Learning to Fall

by Anne Clermont

  “He seems all right. He’s right over there.” Jason gestured as he helped me sit up.

  Jett stood less than twenty feet from me, head raised at attention, the saddle turned, reins dragging on the ground. Someone approached him. I wiped the mud out of my eyes, then wiped at my face, checking my hands for blood. But the wetness I’d felt was only mud mixed with thick blades of grass.

  “Stay down,” Jason said, his hand on my shoulder. I obeyed, closing my eyes. The sun blazed hot on my face, the grass brought cool, damp relief. Paramedics loomed over me, kneeling and peering from every side. Someone unbuckled my helmet.

  “Can you breathe?”

  “Can you see the light?”

  I thrust my hands over my face to block them out, rolling onto my side, trying to sit up again.

  “I’m all right,” I said, my breath coming fine now.

  “Please stay down,” one of the paramedics said.

  “I’m fine,” I said, giving him a hard stare. He paused, but Jason held his hand up, and the paramedic backed off.

  “Brynn, you should wait a minute,” Jason started, but I pushed his arm away. “Stuart is here, he’s a doctor, you should let him check you out.”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  He hesitated, then took hold of my elbow to help me stand, but I shrugged it off. As soon as I was on my feet, the crowd cheered. I was unsure of how to respond, my body burning more with shame than heat. I took a step, the pain in my hip and leg shot up to my spine. I stumbled, then quickly righted myself.

  “Let’s get a stretcher,” Stuart said.

  I shot him a dirty look.

  “At least get in the golf cart,” Jason whispered.

  “Don’t make a bigger fool out of me.” I wouldn’t allow myself to be carried off, so I pressed on.

  “The only foolish thing here would be to let you walk,” Jason hissed in my ear.

  “I want my horse,” I said, walking toward Jett. Out of the corner of my eye I made out Vivian and Chris standing near the gate. Vivian smiled as she reached for Chris’s arm. Chris seemed like he might have been worried about me, but maybe he was only squinting to see more clearly. I turned away.

  I wanted to wipe the stupid grin off Vivian’s face, but I had to wipe the dirt off my white britches first. I leaned down, but it was pointless. My britches were stained with mud and grass. I straightened, and the world spun. Jason grabbed my arm, but I pushed him away and walked over to Jett. One of the crew members held his reins while others rebuilt the jump. I scanned the knocked-down pillars, exhaling in relief. The mirrors were only aluminum.

  I took Jett’s reins, reaching up to rub him behind his ears. Jett lowered his head, like he believed he’d been at fault—oh, how wrong he was. Little lines above his eyes crinkled, his eyes deep, liquid, and mournful.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry for screwing that jump up, buddy,” I whispered in his ear, clutching the reins. He breathed out, making that whirr sound I loved.

  I walked us both, with as much dignity as I could, toward the gate.

  Following the paramedic’s advice, Jason brought me to the mobile first-aid stand to get checked out further. Stuart, our own medical doctor, followed my every move. I tried to hide the jabbing pain in my hip and leg, biting my cheek to distract myself as I sat down. But after he checked my pupil response, took my blood pressure, measured my temperature, and peered in my ears, I’d had enough. “What’s next? A bacterial swab for strep throat?”

  No one laughed.

  “Brynn, you may know a lot about riding, and I take yours and Derek’s advice when I take lessons, but I know about medicine. So just let me do my job.” Stuart no longer looked the relaxed trail rider, the guy who bounced around on his solid draft mare. He wore the kind of look that told you to shut up and do as you’re told.

  As soon as Stuart gave the okay I pushed myself off the chair, desperate to leave the makeshift medic stand. “I’ve got a horse to check on.”

  Jason frowned, staring down at me, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

  “Don’t give me that shit, Jason,” I said. “I’d like to see you as a patient.”

  He paused, his forehead relaxed, and then he laughed, taking his hat off. “Okay. You’ve got me.” He fanned himself with his hat. “At least you haven’t lost your feisty spirit.”

  It took a long time to walk across the expansive Spruce Meadows grounds to the barns, especially since I refused a ride in a golf cart. Jason kept the slower pace with me.

