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Colin is staring at Tenor, our wild Arabian. My mother adopted him a few years back from another farm that didn't want him. He was a typical horror of a horse that anyone else would've put down already. Countless homes, with countless threatening encounters. Too wild. Too reckless. A dangerous animal that shouldn't be around people, especially not kids. My mother heard none of that and made sure to let him live out his life with us on the farm, giving him his own stall and portion of the pasture. Dale's background with horses of this nature helped facilitate that.
I approach Colin from the side, staying out of Tenor's view.
“That's Tenor. He's another rescue horse,” I explain softly as he peers at him.
Tenor turns in his stall, hearing Colin. He doesn't approach the stall door but remains along the wall, watching.
“We aren't exactly sure what happened to him, but he doesn't trust people. We've had trainers out here, experts to try to work with him, but it just seems to cause him more stress.” I explain, leaning against the barn. “He seems to like his solitude.”
Colin continues gazing at him, and I'm immediately on alert. Tenor has been known to bite. He's not the horse you just go up to and feed treats by hand. Worried Colin's going to try to feed him his carrot, I take another step forward. But he doesn't lift his hand.
They just gaze at each other until Tenor steps forward, looking as if he's ready to make a move. Colin just stands there, still as ever, his eyes dropping to stare at the door before him. He's not making eye contact with Tenor now, just letting the horse be aware of his presence. Tenor shakes his head and puffs a breath out of his nostrils, vibrating his muzzle with a loud purring sound. Almost wanting Colin to move, enticing him to.
My face breaks into a smile. “Look at that,” I say beneath my breath. “He's waiting for you to do something.”
Colin gazes at him, unmoving.
“He's just never met anyone like me,” Colin says in his monotone voice. “He doesn't know how to react. I'm not normal people and he knows it. They always know.”
I swallow, registering his words.
“Animals are amazing creatures, aren't they?” I comment, stroking Magdalene's muzzle as she nods at me. I hand her another carrot and she readily gobbles it.
“Your mom is sick,” Colin says suddenly, still holding eye contact with Tenor.
His forwardness knocks the breath from my chest.
“She's dying,” he continues, sounding factual and not at all empathetic.
I tighten my jaw, withholding the tears that want to tear through. It's not his fault he doesn't sound sympathetic. It's just the tone of his voice he can't control that makes it feel disingenuous.
“She is,” I admit, turning away from him.
I walk back towards Rosie and give her the rest of my carrots, trying to ignore the bluntness. Colin just doesn't understand social norms, and I have to remind myself of that.
“We're all going to die,” he continues. “All going to die.”
I'm really trying not to get upset, but this conversation is striking a painful nerve with me. I came out here to not deal with this. Specifically, to get away from it. And here Colin is, immersing me in my torture.
“We are.” I agree blandly, grinding my jaw.
“It's better when you get to say goodbye.”
I pause, bracing my hands on the edge of the stall door, my head now dipped between my shoulders. This pain is unbearable. The forwardness, the direct words I've been avoiding for so long; death, goodbye. He throws them out like they're nothing, forcing me to catch each of them, not knowing our goodbye is coming next. Tears fall from my eyes and I wipe them away with a quick hand, throwing them to the gravel beneath my feet as nausea hits my gut again.
None of this is fair.
“It's not any easier knowing what's coming, Colin,” I say to the dirt. The sentence holds a double meaning for all I'm about to lose.
“It's always coming. Death. It's always here. We're all going to die. Death is always here,” he says with a simple shrug. A shrug that shows his courage.
“You say that like it's nothing to be afraid of.”
“It's not. You can't be afraid. Not afraid. You can’t always be afraid. Every day there is death. Every day there is life. Give her your best goodbye. Best goodbye. She needs the best goodbye.”
Turning my head to face him, I see him staring at me again. Those brown eyes that resemble his sisters in their almond shape. The eyes that hold so much beneath their surface. Secrets of seeing things others don't. Understanding the world in a different light. A simplistic realization that resonates and reaches me better than anyone attempting to be sympathetic ever could.
“Best goodbye,” he says once more with a nod before approaching the edge of the stall.
