Fundamental Laws of Nature Ellen is convinced her daughters lesson horse is the reincarnation of her mother. The horses eyes give her away. And her mother always loved anything equine. Fitting that shes now a black Thoroughbred mare.
Ellen watches Abby, her daughter, prepare the horse to be ridden. Abby has already brushed the barn dust from the mares sleek body, which the mare — her grandmother — seemed to enjoy. Ellen thinks the brushing must feel like a nice massage. The aisle, flanked by stalls, smells of alfalfa hay and manure and oiled leather. A brown tabby weaves between the mares legs. The horse stomps at the cat, which Ellen takes as further evidence because her mother didnt care for cats.
“Piss,” Abby says. “Somebody took my hoof pick.”
Ellen has never heard her twelve-year-old daughter swear (is “piss” a curse word?) and resolves to stop swearing herself. When Abby goes to the tack room to retrieve a hoof pick, Ellen pats the horses soft nose.
“I know who you are,” Ellen whispers. “Im onto you.”
The mare blinks.
“Hey,” Abby says from across the aisle. “Are you giving her pointers for my lesson?”
“I told her not to be scared of the brick wall,” Ellen says, referring to one of the jumps.
“You can tell her all you want, but well see if she responds to the stick,” Abby says, tucking her crop into her tall riding boot. She runs her hand down the horses pastern to get the animal to lift her hoof. “Hup.”
The hoof remains firmly on the ground. Ellen took lessons as a girl and knows she could twist the chestnut, the small scaly part on the inner side of the horses leg, to inflict pain. But it seems a cruel gesture toward her own mother. Shes not thinking straight these days.
Ellen rode for a couple of years, and her mother was always more enthused than she was. Ellen didnt have the same unconditional love for horses. She had conditions: after her first bad fall, the affair was over. Finito. Done. The horse clearly didnt have the same feelings for her. So why bother?
“Dont be stubborn,” Ellen says. She sees a glint of recognition in the horses dark liquid eye. The mare complies, lifting her hoof so Abby can scrape the debris from the bottom. The silver horseshoe shines in the dim light of the barn. Soon, theyre ready for the practice arena.
The March day is sunny but cool, water dripping from icicles along the overhang. Ellen is grateful for the private lesson — no small talk with the other barn moms. The conversation inevitably touches upon occupation, and Ellen is reluctant to tell people shes a gynecologist. Sometimes she just says obstetrician. Everyone likes the baby doctors.
In the arena, Abby and the mare move at a brisk trot. Her trainer, Bridget, stands in the center, barking orders to go over the ground poles.
“Tie up your reins,” she says, “arms out, more leg! Keep her straight! Good. Next time, hands behind your back.”
Bridget is a small woman with pale green eyes and a feline grace. Once, Ellen caught her smoking by the infirmary stall. Although it wasnt exactly model behavior for her daughter, Ellen was more concerned about the hay catching fire. Bridget threw the cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with her boot. Then she picked a fleck of tobacco from her tongue. Both women acted as though they hadnt seen the other, because that was easier than confrontation.
Abby obeys the trainers commands. Although the cavalletti poles are just a few inches high, theyre enough to interrupt the horses normal stride, like a series of tiny jumps that could dislodge a rider. The mare deftly trots over the poles while Abby makes the ride look effortless. Bridget challenges them further by asking Abby to drop her stirrups. Ellen can tell this is more difficult for her daughter because her shoulders hunch forward, but Abby keeps her balance.
“Okay,” Bridget says, “this is the last aid Ill take away. Eyes closed.”
Ellen holds her breath. Her daughter has to trust this animal, have faith they will keep moving forward. In her head, Ellen says a prayer: please dont hurt my baby. And if you do, Ill cause you bodily harm, and as a doctor, I have an intimate understanding of anatomy.
They make it through the obstacle with ease. Ellen exhales. Abby grins and pats the mare on the neck.
“Easier than you thought, wasnt it?” Bridget says.
“Yeah,” Abby admits.
“Your eyes affect the position of your head, which affects your whole balance. When you look down at the poles or the jump, she knows,” Bridget says. “So eyes up, always looking ahead.”
Next, horse and rider dance figure eights, starting with large, sweeping circles and making each progressively smaller. Its a lovely choreography. Abby holds the mare back with just a snaffle bit, two thin pieces of metal that join in the middle, over the horses tongue. With the bit and her body weight, Abby has full control over the animals movements.
While Bridget sets up the jumps, Abby rides along the
perimeter at a posting trot. The leather squeaks at rhythmic intervals.
“Shes good today, isnt she?” Abby says as they approach Ellen.
“Youre right,” Ellen says. “She seems more responsive.”
In life, Ellens mother was beautiful and athletic, a synchronized swimmer when she was young. Ellen had seen the black-and-white photos, the girls heads covered in slick rubber caps, all bobbing in unison. Ellens mother had always wanted to ride, she said, but her parents considered it too dangerous. So she collected figurines, spotted ceramic ponies and glass carousel horses and pewter mustangs.
Ellen is not a superstitious person, nor is she religious. But as she gets older, shes realizing that science doesnt explain everything. Its unreasonable and illogical to believe her own mother is now a horse. But where did her spirit go? Nothing is ever created or destroyed — it just takes a different form, according to a fundamental law of nature. Ever since Ellen found a mass in her breast, just a few days ago, she doesnt know what to believe.
She doesnt have time for further meditation because Abby is soaring through the air, falling, twisting, bracing, landing on her back in the cold arena dirt.
When they get into the car, Ellen says, “You didnt have to get back on, you know. You mightve hurt your spine.”
“No,” Abby says. “I had to.”
“That trainer,” Ellen hisses, “does not know everything. Im paying for her to scream at you. Remember that.” Ellen is on the verge of tears. She knows her horse-mother was trying to teach Abby a lesson, but its not her lesson to teach, that horrible animal. Her mother would say what doesnt kill you makes stronger. Back in the saddle. Bullshit like that.
“Mom,” Abby says, “its what you do. Everybody gets hurt at some point. Sarah broke her collarbone and finished her lesson. Alexis broke her hip. And Mary broke her tailbone at the last schooling show but got back on and finished the course.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Im just saying, if youre still conscious, you get back on.”
“Im calling Dr. Schwartz,” Ellen says. “Hell order X-rays to rule out any fractures and check for soft tissue injury.” After her fall, Abby bounced up and jogged to the mare, securing the reins. Its Ellen who needs to see a doctor.
“Im fine. Its just a bruise,” Abby says.
“Im taking you to a physician.”
“Mom, I think its time for my own horse. Ive been riding for two years now and you know Ill stick with it.”
“So I get the pleasure of buying an animal that can hurt you? Fantastic.”
“Im aware of the risks,” Abby says.
“Look, Im sorry. Horses are a lot of work. Are you willing to take on that kind of responsibility?” Ellen says, even though its a reasonable request. Abby always finishes her homework before riding lessons. And she cares for Tinker Bell, the mutt she raised from a flea-infested orphan, now living at her dads house. Ellens ex-husband got full custody of the dog but only partial custody of Abby.
“Is it a money thing?” Abby asks.
“No. Well go get you checked out and Ill think about it, okay?”
“Fine,” Abby says. “Think hard.” She pulls at the chest strap of her seat belt as if its suffocating her. Abby has always been a good kid, an easy kid to raise, rarely moody or sullen. Now, Ellen thinks, the girl is just choosing her battles.