  People recognized me from my earlier crash, or maybe it was from the mud and grass stains on my britches. Some said hello. Some ignored me, too shy to acknowledge who I was. A few stopped to ask if I was all right. Jason told them I was fine, only shaken. I kept my eyes down, unable to smile or speak.

  The cool air inside the barn brought relief from the heat, but as soon as I spotted that ominous black leather medical bag lying in the aisle, and Derek holding Jett in the cross ties, my stomach knotted.

  “Ian’s just checking him over, Brynn,” Jason said, as if he’d heard the dark thoughts cross my mind.

  Derek peered up at me, his face ashen, his forehead creased. I halted. Was he as pissed at me as I was at myself? Did he blame me for hurting Jett? I would if I were him.

  “Is he going to be all right?” I cautiously stepped forward, moving behind Uncle Ian who stood, his back to me, as he leaned down examining Jett’s hind leg.

  “Not sure yet. He’s a wee bit sore, you know, so it’s hard to say what’s going on.” His voice came out muffled.

  “Is he off?” I would never forgive myself.

  Uncle Ian didn’t answer, still running a hand down Jett’s leg.

  “Derek?” I looked at him, hoping he’d answer me.

  “Yeah. He’s off.” Derek didn’t meet my eyes. He held Jett’s halter with both hands, staring straight ahead.

  “Goddammit!” I yelled.

  “Calm down.” Jason rested a hand on my arm, looking around to see if anyone had heard my outburst.

  I folded my hand into a fist, biting down on it before I exploded, and said something I would later regret.

  Uncle Ian stood to fetch a hoof tester from his bag. “He may be fine in a few days, Lassie.”

  “What do you think is wrong?” I could barely breathe now. “Let me look at him.” I tried to push myself past Uncle Ian, but he stopped me.

  “It’s too hard to tell at this point, Lassie. I’ve got to run some diagnostics. Let’s just take it an hour at a time, all right?” He turned back toward Jett. But then, as if he remembered something, he turned toward me. “Why don’t you head back to the hotel room and rest? You took quite a tumble.”

  “I’m fine.” I walked up to Jett, and Derek moved aside. I rubbed the white star in between Jett’s eyes, just the way he liked. Tiny white hairs rubbed off on my fingers and mixed with the black of the rest of his face. He dropped his head almost to my waist.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I asked Uncle Ian.

  “Brynn. Lassie. I’m telling you everything I know right now. It’s too hard to tell. Too early. Why don’t you head back to the hotel room?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, my voice rising. I knew I should calm myself, but I couldn’t.

  “I’ve known you longer than you’ve known yourself, and what you need is to take a break,” Uncle Ian said.

  “Yeah, thanks, Ian. I know how long you’ve known me, and my mom and my dad, and just how smart you are. But you don’t need to tell me what to do anymore. I’m a grown woman now, and I don’t need people bossing me around. I wish you would all stop treating me like a kid!”

  The barn fell silent. Even Jett jerked his head up to stare at me. Derek and Jason gaped at me.

  “What?”

  Derek and Jason retreated.

  I stormed away from the three of them, kicking a manure bucket on the way out, spilling its contents all over the aisle. I wanted to scream, and I didn’t give a shit what they thought.
I was tired of being treated like I knew nothing and they knew best. I’d proven I could run a business and still compete in some of the best competitions in North America.

  What the hell else did they want from me?

  I bolted to the truck, cutting through the back fields to the parking lot, fuming, blood roaring in my ears. I ignored the pain searing from my thigh up into the small of my back. I stepped on a rock, almost twisting my ankle. I kicked it as hard as I could, but it didn’t go far, skipping only a foot or two in front of me. I kicked at it again, this time missing completely.

  “Son of a bitch!” I cried out. I’d made it out to the gravel trailer parking lot where we’d left the truck that morning, glad it was empty, and no one saw me take my anger out on the rocks. I got in, slamming the heavy driver’s door closed, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. For an instant I worried about Derek and Jason, and how they’d get back to the hotel, then dismissed the guilty thought. They could find their own ride.

