A Leap For The Sky by Kc Wheeler (good inspirational books .txt) 📕

times in the school library, flicking through books that I’d never dream of reading. Previously the only books I enjoyed reading were horse novels, but I had no interest in reading those anymore.

I’d fallen into a cycle. At school I’d work my very hardest in class, going straight upstairs to my room after school. I ate my dinner alone in my room, lost in my thoughts. Thoughts of Gypsy and now Coby would enter my head continuously, and I’d struggle to block them out. My lack of a life meant I didn’t exactly have much else to think about. I thought about Lucy too. I wondered if we’d ever go back to normal.

At night, I’d fall asleep easily. While my dreams were still free from Gypsy, Coby entered them a couple of times in ways that made no sense, my unconscious mind expressing the guilt that lurked within. But you told them you didn’t want a horse. It’s their fault, not yours, I’d tell myself.

Sometimes I dreamed I was with Lucy. We were content in my dreams; the argument had never occurred.

Usually a year rushed by too quickly, yet the last few weeks felt like a lifetime. So much had changed in so little time. I was still processing all of the change and I felt unsure of what to do next. So far, my plan was to survive the rest of the school year; then I’d go to university, or perhaps go straight out in the workforce. I hadn’t a clue about what I wanted to do as a career.

I’d move out of home, and there, I could sit up in my room grieving all I wanted without disturbance. Was I depressed? I didn’t know.

Lucy and I had always planned to flat together after high school; it was something we both looked forward to. We’d always discussed the late nights we’d spend together, eating junk food and watching movies. We planned to take turns driving us to our horses where we’d spent numerous hours riding together, like we always did. We agreed that if either of us ended up in a relationship, that we’d never let it get in the way of our friendship. I found that easy to promise as while I’d had crushes on boys, and one relationship with a guy named Jarred for a few months last year, I was too busy obsessing over horses to obsess over a boy. Lucy had had numerous ‘boyfriends’, but the longest relationship she’d managed to have was only about three weeks.

Now, I was obsessing over a horse that no longer breathed, and I didn’t have Lucy. I wondered for the first time in my life if finding a boyfriend would help me to live my life without horses.

It was a five weeks after Gypsy’s death. I still thought about her constantly, and although I still cried for her some nights, the pain was no longer so fresh, and my sadness was lined with memories that made me smile instead of cry.

Lucy and I were still barely speaking, and my parents hadn’t even mentioned Coby to me. I assumed Lucy was still caring for him. I could only assume my parents had made the decision to sell him by now, although I didn’t care to browse online to see if he was listed. Part of me just couldn’t bear to know. I still had a guilty conscience as I knew deep down my parents were trying to help me, not hurt me. Beyond that, there was something else I couldn’t explain.

The night prior when Coby visited me in my dreams, I’d ridden him. In my dream I had no resentment, nor fear. I mounted him as though he’d been my horse forever, and we took off cantering around the arena, his gait like a rocking horse. In my dream I’d felt happy. I was enjoying myself immensely.

I faced him towards a huge jump, bigger than I’d ever jumped Gypsy. We were approaching it, me waiting in anticipation. Just before his hooves left the ground, I’d woken up, annoyed at myself for dreaming of riding.

Tonight, I was having another night where I couldn’t fall asleep. Luckily nights like these were the minority of my nights.

I’d looked through my photo album numerous times, bringing each image of Gypsy to life in my head. I decided that next week, I’d get printed copies and make a collage of her for my wall. Gosh, I missed her so much!

Being a Saturday, I wasn’t too worried that I couldn’t sleep, but I was bored and had no reason to stay awake. I wished Gypsy was alive so that I could visit her. I imagined touching her warm body; running my hands over her fine Summer coat, tainted black in the darkness. I could almost smell her, the scent of horse; the scent of life. The thought of standing next to Gypsy nearly exceeded my imagination now. It was hard to believe I’d ever been that close to her at all.

I pulled off my shorts, stripping down to my underwear and a singlet, and slid under the covers. I rolled onto my side, reaching for light switch, planning to simply wait for sleep to come. My arm brushed the book on my bedside table. The Horse Whisperer. I was halfway through it and hadn’t read any further since Gypsy had passed away. My hand hovered over it. I didn’t want to read about horses; I was trying to leave that part of my life behind me. But I was curious to the know the ending, and the night would be so long if I simply just waited for sleep to find me.

With a sigh of defeat, I picked up the book and began to read.

I began to finally feel drowsy only a few chapters away from the end of the book, but I had become engrossed in the story, so I fought to stay awake. I was too close now.

When finally, I read the last page, I didn’t go to sleep. I sat up in bed and ran over the storyline in my head.

In the book, Grace, a thirteen-year-old girl, and her friend, end up in an accident on their horses when faced with a large truck. Grace’s horse, Pilgrim, rears up in front of the truck, tossing Grace to safety.

