A Story, Past


THE PINTO
…..The road went long and quiet. Having shoulders of light dirt. Even when crossing the train tracks all the landscape about was of country….The boy for some reason was not in afternoon school nor busy when any of his daily chores. No, just a cloudy fall day and within it, a boy riding his pony, Lightning…..All and all within the boy’s mind, he preferred, his soul preferred the sweet smell of fields and forests but most of all , loneliness…..He talked to the grey pony, a pony with a crooked white blaze running from forehead to the bridge of its’ nose. And the pony knew where they were going. For they both came such a way before and before…..”We’ll yell for her where that tree meets the back of the barn. I know Sissy will hear, she always does”, and the boy speaks, then pats his pony’s neck. As if listening the pony shakes his head. And the boy has nothing but pure pride for his steed. A brave pony that has outrun many a horse…..The fence of the average farm starts about a half mile up from the train tracks…..Nearing, the boy and pony spot the Pinto off on the far end of the wide field…..Lightning whinnies first and the Pinto is already racing for all it’s worth for the pony friend and boy…..Once, at the fence the boy lets the two friends communicate…..Ears twitching, nostrils flaring, eyes wanting even gums lifting to pony teeth smiles…..”Sissy, Sissy, it’s me, Sissy?!”Now, behind the small barn, yet still on the outer fence, the boy waits….. “Sissy!?”The boy hears the back screen door bang! The boy smiles knowing Sissy doesn’t like afternoon school much either…..”What is it!?” Sissy isn’t smiling. “Just wanted to know if you want to ride out to the quarry, I mean…..” “No, I don’t, going bike riding soon” “…..bike riding?” “Yeah, bike riding, motorcycles dummy”. And the word hurts the boy. She sees it, “well, you just started riding. I was born on a farm, riding ponies all my life, sick of that. I like motorcycles now. I mean, you know, dirt bikes”. “…..I’ve been riding here over a year now, I mean Lightning’s mine”, was his only answer. “You know what I mean, you ain’t dumb. All you want to do is ride and go ride in show’s at the fair for them cheap colored ribbons, you…..”. “I win, don’t I”!The boy gets mad, cuts her off…..”Maybe Sunday we’ll ride”, and Sissy walks off…..The boy sits his pony until he hears the screen door bang again…..”Come on boy, we’ll see her later”. And the boy just waves good bye to the pinto who follows until he can not…..The winter that year came mad and went mad. Too much ice and hard snow to ride upon. Only chores and tending to Lightning in the inter- corral. Now early spring the days were all sweet, cool and warm of sun…..The spring wind blows hard against the boy and pony as they cross the slight rise of the tracks, heading for the place…..Nearing, the pinto’s head whips up, he whinnies first before Lightning and is already tearing up plots of field as he races for the far fence…..The boy smiles but his smile is short-lived. No use calling from behind the small barn. No, the boy heads, walks his pony all the way around to the front of the property…..Seems they put in a narrow, black top path from the lonely narrow country road,right up to the old, brown ,farm house…..The boy sits his pony and does not call out…..Sooner than later he hears Sissy’s folks. The front door opens. He sees her. The mother holds the front door for her…..Sissy gets the lower, front wheels lined up and rolls down the short ramp…..The wheelchair makes little sound approaching…..”Hi Sissy”, the boy so smiles, smiles at the still pretty face of his heart’s Sissy. All long of brown hair and of big welcoming brown eyes…..”Hi back, where you riding?” “Oh, around”. “…..come see me?” The boy holds back his answer some, “…..sure”. “…..why?” She said ,then all was quiet between the two, for the whole world as it turned……Then, Sissy rolls up to Lightning, starts scratching his nose…..She takes hold of the bridle, making the pony step closer…..The boy stares down as Sissy begins to weep…..Her tears coming off her own face upon the pale-face pony…..”Sissy, why did you have to go, why didn’t you ride with me that day, why?” And the boy weeps as he speaks…..Sissy does not answer only cries harder…..The boy wipes his tears and gets down from his pony…..Moves around to the other side of Lightning’s bridle…..Standing there…..Sissy looks up at him. The sunlight meets her eyes, tears…..”Will you come see me again?” “You know I will Sissy, Lightning loves you”……And the crippled girl looks into the eyes of the pony…..”Do you?”, and the words are for the soul of the boy.”…..you know I do Sissy” “Always?”. “…..always”…….And the boy speaks no more. Only boy, pony and girl are there. There , giving thee Angels such a picture,such a meaning on a lonely, three-lined country road. Yet a road with that one, large, special tree, there, solely for one purpose,all these decades .That one tree’s sparing branches, creating to the outline of the three below .For searching sunlight has been so commanded, reaching through the vines, making the perfect silhouette .Yes, on this road of abandonment but not for a single lost moment of girl and boy and pony. No, for they are, there,within the purest of all feeling….. the purest of all feeling…..
By: George Martorano
Copyright: 12973
7/13/13