She was named Kitty. She was definitely my first, biggest, longest, unconditional love ever. I could have ridden her to the moon and back, without a single doubt. She was not perfect, but I trusted her absolutely. She also gave me “that feeling”. She was unloved by the other kids who came to the riding centre (really small-size, non lucrative association, countryside style run administration). I loved her. A bay, half-sized pony, with a fat, round, belly. The kids didn’t like her, because they considered her to be “lazy” and “fat”, and all they wanted was to go “fast”. I was scared of going “fast” and scared of all the “agile”, “fast” ponies that they were riding. Kitty was my absolute favourite. She made me feel safe and comfortable. Like I could trust her. And that we would only go fast if we both wanted to. We often, together, just didn’t want to. I don’t know, ultimately, why she wanted to have this reputation of not being able to go faster. I think she had her reasons. Maybe no one else made the effort to get to know her. Because me and her, at times, we went very fast. Like we were flying. Afterwards, people would say to me: how did you get her to move that fast? The “speed” was the only thing they saw, in that moment, because it was her known “issue”. For me, however… it was just very naïve love. I was at an age, where I didn’t even understand what that meant. It never felt “naïve” back then. It just felt very, very, real. That connection. And that absolute sense of trust, like me and her could “fly”. I don’t think that anyone, ever believed in her like I did. That was obvious. No one really wanted her, except me. But I never saw her that way. As “unwanted”. I just always thought what fools you all are, to not want her. For she was real to me, as real as a person can be.
She had other known “issues”, for instance, of not wanting to mount into a closed vehicle, like a van or a trailer. The riding centre would partake, occasionally, in (very, small) local competitions. The favourites, for those events, would be, of course, Sabaki or Princess, and occasionally, Papillon (a privately owned horse). The “faster” horses. But for some reason, Kitty was needed as well, and I said, “with me as a rider?”. I was still a “junior” then, so my request was denied. Yet, Kitty was to go to the local competition. I couldn’t stand it. She was not a competition horse, to begin with, and what sense would it make, since she would not fulfil anyone’s expectations unless she would be with someone who gave her trust and believed in her! In the end, I was called (summoned!) to be there on the morning before the competition, just to get her into the trailer. She wouldn’t do it easily, even with me. She had fears. But ultimately, if she had to do it at all, she would only do it because I was there. It was new to me, that feeling that someone could possibly need me, or use me as support, to overcome their fears. That I could make a difference, or mean anything, to anyone. That look in my eyes, on the picture… that is me. With Kitty. With her. After I got her both into, and out of the trailer. Feeling so fucking connected to her, in every possible way. And after that exercise of trust, having to hand her over to some unknown rider, who would “ride” her for the competition. I didn’t even know his name. Nor did he know mine. I was also, only, the badly dressed accompanying horse girl. But Kitty wouldn’t even have been there, without me, you fucking (more experienced) ghost rider! That is what my eyes wanted to scream, at that moment. Instead, I look sad, withdrawn, and sullen. As I always do. Story of my life, and of all my silent, violently passionate, withdrawn loves.
Pony Press 