Grits and a Rocking Horse

[A short children's story.]

Winter sunlight slipped between the blinds and onto the little girl's fat pillow. Carla woke up that shimmering morning to discover a bowl of grits on the edge of her nightstand. A grin quickly won over her face. She clapped her hands, seized a spoon, and starting shoving steaming heaps into her mouth.

"Mommy put extra butter, too--just how I like it!" Carla exclaimed in between bites. The slightest bulge popped out from her neck each time she swallowed.

After she had nearly finished the bowl, Carla leapt out of bed and pulled on her navy blue jumper. She rolled up her gray socks, combed her hair, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Her hazel eyes shone back at her.

"Carla! Wake up!" Her mother's voice echoed up the staircase.

"I'm already up, Mommy," Carla shouted.

"Good. Did you eat your breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"Don't forget to brush your teeth."

Carla promised to brush them. She heard no more of her mother's voice as she puffed out the sleeves of her school uniform. They smelled of starch. Carla continued primping herself, adjusting stray strands of hair and rubbing on her favorite berry lip balm. Finally satisfied with her appearance, she turned away from her dresser and beamed. The bathroom lied only a few steps outside her bedroom, but she felt rushed nonetheless. Before leaving, though, Carla blew a kiss at the rocking horse teetering in the shadow cast by her bookshelf.

The rocking horse, black with a white mane, blew a kiss back.

Carla jumped, skirt waving. "Did you just--"

"I did, Carla," the rocking horse replied. "I blew a kiss at you."

"No!"

"Yes. That's the first bit of love you've shone me in a while, after all. I had to respond. I got excited."

"What do you mean? I brushed your tail last week, Horse."

"That's only because your mommy complained that it was tangled."

"No," Carla said, stamping her foot, "I noticed it was tangled before she did."

"But think--why did it get tangled in the first place?"

The little girl blushed so hard a faint rosy glow tinted her white blouse. "Because I kicked you over while playing tea party with cousin Austin. He called you stupid and I didn't want him to make fun of me so I called you stupid, too."

The horse nodded. "Exactly. And you just left me there, didn't you? I just stayed in that dusty corner for a month before you finally noticed. I bet you didn't miss me once."

Carla's gaze dropped down to the floor. She gulped. "I missed you once, Horse. When I saw another rocking horse at the toy store on Main Street. It was pink and baby blue, but I didn't like it as much as I like you. Honest. I thought that one looked too much like a piece of candy."

"Hmph," the horse said, "That's because it did. I'm a much more sensible color. After all, everything matches black."

"You're right," Carla whispered, "You are a sensible color."

She crouched down and began stroking the horse's face very gently. The horse felt warm, not at all like dead wood, beneath her chubby hand. Its eyes even seemed to squint a bit, as if it enjoyed her soft touches. The little girl's mind wandered to memories of the horse, memories of days when she was even younger and played with the horse everyday. In those times, she had pretended to be everything from a princess to a Southern belle to a pioneer to a farmer to a cowgirl to a soldier. Sometimes she even pretended that the horse was a instead car, and mimicked engine sounds by blowing air rapidly through her lips.

"I remember those times, too," the horse murmured.

Carla immediately stopped stroking the horse. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

"You leave a small part of yourself every time you get into the saddle, Carla."

Carla's smooth forehead crumpled into the faintest of wrinkles. She withdrew her hand from the horse and examined the toy for a moment. Pennies filled in for its eyes. Tiny silk roses stuck out from its knotted mane, as if peeping out from a pile of snow. A red velveteen saddle clung to its back and a ruby ribbon decorated its sweeping tail. Burgundy hearts splashed its legs.

"Feed me some grits," the horse suddenly commanded.

Carla laughed. "I don't have much left."

"Then you shouldn't mind feeding me the last bit."

"No," Carla giggled, "Not at all. I'm full, anyway."

The little girl walked over to her nightstand and grabbed the bowl of grits with both hands. Delicately, she placed the spoon in the horse's mouth. The horse pulled the grits onto its tongue, then opened his mouth for another bite. Carla gazed at the horse's expectant expression for a second before serving it more grits. Somehow its face reminded her of her mother's.

No longer keeping track of how many helpings she had fed the horse, Carla imagined herself sitting on its plush saddle. Wind rustled her flowing gown and loosely braided hair. A garland of white flowers adorned the crown of her head. Glass slippers topped her fleshy feet. The scents of daisies and daffodils surrounded her. Passionately, the horse galloped toward the sun as it descended behind dark purple mountains. Carla felt breathless, as if what lurked in those mountains thrilled her more than anything she had ever known.

Without warning, the girl's bedroom door suddenly flung open.

"Carla."

Carla dropped the spoon with a clank and looked up. A couple grits splattered on the floor. It was Carla's mother, tense and stern.

"I've been calling you."

"I'm sorry. I thought..."

"You have to be at school in fifteen minutes, honey. What happened? You're usually so good about--"

"I just got distracted."

"Well," her mother said, brushing curls from her cheeks, "Don't. Grab your coat and let's go. You only get three tardies the whole school year, remember."

Carla picked up the spoon and carried the empty bowl toward the kitchen, trailing behind her mother. But just before she closed her bedroom door, Carla glanced back at the horse. It rocked back and forth in place, tail swinging to a melody none but Carla could hear.