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The sun streamed into the indoor arena of the Happy Hearts Therapeutic Riding Center, falling on the butterflies and sunflowers painted in bright colors on the walls. Dust motes danced in the sunlight. The laughter of children filled the air along with the methodical thud of hooves and the gentle snorts from the horses.
I sighed. I loved being here, volunteering with the children, and working with horses. I needed to get out of the emergency room in San Antonio. Being an emergency room nurse had been my dream, but now it sucked the life out of me. I dreaded going to work and I no longer felt the spike of adrenaline when helping patients. On my days off, I desired to be at a place where happiness and laughter were the norm, like here.
A lock of hair fell forward into my eyes. I tucked it behind my ear, pulling my baseball cap down further on my head. I turned to the child, Tabitha, riding the pony I led. A smile adorned her face, splitting it from ear to ear. Her eyes sparkled with delight while the pony took small, slow steps forward. Two other volunteers walked alongside Tabitha with their hands on her rail-thin thighs. I caught their grins when Tabitha set a rubber ball in the matching bucket. One volunteer high-fived her while I steered the little chestnut pony onto the next obstacle. We followed the bay horse, Jasper, ahead of us, making our way around the little course. We walked over a bridge, dropped a small rubber hoop on a cone, and picked up a toy from one bucket to carry it to the next bucket. Some of the obstacles were more difficult than others for Tabitha, but she finished the course with a wide smile.
“You did wonderful today, Tabitha!” I said when we stopped next to her mother and a miniature wheelchair. I was proud of her as if she was my child.
“I did everything by myself!” She crowed. Her pigtails bounced on her shoulders. The copper pony looked back at her. “And Penny was great.”
“Just like always.” I rubbed the little pony on the forehead.
Leah, lead instructor, owner, and organizer of the Happy Hearts Therapeutic Riding Center, walked to the center of the sand arena and raised her hands in the air. She cleared her voice before addressing the students, parents, and volunteers, all twenty-five people present. “Great lesson everyone! You probably don’t need to be reminded, but next week we are going to have our end of the session show, so make sure to bring a dish to pass and all your smiling faces.”
A cheer went up from the children.
“Also,” she continued, “as we discussed a couple of weeks ago, next week is the last week Happy Hearts will be in operation. You can bring lots of carrots and apples for your ponies. They will be joining our party, too.”
The cheers quieted as soon as the words left her lips, popping the happiness like a bubble, leaving only sadness and stillness behind. With subdued tones, we assisted the children off their ponies and horses and into their wheelchairs. Tabitha reached into the pocket attached to the side of her wheelchair, extracting a horse treat. She extended her little hand toward the pony’s soft nose. Penny nuzzled her hand, gently taking the treat. Her whiskers tickled Tabitha’s palm and she giggled.
I patted the pony’s neck as bittersweet nostalgia filled my chest. The children enjoyed every moment spent with the horses and this was my escape from my reality. It reminded me of the good parts of my childhood and teen years, spending time riding with friends out in open spaces, laughing, and enjoying time in the sun. Now, I spend my days in the glass and concrete emergency room, listening to the beeping of monitors, and hurried calls of the orderlies. It was a long way from my country roots.
I led the pony into her stall. I pulled off her saddle and bridle and brushed her. Leah slowly walked down the aisle after the children left, checking on all the horses and volunteers, and making small talk with each person until she reached the stall I was in with Penny at the end of the barn.
“Tabitha is coming along nicely,” she said. She held out a peppermint to the pony.
“She is.” I lifted one hoof to clean out the sand and pebbles. “It’s none of my business to ask, but why are you closing the stable.” I straightened to watch the expressions flit across her face, from sadness to a contained excitement.
“The army is transferring my husband out east in the next couple of months. I didn’t want to start another session just to end it early.” She fed Penny another peppermint. Her eyes were sad when they met mine. “I’ll miss the children.”
“I know you will.” I reached out my hand to rest it on her arm. “Isn’t it closer to your family?”
“Yes, I haven’t seen them in years, and no one is getting younger.”
I laughed at that. “None of us are.” I slipped the halter over Penny’s ears to release her. “What’s going to happen to this place?”
“I don’t know. If someone can take over the lease, the owners might let it keep operating. I have two months until I leave to figure it out.” Her eyes cut to me, with a gleam in them that I knew was never good. “How about you take it over?”
“Me?” I dropped the grooming bucket, scattering brushes everywhere.
