

    My father stood up. He wanted to remove the heckler. Her father stopped him. I picked up a glass of wine, and swallowed the lot.

    “You're supposed to laugh.”

    “You're supposed to be funny.”

    I looked down at my speech. My hands looked immense. My father came alongside.

    “Give it up, son.”

    “No.”

    He grabbed my speech. I pulled it away.

    “I thank the cook who prepared the excellent meal. She's a friend of the bride. Works in catering. Makes for a cheap meal.”

    “Who's the comedian?”

    “Stop now, son.”

    “I've been told she'll sing, ‘New York, New York' with high kicks, the lot. So don't say I didn't warn you. That's something to look forward to.”

    “Siddown.”

    “Where does he get that stuff?”

    Her father stood alongside me.

    “I said sit down.”

    I looked at the bare table, the plates all cleared away, oysters of fat seeping into the tablecloth.

    “Why should I sit down? I haven't even started.”

Not Your Problem

    The sun was overhead. There wasn't a shadow in the square. I saw graffiti. She stopped by a shop window, and I kept walking.

     “Come on.”

    I looked in the shop window too. I saw oil paintings, the harbour, the beach, ruins.

    “Aren't they cute?”

    “Great. Now let's go to the beach. I don't like it here.”

    “But.”

    “No buts. Look at the graffiti.”

    We tracked out of the square, and onto a bright mosaic path. White-shoed couples sat in the shade, and leaned towards each other talking. We stopped for water. She unhooked the rucksack, and let out a gargle.

    “It's gone.”

    “What's gone?”

    But I knew what had gone. In the back pocket of the bag. Her money. Her credit cards. I kicked a date so it flew past the couples who turned away. She slung the bag on her shoulder.

    “Stay here.”

    “What?”

    “I said, stay here.”

    Alone, on the beach, I claimed a sun bed and lay down, staring at the underside of the umbrella.

    I woke up. She was leaning over me. She smiled.

    “Cards cancelled. Five Euros missing.”

    “Big deal. Sorry I shouted.”

    She laughed.

    “Sorry I took no notice. At least you never said, ‘I told you so.'”

    “Would I?”

    I rolled over, and looked along the beach at the other bathers. I saw two men walking towards the sun beds. They stripped off, and sat down. They paid the man for sun beds. One asked the other for a light. They lay back, and turned their baseball caps round, blowing out smoke. They said something, and laughed. Two women on the next beds looked at each other, and rolled onto their fronts. The men stuck out their jaws, and angled themselves to the sun.

    The

    Ones.

    They thought their victims would spend the day in a hot police station filling out forms. They were wrong. I watched, and I waited. The sun dropped low, and cooled. Other bathers rolled up their towels, and left. The man stacked the beds. It was just down to me. I stared. They stared back, and then they looked at each other. They laughed. I sat up, and dug my feet in the warm sand.

    She grabbed my arm, and I looked at her.

    “What?”

    She smiled.

    “It's not your problem.”