The Dark Horse (& Her Bad Attitude)

Once upon a time, there was a dark horse.

At 10am when everyone else stood on stage in a neat row, taking their turns to show feats of agility, she stood waiting in the wings, trying unsuccessfully, to stay dry in the pelting rain.

At the end of the 1st Act, ribbons were given out, and she noted the winners-

photo credit-  WVS

In Act 2, she was the last to go.  She watched fully alert at what the others were doing as she had never in her life, been in such a situation.  One of the lead riders charged towards the set of jumps on his big horse, and she watched the horse trip, knocking the poles down.  When it came time for her to get on stage, the Judge very gently told her that there was no need to do any jumping, even though a set of jumps (not terribly high), were laid out.  The idea was to show the horse off- put it through its paces, move in partnership.

***

The dark horse felt the animal beneath her on fire.  She felt his determination and speed, and courage.  She felt the rain beating down their backs.  She knew the ground was muddy and slippery.  

But her moment had come.  Showtime!  How many times had she gone on stage and charged from her heart?  

photo credit-  Ethos Books

How many hours of her life have been spent devoted to practice and repetitive work for just that one glorious moment on stage, where she feels simply, alive?

photo credit-  S Goh- Practice, practice, practice

Daily practice.

The dark horse instinctively knew that without some kind of pizzaz in her routine, she would not stand a chance up against the Top Guns.  So she focused on riding as neatly and perfectly as possible, and with absolute faith in her little pony, added the jump right at the end of her presentation.  It didn't matter that she had never jumped him ever, nor that the terrain worked against them.  The dark horse went on sheer belief in herself and her little pony.

So off they went, soaring.  

photo credit-  WVS

And tasted a sweet second of triumph.

***

Act 3 began with more rain, and the Judge explaining what the objectives were.  She listened carefully and made mental notes.  The rain poured harder, and each rider went with more grit, more determination.  The routines got fancier, longer, stirrups were removed.  The dark horse waited and watched, waited and watched.

The rain froze her limbs.  Her mind started to drift.  Her teeth began to chatter.  Worse, she had to wait in a straight line, unmoving like a statue.  She was again the last to go.  She thought of Petipa, and Swan Lake, and Les Sylphides, and Giselle.  And how horrid it is to be part of an unmoving corps, whose purpose in these ballets were to frame the ballerina.  She felt her interest wane, rapidly.  She began to ponder about lunch; specifically that Thai special for 10.95 pounds in the village.  She wondered if she should order corn cakes or vegetarian spring rolls as a starter.  She decided on fried rice and tofu as her main.

An eternity later, the Judge called her name, and kindly told her how very much she was looking forward to watching her.  The dark horse in planning for lunch and surrendering to boredom and cold, forgot a rule in theatre- that is, the last thing you do, or the last dancer that goes on, is what the audience remembers first/most.  She forgot the other golden rule- where if you raised the bar of expectations with the element of surprise and skill, you are going to have to deliver more in the final act, or else.

Or else, the descent to being average and mediocre is as swift, as it is steep.

The dark horse made the very costly mistake of presenting too safe, too short, too dull a routine.  When she took her bow, the Judge did not even bother concealing horror and immense dismay.

photo credit-  WVS

There was a encore of sorts to be performed.  The dark horse (extreme left) was right behind, with the winner (extreme right) leading the way.  She didn't feel too upset with herself, as she was too drenched and numbed by the cold.  Last place though, sucks.  Especially when everyone else is saying, well done, well done!  The dark horse did not end well.  Period.   

The rosette she received for last place, has the word, Special, printed on it.  Once she changed out of her wet jacket, the word Special made her laugh.  

photo credit- WVS

The green rosette gives her hope.

So she took her hope and her laughter, to lunch.