TO RACE THE WIND

By Karen Mason-Richardson

Sunday mornings in the tunnels were usually quiet. It was a timeto catch up on personal things, a time for quiet reflection, a timefor family. Father's library was no exception to this unwritten rule.Usually the favored spot for meetings, planning sessions, anddebates, Sunday mornings found it a much calmer place.

"Well, it's about time you were up. Honestly, Vincent, I realizehow much your time with Catherine means, but can't either one of yoube more conscious of the hour?" Father removed his glasses and rubbedhis eyes tiredly.

Vincent suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and descended thesteps. Really, he shouldn't let Father irritate him so. It was anunfortunate fact that while Vincent was above, Father did not sleepwell. But from the time that he was a little boy he had alwaysdespised that tone of voice. Now, well into his thirties, he stillfound it... irksome. "I wasn't aware I had a curfew."

"Ahhhh. Crabby this morning, are we? You know a decent night'ssleep does wonders for that condition." With a self-righteous snapFather shook open the International section of the Sunday Times,replacing his glasses imperiously.

The smell of hot tea wafted through the room underscored by theflour tang of raisin biscuits. Traditionally William's morning off,Sunday's breakfast consisted of whatever baked goods had been cobbledtogether with ingredients on hand the day before. Simple, butfilling.

Crossing the room to the sideboard, Vincent didn't even try tosuppress the huge yawn that fully exposed long fangs. Maybe Fatherdid have a point. Was he getting old? Slowing down? It didn't seem solong ago that he could stay up half the night and still manage to bealert the next day. Of course, thinking back to last night, he had aright to be tired... It had been three in the morning before he hadleft Catherine's bed. His body still resonated with wonderful,relaxed satiation.

Fetching his tea, he added the usual liberal dose of sugar beforetaking his seat across from Father. The heavy wood table was litteredwith folded newspaper. It was the Sunday morning ritual, reading theTimes together. Each had his favorite sections and enjoyed this quiettime. Setting his tea carefully aside, Vincent began riffling throughthe discarded sections, searching for Arts and Entertainment.

There it was, underneath Sports, Father's favorite. Not manypeople knew that Father was a baseball fan. When he had lived abovehe had attended games as often as funds permitted and he stillchecked the Yankees' boxscores religiously. Shifting aside the Sportssection, a small photograph near the bottom caught his eye. A youngwoman leaping a hurdle.

There was something familiar about that face, the expression inher eyes...

* * * * *

"Hoss! Hey, Hoss! Want a snack?"

Lynne automatically shied to avoid the thrown apple core. Cradlingher book bag protectively she kept her head down, maintaining asteady walk across the parking lot. "Don't let them know they'regetting to you. Don't pay any attention. That's what they want. Justignore them." Her mother's words echoed through her mind as she triedto drown out the jeering horse-like noises and mocking laughter fromthe two boys leaning against the basketball net.

Eric and Chris, classmates and chief tormenters. They were theworst of the lot, the ringleaders. It would fade to bearable if theydidn't go out of their way to maintain the constant harassment. Shehad quickly learned to avoid drawing attention. Learned that bookswere her best friends and imagination her escape. Hidden in her bagwas her latest treasure - a new book from the school library, TheHorse and His Boy, by C.S. Lewis. She could hardly wait to get home,to lock herself in her room and read.

Reaching the edge of the parking lot, she made her way down thecracked sidewalk, keeping her pace steady, resisting the urge to tossher head and run, at least until she was out of sight. Such behaviorwas only ammunition for the boys who watched, to be used against herin the most humiliating way they could think of. Finally she made thesharp right into the alley and stopped.

Shoulders straightened. Chin lifted. A foot rose and descendedsharply, stamping the ground...

Merlin shook his mane, dark eyes scanning the green fields. Thewarm breeze slid across his silky black coat. A front hoof liftedwith impatience, snapping down with an audible thump on the dampgrass. Nostrils flared, drinking in the scents of trees and waterysunshine. With a shrill cry he reared and sprang forward. Muscularhindquarters bunched and flexed. Within five strides he had reached afull, flat out gallop.

There was nothing like racing the wind! The feel of your heartpounding, the thunder of hooves against soft turf, the coiled flex ofsurging muscles, the wind-driven whip of mane against your neck.Swinging around the last corner, there it was, the best part of therace. The fence. Almost three feet high and made of solid parallelpoles. Ears cocked forward as he collected himself. At just the rightdistance, hind legs thrust, impelling the smooth arcing leap that wassheer joy.

That was freedom.

Panting like a bellows, Lynne slowed and trotted in a circle. Hairplastered to her forehead by sweat, she couldn't contain her snort oftriumph. She glanced once more at the rusted chain link fence she hadjust leapt before heading for home.

