Wendy's Magic

The bedroom was quiet now, mostly dark. Wendy lay as still as could be listening for the household outside her bedroom door to hush for the night. She listened awhile longer. It finally became completely quiet and she exhaled a sigh that relaxed her body through and through. Now she was ready to begin.
Wendy intertwined her fingers gracefully; dancing and swirling them to make the shadow puppets on the ceiling come alive. With her bedroom window cracked just a little the cool night wind blew the curtains just so, and the moonlight cast a bright spotlight on the ceiling and onto her prancing shadow horse. How proud and beautiful, thought Wendy.
She relaxed even more. Back---back---back Wendy’s mind flowed to a gentler, more peaceful time in her life. There she was, real as life---and it was show time!
"Eeeasy now girl,” Wendy soothed while she scratched the strained, arched neck of her horse. She could smell the sweat and feel every muscle of her horse beneath her, a quivering coiled ball of energy ready to spring forth at any moment. Wendy forced herself to relax and take a deep breath---deep, deep breath. The musky scent of the leather saddle wafted up to her nostrils, and she could hear it squeaking beneath her, a scintillating sound that always thrilled her.
Tonight her horse was a small, beautiful, dappled gray Arabian mare. Powerful and small. Her horse could always be anything she wanted. She chose a different breed, a different color, and size every time she performed. Different costumes and saddle styles too. Her performances varied also. Sometimes Wendy chose to compete in English pleasure classes or hunter-jumper competitions, and sometimes in her more daring moods, barrel racing events. Tonight’s performance was for the State Championship English Pleasure Class at the Ohio State Fair Grounds.
There they were---waiting in the warm-up paddock outside the show ring. Her mare fiddled with the bit, chomping impatiently and flaring her pinkish nostrils. The mare danced in place, trotting in slow motion but going nowhere. Her tail was raised high like a flag, so typical of proud Arabian posture.
Wendy communicated mind-to-mind to her horse that everything was all right. She straightened herself in the saddle, and then dropped her shoulders downward as though someone were ramming down push pins attached in each shoulder, and she pushed down deeper into the saddle. This was her body’s language saying, “Whoa there! Take it easy, girl.” It worked and her horse began to relax. She continued moving her horse forward, gathering together their collective energies into one magnificent display of horse and rider. Wendy’s riding style was graceful and considerate---always give and take, give and take. Wendy was careful to always be gentle with her hands. She met her horse’s mouth with a gentle reminder of the bit, never forceful. Wendy liked to hold the reins as though she were holding a fragile baby bird in each hand, never squeezing or pulling so hard as to injure it. Wendy urged a forward motion, rocking back and forth with her mare’s rhythm, gently nudging and prodding the sides of her horse with her legs…………..
“Uhhhh!” Wendy gasped.
Instant reality slapped her face.
Wendy was immediately aware that she had surfaced from her imagination back into the reality of her world. Her heart beat rapidly and she could feel it pounding in her chest. She lay wide-eyed as she thought of her legs. How could she forget about her legs when she was constantly reminded? But she would forget about them, at least for right now. She closed her eyes tightly and concentrated.
After a minute there she was again in the show arena. Behind her she heard the pounding of the other horses’ hooves as they churned up the clay soil. She was surrounded by other competitors—magnificent horses and riders so close to her that she could almost feel their breath. But then again, she felt all alone because she knew that her horse stood out in the crowd above all the others.
She whispered, “All eyes are on you now, beautiful, beautiful mare. You can take this blue ribbon home. Just prance around this ring and show ‘em all what you're made of, girl."
Little did Wendy realize, she wasn’t alone at all. Lining every inch of the shelves mounted on Wendy’s bedroom walls was her collection of porcelain horses, collectible Breyer horses, and carousels of every shape, size and color. All eyes from this motionless audience were on the performance. They were all watching.
Wendy summoned her best announcer’s voice and let her imagination run free. Time to thank the folks who made this all possible, she thought. Tonight’s performance is sponsored by the moonlight, the breeze, my bedroom ceiling, my finger shadows, and oh yeah, of course: special thanks to our audience….
—Wendy gave a quick thought to her collection on the shelves---she really didn’t know why---then back again to her grand finale.
With Wendy’s glorious imagination along with her delicate fingers, her shadow horse continued to prance along.
Suddenly the imaginary audience applause came to an abrupt halt when Wendy's bedroom door creaked open.
A soft-spoken guarded voice interrupted, "Wendy, is there anything I can get for you?"
Silence.
The tall, muscular frame of Wendy's father silhouetted the bright hallway light behind him as he stood in the doorway waiting for her to respond.