Unfortunately, Grace’s friend and her horse do not make it. Grace survives with the amputation of one leg, and her horse, Pilgrim, is still alive, but physically in a bad state and mentally disturbed from the accident. The vets encourage Grace’s mother to put Pilgrim to sleep; but her mother refuses to because she feels he’s required to help Grace to be happy once again.

Grace is depressed, angry, and shut-down from the accident. She encourages her mum to put Pilgrim to sleep, but again, her mother refuses to. Grace rebels against her mother; she has no intention to ride again and feels like Pilgrim would be better off euthanized.

Despite this, when Pilgrim is back to a physically healthy state, Grace’s mother drives Grace and Pilgrim across the country to a horse whisperer. In a nutshell, over time the horse whisperer mentally heals Pilgrim. Pilgrim and Grace learn to trust one another again, and Grace rides him, happy for the first time since the accident.

The character, Grace, reminded me of myself in a way. My friend didn’t die, nor did her horse. I still had both legs. But I was angry and I guess you could say a little shut down. I didn’t want to ride, but my parents were convinced it’d help me to move on and be happy again.

What if they were right?

Chapter Twelve

I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. I felt lighter somehow. The sun lit up the curtains; it was another nice day. Summer had been living up to its expectations this year.

I pulled on my shorts from yesterday, and a black t-shirt, and headed downstairs.

Natasha sat at the kitchen table with crayons and a colouring-in book. She hummed a tune as she coloured. Mum lay on the couch watching some talk show on T.V, and I assumed Dad was still in bed.

Mum glanced over her shoulder at me. “Did you wet the bed?” she joked. “It’s 9am, what are you doing already up?”

I just shrugged and poured myself a bowl of Rice bubbles.

“I’m going over to play with Jenny today,” Natasha boasted, as if I’d care.

“We have to check with Jenny’s mum first, honey,” Mum called.

“Cool,” I mumbled. I hurriedly gulped down my cereal. “I’m going for a drive,” I told Mum.

Mum smiled, probably happy that I wasn’t spending the day in bed for once. “Are you going to see Lucy?” she asked.

“Uh… Yeah,” I lied. I slipped out the front door before she could ask any further questions.

 

I was relieved to find Ridgewood stables empty. Even Andrew’s car wasn’t in the houses driveway. Crickets chirped in the distance. I spotted Coby grazing where I’d met him in the front paddock, his golden coat shinning. I felt a pang of sadness, for in the distance he still could have been Gypsy.

I headed over to the tack shed and opened the door, where I was greeted with the sweet scent of horses and leather. I inhaled deeply, a sense of security overwhelming the sadness deep inside. I felt at home among the saddles and bridles. Like a wild bird set free from captivity, I felt where I belonged; and I wondered how I ever believed I could stay away.

I reached for the halter and lead rope, hesitating as I realized it was last on Gypsy’s face. That’s when I noticed a new-looking blue halter and lead rope hanging right beside it with a new grooming kit below. I realized my parents must have bought them for Coby, and I felt grateful for that. I grabbed both the halter and lead, and the grooming kit, and stepped back outside into the warm summer air. It was going to be a hot day.

Coby nickered and wandered over to the gate when he saw me coming. He appeared happy when I slipped on his halter, almost relieved for some attention. Coby had been kept paddocked alone, and I wondered why Lucy hadn’t put him in with Bugs. I stroked the blaze on Coby’s nose, narrow compared to Gypsy’s thick one, which was the width of nearly her face. I tied him loosely to a piece of twine on the gate and stood back to look at him properly for the first time.

Coby looked at me with interest. He had a more defined head than Gypsy, daintier to match his finer frame. He had a well-muscled, arched neck on sloping shoulders. He had the higher wither and long legs of a Thoroughbred, and a short back, finishing off with the large and strong hindquarters of a Quarter horse. Overall, he had taken more to the Thoroughbred side of his breeding, the opposite to Gypsy. He was a nice type, standing approximately 15.3-hands-high. He was certainly a picture to look at.

I walked back over to Coby, who sniffed at my leg. I noticed that two of his white hooves were lightly cracked, and noted to arrange for him to get shod.

I unzipped the grooming bag and pulled out a soft body brush. The ground was dry and Coby was already clean. Coby, the definition of ‘friendly’, kept turning his head around to look at me as I gently brushed his summer coat. He then stretched, pulling against the lead rope, and took the brush in his teeth. I gasped in surprise as he pulled the brush from my hands. The strange animal nodded his head up and down, the brush bouncing from the bristles as he went. “Hey, give that back!” I laughed, grabbing for the brush. But Coby tossed it over the gate, causing me to laugh harder.

I decided to forget the brush for now. I untied Coby and opened the