* * * * *

"Mom, can we please get a horse?"

Her mother's tired sigh was audible over the sound of choppingcelery. "How many times do I have to say this? You know we can'tafford to buy you a horse."

>From the kitchen table, the newspaper cracked. "Damn it,Lynne! Where on earth would we keep the damned thing anyway? I'm sickand tired of hearing about horses! It's all you ever talk about andI've had it! I don't want to hear one more word!" With a dismissivesnap, her father directed his attention back to the newspaper.

The disappointment was inevitable. Not that she didn't expect it,but a little part of her always hoped that today would be different.That this time, this time, her Dad would smile and say, "I'm glad youasked. See, I have a surprise for you." He would take her hand andlead her to the back door. There in the yard would be her horse. Amagnificent black stallion that would love her and be her bestfriend. All the kids at school would be green with envy and Ericwould try to be cruel. But she would laugh at them all and gallopaway, faster than the wind. Because she wouldn't need them anymore,she would have Merlin...

>From the discarded newspaper sections on the kitchen table, apicture caught her eye. A horse, wild-eyed, mane tossing. A carrouselhorse. The man holding a young child on its back was completelyignored. Lynne could barely tear her eyes from the photo to scan thetext below.

"CENTRAL PARK CARROUSSEL REOPENS" Mayoral Candidate Mike Stanleyand son enjoy the Central Park Carrousel. The popular familyattraction, closed during the last month for maintenance, has itsgrand re-opening this Saturday.

Like a magnet the photograph drew her eyes once more, to study theproud, prancing black horse...

It was Merlin.

* * * * *

The music had been so loud, almost deafening to sensitive earsthat were accustomed to tunnel quiet. Bright lights had flashed andthe sounds of his friends' laughter had echoed through the enclosure.Beneath him, the carved wooden horse had swelled with the music andhe had rocked with it, drunk on the sensation of freedom.

So long ago, that small taste of freedom. With suchrepercussions.

A sharp claw caressed the proud wooden neck as he leaned over thecarrousel horse's back. Shiny black paint gleamed newness to anystray moonbeam that stole through the walls and glass bridle jewelswinked conspiratorially at silver shod hooves.

Crisp and fresh. Like old memories dusted off to shine once more.For so many years the memories of this place had been shrouded in agray pall of guilt and grief. Grief for a best friend, presumed deadfor years. But Devin had returned and revelations at this carrouselhad returned him as a brother.

In truth, he had not been able to resist revisiting this brightmemory. Bright like this wooden horse, colors restored to vibrancy injust a few short days.

The squeak of footsteps on damp grass tore him from the warmth ofmemories. Footsteps close by, approaching and halting at theentrance.

That door was the only opening in the maintenance enclosure. Theonly escape.

"No..."

The soft voice of a girl, rife with despair...

* * * * *

The only door was locked, secured by a length of chain and apadlock.

No! Not after she had come so far, taken such chances!

Sneaking out of the house hadn't been difficult. Neither of herparents would even suspect she would do such a thing. She was never aproblem, seldom disobedient. Well, except for reading with aflashlight after bedtime. She had almost been caught at thattransgression several times but had always managed to hear theapproaching footsteps, snap off the light, and hide the book underher pillow.

Getting past Chris and Eric had been a different story. They hadstill been out, hanging around on the street corner. Startled, heartpounding, she had faded back into the shadows and taken another routeto the park. They hadn't seen her.

But to have come all this way to find the horses shut away! Theplywood enclosure hadn't been in the photograph! Frustrated, she gavethe door a hard push.

"Ouch!"

A heavy rattle of metal accompanied the blow to her foot. Shyingaway, she sent a startled glare at the length of chain and heavypadlock, now fallen to the damp grass. Crouching down, she fingeredthe chain, discovering the broken link almost immediately. As if inanswer to her frustration the door, now devoid of its lock, swunglightly on its hinges, moving with the light breeze. Steppingforward, she slowly nudged it further open to scan the dark interior,listening intently.

Dark shadows. The creak of wood in the spring night's breeze."Hello? Is anyone in here?" Nothing. No answer, no movement. Holdingher breath, she slipped inside and pushed the door closed behindher.

There were so many of them! Some light seeped through cracks inthe wooden walls, barely enough light to see. But the horses, sobrightly colored, were still visible. Carefully she stepped up ontothe carrousel floor and threaded her way between thegaily-caparisoned steeds. White and dappled gray, golden palomino andsoft chestnut, the colors and barding were a muted rainbow ofpossibilities. Her hands trailed over tasseled saddles and flarednostrils. She was halfway around the circle when she found him.