“Yes, of course!” She clapped her hands with excitement, causing Penny to snort at her. “You’ve been around horses your whole life and you’re great with the kids.”
“But I have a full-time job at the hospital.”
“Think about it,” she shrugged before walking down the barn aisle.
“She’s crazy,” I rubbed Penny between the eyes as she nudged my pockets for treats.
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THE MONITORS BEEPED in another room. People scurried around, calling to each other. I sat at the nurses’ station trying to fill out paperwork for the last patient I’d seen. I stared at the computer screen for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Hey, Delilah, are you almost done?” Chad, my supervisor, asked. “You’ve been at it for a while.”
“I can’t seem to focus today.”
“I’ve noticed.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Is everything O.K.?”
A moment or two passed before I could respond. How do I tell him how I feel? What would he say? “Yes, everything is fine.”
“You haven’t been yourself for the last couple of weeks.” He set his clipboard down and leaned against the counter. “You’re coming in later than normal, leaving at lunchtime, and just overall distracted. The doctors have been making comments to me on your mental health, especially Dr. Glanders.”
I sighed and tried not to roll my eyes. Of course, Dr. Greg Glanders would be worried about me. We dated for a bit, but I broke it off after a couple of weeks. He was a great guy, just boring. We parted as friends, at least on my side. I knew he wanted to be more than that. I missed the excitement and the zing that I had with my first and only love. Instead, I said, “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
What I wanted to tell him was that I had grown to resent my job, waking up in time for work was difficult, and all I wanted to do was go to bed when I got home. Not to mention, my mind wandered over to Happy Hearts Therapeutic Riding Center and thought about everything I could do there: the children I could help, horses to be cared for, the barn needed to be painted, the fences mended, and whatever else Leah needed. The stable was the bright spot in my week.
“You’re getting burnt out,” he said softly, breaking into my thoughts. “You’ve been here for six years without a vacation. No one can work the hours you’ve been keeping...I want you to go home early, your shift is almost over anyway. And tomorrow I want you to come in and let me know how long you’re going to be gone on vacation and where you’re going.”
“Seriously?” My eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Kid, you need a break. Not to mention, you are a liability if you start messing things up with patients.”
I cringed at his words. He was right.
“We can handle everything while you take a couple of weeks off. The ER will be fine if Delilah Allen takes a vacation. We’ll be here when you get back.” He clapped me on the back, grabbed his clipboard, and hurried off down the hall.
“What am I going to do with a vacation?” I said to myself as I grabbed my things.
On the way back to my apartment, I made a detour to the library which sat close to downtown San Antonio. I parked my car in the parking ramp and walked a couple of blocks to the library. It was a beautiful day for South Texas in August. It was hot but a stiff breeze made it comfortable to be outside. The library doors loomed ahead of me and slid open silently as I approached. The cold air inside caused goosebumps to race up my arms. I shivered, hugging my arms to my chest.
“May I help you, ma’am?” The woman at the desk asked.
“Um,” I glanced around. It was huge, much bigger than the library in my hometown of Sunnydale that was thirty miles away. There was even an elevator with a list of floors next to it. I turned back to her, a little overwhelmed. “I think I just need a computer.”
“Absolutely, I’ll need your driver’s license or another form of identification.” She handed me a sheet of paper covered in small print. “These are the instructions on how to log onto the internet.”
I exchanged my license for the paper as she tapped away on the keyboard before giving my license back and pointing me on my way.
The computer lab was cool and quiet, filled with little clicks as people typed away on the keys. I weaved my way to computer number 32 and set my bag down. Following the instructions on the sheet of paper, I logged in and searched for any information on therapeutic riding centers in Texas.
After a few hours, my eyes were sore, my back hurt, and the tips of my fingers were numb, but I held in my hand several sheets on how to become certified to run a therapeutic riding center. My body was physically tired from work and concentrating on the computer, yet my heart was excited with the new prospects on the horizon. Chad was right, I was feeling burnt out from my job as a nurse, which I had been doing since college.
Sometimes, I needed to work to distract me from the memories that crept up on me at home. The love and family that I almost had but lost, the pain and the loneliness that filled every corner of my small apartment, and the longing for a child that I may never have. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I folded the paper and placed it in my bag to head home. Maybe, just maybe, I could do something different. I’d still be helping people. I’d be making a difference in the lives of others. With a conviction I hadn’t felt in a long time, I decided on what I’d be telling Chad in the morning: that I needed a permanent break from the hospital.