  I drove over eighty miles per hour on the back roads toward our hotel. At a red light I searched for a Ministry song on my phone, blaring it as loud as my ears could handle. The truck’s speakers reverberated through the base of my spine, pulsing through my fingertips, my brain crushed by the sound, desperate for the music to replace my every thought. I changed lanes, cutting someone off. A horn blared. I hadn’t meant to, and normally I would have waved an apology, but not this time.

  By the time I pulled up to the hotel, Ministry and Rage Against the Machine had my adrenaline pumping even harder. I yanked the ticket stub from the valet.

  “Keys?” he asked, timidly.

  I fished the keys out of my pocket, then threw them at him.

  I stormed toward the elevators, ignoring the friendly smiles on the staff and the tourists. What the hell did they have to feel so happy about? Oh, right. Their full bank accounts and easy lives.

  Helena and Payton waved at me from across the lobby. “Brynn!” Helena wore a sun hat and carried a buttercup-colored beach bag. Payton wore a breezy cover-up over her polka-dotted bikini. I surveyed the lobby, wondering if I could sneak behind the grand pillar to my left, or maybe a plant. Even a fat tourist would do. But no such luck. Helena and Payton were almost upon me.

  “Brynn! I didn’t think you saw me.”

  “I didn’t,” I said, looking away.

  “I was hoping we could chat,” Helena said, breathless from running toward me. Her hand squeezed my upper arm. I cringed. My arm hurt from the fall, plus I didn’t want her tenderness and sympathy. Helena: Always nice, always full of the right, kind words, always found a way to lift my spirits. But I didn’t want my spirits lifted. Her patience, her kindness, and her perfection annoyed me.

  “Now’s not a great time.” I squinted toward the elevators, hoping she would take the hint.

  “Oh, this really won’t take long, and I need to talk to you as soon as possible.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “No. I’d rather it was today, it’s really important.” Her hand tightened like a tourniquet around my arm.

  “All right then.” I succumbed, feeling like her prisoner.

  “Great. Payton? Can you give us fifteen minutes?” Her daughter, earbuds in, texted on her phone.

  Payton glanced up. “What am I supposed to do?” she whined.

  “I don’t know, Payton. Find something,” Helena’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh. Payton’s chin dropped as she clamped her glossy lips into a line. Then she scuffed her feet across the granite floor toward the pool.

  “There’s a quiet space in the lounge,” Helena said to me, nodding toward the room to our right.

  Helena sat at a semicircular booth in the lounge. The blue and yellow zigzags on the purple carpet in front of me made my head spin as I struggled into the booth, the coral of Helena’s shorts screaming against the red velvet booth almost making things worse.

  “Brynn.” She laid her hand on my arm again. I winced, and this time she noticed, removing her hand quickly. “I’m sorry about your fall. I shouldn’t have grabbed your arm, poor thing!”

  “I’ll be fine,” I grumbled.

  “How is Jett? His fall looked rough.”

  “He’s getting checked out now.”

  “I sure hope he’s okay,” she said, adjusting her loosely braided hair.

  Silence fell around us, with only the distant piano music drifting in from the lobby, now muffled by the velvet upholstery, the carpet, and the painted ceilings of the lounge.

  “I’m leaving.”

  My gaze shifted toward Helena. A calm fell over me, my ears suddenly plugged. I glanced at her lips, shaped into a perfectly curved bow.

  “I’m leaving,” she repeated as if I wasn’t capable of understanding.

  I scrutinized the waves of her hair, her thin arched eyebrows, her upturned nose. Then her words sunk in: she was leaving me as a trainer.

  She leaned on her forearms toward me. “I signed the papers with Vivian this afternoon.”

  I couldn’t breathe, feeling worse than when the wind was knocked out of me earlier. My eyes stung.

  “What?” I didn’t even sound human. I tried standing, but my thighs slammed into the table’s edge, knocking me down. I grimaced from the pain.

  “It’s only that . . . Payton’s friends are there, and it’s not that you’re not a great trainer, it’s that . . . well . . .” She paused, searching her words.

  I wanted, no, needed to hear them. “If it’s not that, then what?” I croaked.

