LO-LU

It was drawn in huge letters in the sand of the arena: “LO-LU”. Half of the arena belonged to Luciana, the therapeutic horse trainer, and half of the arena belonged to Louis the student. They both stood in their respective sides with lunging whips in hand and directed a small Skyrian pony named Silverstar around the ring. When Silverstar entered Louis’ side of the ring he would follow her with the whip to make sure that she walked or trotted into Luciana’s side of the ring. This was a new exercise for Louis since he had grown tired of riding, and it was a successful one because not only did he have control over an animal, but he had control over what that animal did in a portion of the ring that belonged only to him.

About halfway through the exercise, when Silverstar entered the “LO” portion of the ring, Louis decided that he wanted to make her go fast. He cracked the whip at her hindquarters and away she went—galloping, bucking, rearing, stopping and changing directions. She was a powerhouse of sleek black fur, muscled rippling as bullets of sand were kicked up by her hurried gait. Her mane tickled the air as she threw her head up and shook he powerful neck; she was a sight to behold—a sight that might have frightened most children who stood in the middle of her unpredictable paths through the arena. But not Louis. He stood in the center of the sandy arena with Luciana and laughed while remaining completely captivated and concentrated on Silverstar’s movements. Suddenly, under Luciana’s direction, Louis cooed, “STOMATA SILVERSTAR!,” in a low, calm voice and the crazed pony turned her inside ear to him and looked at him with her eyes that reflected the high that she felt from galloping around the ring. Silverstar turned to him and began to trot into the center of the ring, and I feared that she might trample his small body. But she didn’t. About four feet away from Louis, Silverstar stopped abruptly, sending a plume of dust into the air, and she lowered her head as a sign of submission. When the cloud of dust cleared, I could see plainly: Louis standing tall with his whip in hand, staring at Silverstar, and Silverstar, the powerful pony, completely mesmerized by this little boy.

As the rest of the lesson progressed, I sat back in my shady spot by the tack room and watched as Louis lead Silverstar by a lead rope over some poles and around some cones. He laughed as he ran with her, occasionally tripping over his feet as he turned his head to look back at her when she trotted through the course.

His mother, who sat beside me watching, said to no one in particular, “It’s hard to imagine what this boy will be going through next week when I see him out here laughing like this. He knows that we are going to the hospital, but he doesn’t know why. And when he’s bedridden, it will be so hard to tell him he can’t play outside like this.” I turned to her and looked into her blue eyes that were following Louis’ movements in the ring. She continued, “He has had 6 open-head surgeries and he is only 6 years old. When we went back to the doctor recently, they detected more pressure in his brain and we’re going back next week to remove the fluid and put some probes in his brain. He knows we’re going, but he doesn’t know that this will be happening. I don’t have the heart to tell him.” I’m sure I muttered something to the effect of, “That’s awful. I’m sorry,” but it was not enough.

When I turned to look at Louis again, I saw him in a new light. I knew I was watching something rare and something rationed when I saw him smiling, or when I saw the sunlight illuminate his blond hair like a halo around his head. I thought to myself, “A boy of six should not have to pay for his laughter in the way that Louis has. His world should be carefree. The world should belong to him.” But as I thought this, I watched him as he lead his pony in movements that he controlled; as he laughed at her when her hot breath tickled his arm; as he ran all over the arena, half of which had his name written in the sand. I then thought, “At least this bit of earth—this half of the horse riding ring—belongs to Louis, as he jogs in blissful unawareness of the meaning of the hospital visit next week. He will inherit the Earth someday. He must simply take baby steps.”