Merlin.

Frozen in mid-leap, black mane tangled by wind, he was everythingshe had ever imagined. His bridle's sapphire jewels shone gray-bluein the scant light. Silver shod hooves gleamed as he raced the desertwind.

Slowly, she reached forward, to stroke that proud arched neck.

* * * * *

The girl had gone to his horse. Directly.

She hadn't detected his presence. Of course, one did not think tolook for possible danger above them. When she had shaken the door anddislodged the chain he had broken, he had leapt up to hide in therafters. As long as the machinery did not engage he should remainundetected here, at least as long as she didn't look up. The horseshe had chosen was directly beneath him.

Absolutely still, Vincent watched as the girl stepped into thestirrup and swung up into the saddle. Ignoring the pole, she reachedforward as if to grasp imaginary reins and her legs kicked onceagainst the horse's sides. Eyes closed, her breathing quickened.

She sat on the horse for what seemed like hours. The narrow poleshe lay across pressed hard against his thighs and midsection, and hecould feel his left leg beginning to go numb. At last she stirred andopened her eyes.

* * * * *

It wasn't working.

Nothing had changed. The dark carrousel hadn't become a wind-sweptplain. The horse beneath her hadn't become warm, vibrant flesh, butremained cold, hard wood.

It wasn't real. It would never be real. Just illusion, a gailypainted and wonderfully enticing dream.

She would not cry. Crying did nothing but make you feel bad.

Slowly, she dismounted. The scant light glanced off the silversaddle and wild dark eyes. Eyes that seemed to look right at her,begging to race the wind. Eyes that lied.

"You're not real! You'll never be real, just a dumb old woodenthing! How could I be so stupid? Stupid!" Angrily, she pushed againstthe proud black head. The wooden horse rocked a couple of inches andimpassively returned to its post.

With a gasping sob, Lynne turned away. It had been a wonderfuldream. But inevitably all her dreams ended and she was faced withreality once more. The bleak reality of each tomorrow, with the sameinescapable fear of humiliation and the constant loneliness of beingdifferent.

"Hey, Hoss, you in there?"

Oh God! They had seen her after all! Panic stripped her ofthought...

* * * * *

Beneath him, Vincent saw the girl stiffen. He had heard theapproaching footsteps, and hoped it was a patrol officer or parent,come to take the girl home. Obviously it was neither. Fear explodedin a shock wave as she whimpered and pressed back against the horse.Fear so strong, he could feel it.

"Hey, Chris, watcha doing?"

"I think I heard her in here. Look, the chain's off."

The second voice touched off another palpable wave of panic as thegirl scrambled around the horse to crouch behind it. The center ofthe carrousel was between her and the door, and she scuttled backinto the darker shadow. His sensitive ears could hear her panting asshe tried to make herself as small as possible. But there was nowhereto hide.

A wedge of light widened as the door swung open.

Knowing he shouldn't, but unable to not help, Vincent spared amoment to be thankful he had worn gloves tonight. A silent shake ofhis head swung his cloak hood down to further conceal his featuresand he lowered his arm.

"Up here. They won't see you. Get up on the horse and take myhand!"

The girl jumped, squeaking in terror. Eyes flashed in the darknessas she looked up for the first time, and widened as she locatedhim.

"Hear that? I told you, she's in here."

"Yeah...Hey, Hoss, wanna go for a ride?" The young male voicereeked of confidence, a mocking dangerous drawl.

* * * * *

Shadows slid along the wooden walls, drawing her attention fromthe stranger in the rafters. The hollow echo of footsteps sounded onthe carrousel floor, a slow menacing cadence. In a few seconds theywould come around the circle and find her. And then...

Her decision was made in a flash of refocused panic. Scrambling asquietly as possible, she climbed up onto the horse to stand on itsback and reached up, grasping the stranger's gloved hand. Immediatelyshe felt her feet leave the saddle as she was lifted up to therafters. The black shadow motioned for her to be still.

Still! She couldn't move! She couldn't even breathe...

"You're an idiot! There's no one here!"

"I'm telling you, Eric, I heard something. She's got to be here,hiding somewhere."

"Maybe it was just a rat."

"Fer chrissakes, I'm not deaf! I know what a rat sounds like."

"Well I can't see nothin', man. I told you, she went the otherway. Screw this."

"All right, all right, damn it! I'm coming."

They were leaving! The door swung shut, plunging the enclosureinto darkness once more. After several minutes of tense, tremblingsilence, she felt the dark form beside her shift.

"They're going away now. Are you all right?" The soft whisper,calm and confident, was like a balm to still screaming nerves.