  She didn’t respond, making circles with her fingers on the smooth acrylic top of the table.

  “Is it because of my fall today? Helena, is that why?” It came as barely a whisper. I sought out her eyes, but now she avoided mine.

  “No, no. Of course not.” She clasped her hands together, keeping her gaze down. I wanted to throw up. I pinched my burning nose, preventing what was surely coming next. But I wouldn’t allow any tears to fall.

  “You can’t leave,” I said, my voice low, pathetic even in my own ears.

  “I’m sorry, Brynn. Vivian made a really great offer we couldn’t refuse. She’s a bit closer to where we live, and she’s cheaper. She has more services, plus Payton will be with Kennedy again, and they’re so close, best friends really. It’s been tough on them too,” she paused, glancing briefly at me again. “So you see, it’s just better for us this way.”

  I glared at her, trying to contain my anger. Vivian was going to lose money, just to get every one of my clients.

  “Brynn, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll always be there if you need me. I care for you, your mom, your dad. You’ll always be a part of our family.” Her hand extended toward me, her four-carat diamond flashing in the incandescent light.

  I managed to shimmy out from beneath the table without hurting myself. “You’re no fucking different than any of the others.” I stood over her. Petite, sweet Helena. Then I turned, on my heel, wanting to run as fast and as hard as I could, as far away from everything as possible.

  Instead, I walked as casually as I could toward the elevator, wondering how much worse things could get.

  I stood in my stirrups while Jett galloped. I whipped off my helmet, tossing it as we raced around the Spruce Meadows International Arena. The crowd cheered, everyone jumped up, stomping their feet, calling my name. “Gonna Fly Now” by Bill Conti blared over the speakers.

  Jason and Derek hugged, Mom waved to me, Dad smiled, his head tilted down, proud, yet not wanting to show too much emotion.

  “What do you say, Jim, is it time to get that morning workout in?” Two announcers bantered jovially. Then a trainer’s whistle jolted me.

  “I like to start my clients off with thirty minutes of cardio on the treadmill or an elliptical machine, then . . .”

  I slammed the alarm clock. The room was full of shadows, bits of light filtering in, falling at unfamiliar angles around me. I wasn’t at home.

  Hotel outside Calgary.


  In an instant, memories flooded my mind. The dream hadn’t been real. I wasn’t winning anything. I was the one who’d lost. I was the loser.

  I’d lost the class. I’d lost my clients.

  Helena.

  I had only four clients left: not enough income to cover even half of our overhead.

  I’d retrieved a message from Uncle Ian sometime in the middle of the night, right before drinking my second or third or fourth glass of wine. Jett had injured his hind left stifle. Uncle Ian still wasn’t sure whether it was only soft-tissue damage, a strain on the muscles, or worse, a torn ligament or fracture. He’d done an initial ultrasound scan, but we wouldn’t know definitively until the swelling had subsided, and he would ultrasound it again. Jett could recover quickly, or could be on stall rest for as long as six months.

  I sat up, acid from my stomach rising, burning my throat.

  I imagined Seth Armstrong, his beady eyes staring at me while he matter-of-factly explained that we didn’t have any money, that the bank was going to repossess the ranch, our house.

  I saw Mom as she packed her boxes, putting on that cool facade, trying to be strong. I imagined Jett taken away from us as payment for the mortgage, standing somewhere at auction, or, God forbid, being sold to some inept rider who wouldn’t take him to his potential. He’d stand in a barn, or out in a field somewhere, getting soft and fat and too old to jump, his feet festering with thrush. I’d heard the horror stories. Those estate auctioneers never had any experience selling horses. They got what they could, trying to get anything they could for the horse, unable to see the real value in a show jumper like Jett.

  An empty bottle of wine stood to my left, the glass lay flat next to it, a crimson stain spreading across the maple nightstand. All I wanted was to huddle under the blankets. I shifted to stand but decided against it. My body felt like it had been mauled, everything burning, screaming in pain.

  I remembered yelling at Uncle Ian, at Jason and Derek, and then of course Helena. My face burned with shame. I pulled the sheet even higher.

  A soft knock on the door broke the silence in the room.