Born That Way

by Susan Ketchen

  Using the mounting block is kind of like getting on from the fence, like I used to do with Hambone, only easier. And I’ve never ridden in a saddle before. Kansas adjusts the stirrups to the right length, then attaches a lunge line to Electra’s bridle and leads us to the middle of the arena. I feel Electra move underneath me. I’m not sliding around like I did bareback, but still, it’s not steady, like riding a bike. I am way off the ground and completely out of control. It’s not anything like my dreams either, but it’s real.

  That’s when I notice Mom’s car parked beside Dad’s at the rail of the riding ring. I’d been concentrating so much on Electra that I hadn’t heard it pull up, which has to be a major miracle. There’s no one in either car so I look around and see three people leaning against the fence watching us. Dad is trying to take some photos of me using his cell phone but it doesn’t seem to be going very well. Mom gives me a wave and I can’t wave back because I’m holding the reins. And then I see that the third person is Grandpa. Mom must have picked him up at the airport. I didn’t think he was coming until next week sometime. He waves at me too and shouts, “Hi there, Pipsqueak! You look great!”

  Electra gives her head a toss and the movement ripples right back through me and I grab the front of the saddle.

  “Okay, Sylvia, take a deep breath, pay attention, here we go,” says Kansas.

  After my lesson Grandpa says he wants to take us out for lunch to celebrate and Mom says they should take me home to clean up and change first and Grandpa says Don’t be silly, Evie, and Dad says he has some work to do and Mom says, Tony it’s a special occasion and I say McDonald’s and they all say No at once so we go to this fancy place with white table cloths overlooking the ocean not far from where I found the barnacles, which seems fitting somehow.

  I’m still so excited I can hardly eat, and I can’t stop talking because I have to be sure they noticed everything, like how I stretched my legs down and how I held my hands steady and how I let my back move with the motion of the horse and how I almost fell off but didn’t, when Electra stumbled.

  The most wonderful thing is that they all look happy and there’s not the slightest whiff of guilt in the air and the only talk about money is when Dad and Grandpa argue about who’s going to pay the lunch bill and Grandpa wins as usual.

  I go home with Dad. Grandpa wants Mom to take him shopping, so they don’t get back until later.

  I’m showing Dad the video on YouTube of Blue Hors Matine doing her freestyle dressage test at the World Equestrian Games, which is hard because every time I watch it I cry so I can’t explain to him exactly what she’s doing. But at the end Dad sits there and doesn’t say anything for a minute and then he says, “Wow.”

  Grandpa takes his suitcase to the guest room. He says he’s going to unpack, then have a nap. Dad says he needs to review one of the equity funds. Mom has some work to do in the kitchen because Auntie Sally, Taylor and Erika are coming over later for dinner.

  I go to the garage to clean and polish my paddock boots, which takes quite a while because to do it properly I have to take out the laces completely and then put them back in again after the polish has dried. I’ve almost finished when Mom calls me into the house and we go down to my bedroom. Dad and Grandpa are sitting beside each other on my bed.

  “I bought you an early birthday present,” says Grandpa. He points to a Sears bag leaning against my bedside table.

  I open the bag, expecting a wrapped present inside. Instead there’s a small plastic footstool.

  I hold it in both hands and try to smile. “Thanks, Grandpa.” I’m thinking he’s so old he really has no idea any more what’s an appropriate gift for teenagers. But I don’t want to be rude. At least he’s trying.

  “You’re very welcome,” says Grandpa. He and Dad sit there on the bed smiling at me and I think maybe I’ve missed something. I look over at Mom who is smiling too. I smile back at them all.

  Grandpa clears his throat. “It’s a mounting block.”

  And my brain freezes up. I’m holding the little stool in front of me, staring at it like it’s a live thing, and I know what it’s for and I know what I should be doing with it, but I can’t move. It’s almost like when I was in that dream where Kansas was sitting on my bed holding my foot, I’m that paralyzed. Here I am, about to get exactly what I want in life and I can’t take a single step.

  Mom pries the footstool out of my fingers and places it at the base of the open door. She takes me by the elbow and guides me over, and somehow I figure out how to put one foot beside the other and stand with my back against the door edge.

  “Use a book on her head, Evie,” says Grandpa.

  “Dad, I know,” says Mom. She grabs my Pony Club manual and a pencil from my desk, balances the book on my head and draws a line. I hear the soft snicking sound of the pencil lead on the paint above my ear. I’m afraid to turn around and look. I can see the disappointment on Grandpa’s face. Mom sits down beside him.