Ohhh boy. She would be all right. Maybe. Once her heart stoppedpounding like a jackrabbit's and she felt she could breathe again.Delayed relief shivered through her as she took a deep breath atlast.

"Yeah... I guess."

Beside her the black shadow shifted and lowered itself to thefloor. She caught a brief glimpse of light eyes beneath a deep hoodas he glanced up at her.

"Grab the beam and lower yourself. I can reach you to bring youthe rest of the way down."

A different kind of fear swam to the surface now. A fearengendered by a childhood full of warnings about strangers...

"Don't be afraid. I promise I won't harm you, just help you getback down."

Well, she was at his mercy now. If she refused to come down, hecould just come back up and get her. Reluctantly she followed thestranger's direction. Large gloved hands caught her waist and,seemingly effortlessly, lowered her to her feet.

He had turned his head so she hadn't been able to see his face.Fading adrenaline left her with legs of rubber and she swayed. "Areyou sure they're gone?"

"Reasonably sure. I can't hear them any more."

She turned and leaned across the back of the black horse with agusting sigh of relief.. "Thank you. They would have caught me andwith no one around they..."

"They what? You know these boys? They've harmed you before?"

"Oh yeah. I know them. More than I'd like. Except for some smallstuff they've never physically hurt me, but there's always been ateacher or someone else around. Or they couldn't catch me." The darkform didn't move, just stood there waiting. "They hate me."

"For what reason?"

"Reason? God, I don't know! If I knew, I'd stop it. I've neverdone anything to them! Nothing! My Mom says it's because I'm smartand that makes them feel stupid. I don't know about that, I'm notreally a brain I just read a lot and know a lot of stuff. I don'tknow why they picked me to torture." Reaction was setting in,trembling relief replaced by familiar, humiliated anger. "I don'tdeserve this!"

* * * * *

The pain in the young girl's voice pieced through him, shaking hisempathic sense with its jagged edge. That pain was a very familiarcompanion.

Those boys were out there somewhere, and there was a good deal ofpark to traverse for her to reach the streets once more. He wouldfollow her to ensure she reach at least the park boundaries safely.She was shaking...

"Do you like horses?" she whispered. Her voice was steadying asshe calmed. He would wait a few minutes for her to settle beforeescorting her from the building.

"I suppose. They're not something I really think of. My class readBlack Beauty some months ago. I've seen the police riding horses inthe park. And ridden the carrousel. That's my only real exposure tohorses. I take it you do like them?"

"Yeah. I love them."

"Why?"

The young girl paused to consider his question. "Because they'reeverything I'm not. They're beautiful and graceful. They're fast.They can run so fast that, if you're the rider, no one can catch you.I wish I had my own. He would be my friend. He wouldn't laugh orthrow things. He would understand."

She was so lonely! A soul-deep crying need for understanding, forcomfort. A need that poured from her and echoed his own. He didunderstand, more than she could know. "I know your pain."

"Yeah, right."

"I do. Believe me. I know what you feel. I do understand." Hecould feel the rasp in his voice as words were forced over a tightthroat. Silence fell as the girl absently smoothed her hand along theblack horse's neck.

"Do you ever feel different? So much that everyone else seems likea different species?"

Vincent froze at the question. She hadn't seen his face, had she?"Why do you ask?"

"I guess because, at school, I have nothing in common with theother kids. I don't know how to relate to them. The other girls justsimper over boys, or worry about what kind of shoes or brand of jeanseveryone else is wearing, or which rock star is the cutest, or wholikes whom. Stupid things. I can't understand how they live likethat. I have whole worlds in my head that no one knows about, and Ican't talk about them because it makes me look even weirder.Sometimes..." The girl's impassioned whisper faded. "I'm sorry. Ishouldn't dump on you like this."

Vincent turned to lean over the back of a wooden horse. Thisgirl's pain was, in a way, a mirror of his. The pain of beingdifferent, of not fitting in. "It's all right. I know these feelings,too." Oh, yes, he understood well.

"Really?"

"Yes." Worlds in your head. Seeing and hearing things that otherscould not, and hiding the fact so as not to draw attention to hisdifferences. Molding instinctive reactions into behavior that wasunremarkable. Hiding your features and body...

"Don't you ever wish you were something else?"

Something else. A normal man. A man who could take Catherine todinner and the theatre, who could walk openly down city streets inthe sunshine and buy her ice cream. "Yes. Often."

"I wish I was a horse. I can imagine it so clearly it feels real.I run and it's like I am a horse. Fast and strong. And I feel...

"Yes?"

"I feel free."

"Running so fast, you feel like flying."

