Bloodless Day

Get Back

The thing about death
Is you don't realize what you've lost
Until you're in the barn
And she's not there
To greet
You.

The tears didn't come until later. Much later. Because I kept thinking, "She's not really gone. Missing, yes. Taken, yes. Gone? No. She's nothing final. She's young, she's a quivering mass of possibility and speed, an arrow that's shot out of sight."

But then I entered the stable and she wasn't there, and for an instant, she became She, and I doubled over. But then my mind separated the two, and scolded my mistake, but I was not comforted.

Holiday Break stared at me from across the barn aisle, eyes mournful, ears at half-mast, disinterested. I slowly stood and stumbled my way over to his stall, not looking towards Shamrock's. The tall bay sighed onto my face, breath warm and smelling like comfort and hay. My hand automatically went to his neck, stroking it, over and over, soft. Well-groomed. "I miss her too." I sighed back. Grief struck at my heart like a flash of lightning, straight, scattered, and then gone. Only the memory of the pain remained. I had too many such memories.

"He's been off his feed."

I didn't turn around at the voice. I'd heard him coming. But then Jack propped his crutches next to me, received a sigh from both Holiday and I, and leaned against the stall door, on the other side of the Thoroughbred.

"Lilac told me," I said shortly.

At my tone, Jack peeked under Holiday's neck at me. Something in my expression must have warned him off, because he looked away. "It wasn't.... it happened so suddenly. Nothing could have been done, Anna."

"We didn't put you down." I didn't mean for the words to come out accusatory. But they did.

He'd broken his leg. Shattered. The doctors weren't sure if he would ride again.

"I wish they had."

Everything Jack had worked for, his whole life, was now at stake. He may be okay.... or he may wish that he was the one who'd died. I felt invariably guilty at my words, then.

"Sorry."

Holiday sighed again, then withdrew into his stall, head lowered, leaving nothing but space and sadness between Jack and I.

We looked at each other. What I saw was a mirror, a reflection of sadness and regret shimmering in his dark eyes. I swallowed. "What... what happened?"

There'd been videos. A news special wondering whether abuse at the track could be stopped. I'd unplugged the TV and consequently now knew less about it than the average American.

Jack shook his head. "A misstep? Maybe she broke from the gate wrong and banged her leg. There could have been a slight dip in the track... who knows."

"But... what happened?" I repeated. I didn't want to know why Shamrock wasn't here anymore. I wanted to know about her last moments.

"She... she was running. We were going to win, she'd never felt so powerful before. And then she gave this great shudder... I tried to pull her up, but she caught at the bit and tossed her head. It threw her off balance- she must have twisted her hock, and the fall broke her leg. But then she just... went down."
Jack's voice was as broken as the filly's body. I shut my eyes against the image, listening deeper than his words. The guilt. The anger at the wasted life. "It wasn't your fault."

"Damn well it was." Jack grabbed his crutches and hobbled off. I didn't watch him go, instead, I started in the opposite direction, to Bloodless Day's stall.

It was as empty as Shamrock's.

Hot tears were spilling down my face long before I recognized them, and then I realized he was probably in the pasture. Maybe I knew that before the tears came. But I cried for a different empty stall, a different empty bed.