  “Maybe I should have bought a taller stool,” he says.

  I can’t believe it. I take a peek at the door—I’m about a hand short. But that’s not the unbelievable part. What I can’t believe is how relieved I feel.

  “I’m not ready,” I tell them.

  Mom says, “Sure you are, Honey.”

  Dad says, “You’re a very responsible kid.”

  Grandpa says, “I’ve already cashed in the bonds, they matured last month, now the money’s sitting in my account waiting to be used.”

  I stand on the stool and look down on them, perched together on my bed, all trying to look upbeat, all trying to do the right thing. The trouble is, they don’t know what the right thing is, and for once I do.

  “Kansas says I’m not ready. She says I need to take lessons for a while so that when I do buy my own horse I’ll be able to ride it properly. She says any horse that is quiet enough for me to learn on now might not suit me in a year.”

  Now they all look disappointed.

  I look back to the purple mark on the door. “I probably need a year to grow that much anyway. It’s perfect, really.”

  And it is perfect. In a year I’ll be good enough at riding to handle a great horse. Grandpa can buy one for me then, as well as a taller footstool, if that’s what I need to reach the purple mark. In the meantime, I have a lot to learn. And Mom needs a new car. I know better than to suggest that Grandpa buy her one—I know how Dad will react, whether he understands why or not. But I think I can probably help them work something out. Somehow. It will be an interesting campaign, and marketing is something I am skilled at now. Plus there’s something else I plan on learning from Electra, the little boss mare: how to move the herd with the flick of an ear. My next campaign will be so subtle no one will notice a thing.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I owe a debt of gratitude to many in the creation of this book.

  First and foremost, I am thankful to my family and friends for their support and inspiration.

  To Hiro Boga at Oolichan Books for, well, everything!

  To Isobel Springett for her amazing photography skills.

  To Janet, for the barnacles, and Tricia Forrester-Hunter, for her love of dance.

  To Richard Ketchen for all that free help with the technical stuff.

  Mark Hobby, farrier and tireless source of interesting equine information. Any errors are mine, not his.

  My twin, who I have never met, Anna Elvidge, for reading the first draft and responding with such enthusiasm.

  Brian Brett for reading an early draft and sending me in the right direction.

  Miss Haut and her English classes at G.P. Vanier Secondary School, for listening, laughing at the right bits, and then advising so astutely on the cover.

  Dr. Bill Otto, for reviewing medical issues in an early draft. Any errors are mine.

 
To Kristina and her pals, and Kaela and Alex. Thanks for being girls, and for visiting and letting me see what it’s like to be young nowadays.

  To two gifted teachers who helped along the way, Jack Hodgins and Matt Hughes.

  To my riding pals, who help to keep me in the game, especially Bonnie, Pauline, Natasha and Gina. And my friend Seiko who keeps me on track.

  To the horses who have passed through my life: Cloudy, Squirt, Stash, Lucy, Major, Shadow, Cowboy, Blazer and Lollipop.

  To Mike, for listening, then listening again . . . and for pretending I wasn’t home.

  Wonderful. Reads like a cross between Adrian Mole and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.

  —Dr. David Davies,

  Child and Adolescent Psychiatrist

  I knew Susan rode her horse with intelligence, heart and humour, so I’m not surprised to find that she writes the same way.

  —Gina Allan-Belasik, Equine Canada Coach

  A smart, modern, witty novel. Curious adolescent equestrian navigates toward her passion. A must family read!”

  —John Marton, Ph.D. Psychologist,

  and Seiko Marton, Social Worker

  Susan Ketchen holds an M.Sc. degree in Marriage and Family Therapy. She lives on a small Vancouver Island hobby farm with her husband, two horses, two cats and a flock of chickens.

  Susan is a member of the B.C. Horse Council, the Comox Valley Dressage Club, the Comox Valley Writer’s Society and a psychiatry journal club.

  She is a monitor with the Wildlife Tree Stewardship Program, giving her an official excuse to spend many hours staring out the window . . . at the eagles perching and nesting at the edge of the property.

  She is interested in animal training and teaches her horses to recognize a remarkable number of words, play the piano with their noses, and identify flash cards. She has given up trying to master dressage but still enjoys her riding lessons.

  She is inspired by her surroundings, by the animals domesticated and wild, and by the many interesting people in her life. Her favourite places to come up with new ideas are the barn, the pasture, and the shower. She has never received creative inspiration while vacuuming.

  Author photo: Terrance Berscheid