"Yeah!" The girl gripped the horse's pole and leaned back,swinging lightly from side to side. "But it'll never happen. Thehorse thing, I mean. I'll never get my own. My parents don't havemuch money and anyway there's nowhere to keep one in the city."

"It hurts to know one's dreams can never be." His voice was tingedwith sadness, with the knowledge that his own dreams must remainthat. Just dreams.

She was calmer now. It was time to leave, before she refocused andbecame curious. "I think those boys have gotten far enough away. Youhad better make your way home."

"I suppose." Nervousness tightened her voice and her neck tensedfrom its relaxed backward droop.

"You're worried. Don't be. I'll watch for them. You'll make it tothe edge of the park in safety."

With a deep breath, she pulled herself upright. Squaring hershoulders, she turned to face him. "Ok."

* * * * *

Clouds were coming in and the moonlight would soon be obscured.The dark stranger, who had proved himself a nameless friend, stood inthe shadow of the trees, watching to make sure she left the parksafely. The exit was just ahead at the end of the chain link fence.Feeling more confident, she walked across the silvered grass.

Funny how, even though she had neither seen his face nor learnedhis name, she felt more kinship with the stranger than she had everfelt with anyone else. He was right, though. It did hurt to give up adream, but sometimes you had to. Turning, she gave a brief wave ofthanks in his direction before resuming her course.

"There she is! Hey, Hoss!"

Her heart slammed painfully as the hoarse shout pierced stillnight air, and she spun. From behind her and to the left, two leanfigures raced across the grass towards her. To the right was thefence. From the corner of her eye she caught a gleam of light coloredhair, as the stranger broke from the trees. Too far away - they'd getto her first!

The wolves bayed with triumph as they closed the distance to theirprey. Spinning, the black stallion gave a shrill scream of anger.With an explosive surge, he leapt away, reaching a flat out gallopwithin seconds.

Five strides and he reached at the fence. A huge stonewall, solidand unforgiving. A mistimed leap could cripple him, leaving him atthe mercy of his hunters. Power was transformed from forward to up asall his strength propelled him into a great arcing leap. A lastminute desperate twist of his hindquarters and the top of the wallpassed beneath him. His knees almost buckled on landing, a heavygrunt forced out at the impact. A quick scramble and, balancerecovered, he galloped away. Gaining distance, a swift glancebackward showed the wolves pinned against the fence by a huge darkshadow. In an instant, the frustrated howls of the pack weresupplanted by yelps of fear as they faced another, more dangerouspredator...

Lynn trotted in a circle as she watched Eric and Chris runscreaming from the dark stranger.

"Wow. I sure wish I knew what he said to them to make them runlike that!"

* * * * *

Vincent watched the boys flee, giving a last bared-fang snarl asone glanced back in terrified disbelief. Turning, he saw Lynn slowand run in a circle, giving him a last wave before continuing to jogacross the street.

He reached forward to rest his hands on the fence. The solidchain-link couldn't be less than four feet high and he had just seena slip of a girl, eyes flashing and long hair flying, leap it as ifshe bore wings...

* * * * *

The memory unfurled as his finger lightly caressed the photograph.Such an interesting conversation... for both of them.

'It hurts to know one's dreams can never be.' He had said thosewords to her, convinced that his dreams could never be. In his case,he had been wonderfully mistaken.

There were necessary compromises to those dreams. True, hecouldn't take Catherine to dinner and the theatre. But last Fridaynight they had shared dinner and the theatre. Granted dinner wastake-out Chinese and the theatre a video of Madame Butterfly, achange in details only. They couldn't walk down Fifth Avenue in thesunshine and eat ice cream, but they had sat on the floor of herbalcony on a sunny Saturday afternoon and enjoyed a small containerof something called "Hagen-Daz". Wonderful stuff.

Did he still wish to be something else? Sometimes. Everyone did,at some point or another. It was just... human nature. But at last hecould say, truthfully this time, that he really didn't regret what hewas.

Refocusing on the newspaper once more, he lowered his gaze to readthe caption.

"CENTRAL STUDENT WINS GOLD - Lynne Donaldson, a participant inCentral High's Athletics Incentive Program, won gold in Saturday's100 meter hurdles at the New York State High School Track and FieldCompetition. Story, page D-11."

She looked a bit older. Taller perhaps, and more... filled out.But her eyes still flashed fire and her long hair, now caught in asingle braid, streamed behind her as she raced the wind.

"Vincent?" Father's voice sounded, softly questioning.

"Mmmmm?"

"What is it? What has caught your attention so?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he ran hisclawed thumb once more over the picture.

"Freedom, Father... freedom."