Trophies
by Elijah T. Moore
Yes! It was finally summer break and I could go over to Grandpa and Grandma’s house again. They always tell the best stories. They're so hilarious and wild I sometimes wonder if they are totally true. As I burst through the school doors, all these wonderful thoughts swirled around in my head like butterflies. I hop in the car with Mom and Dad and we drive off. I can’t contain my excitement.
Finally, after a couple of hours, we pull into the driveway of my grandparents and they are waiting on the porch for me. I could tell that grandpa had just combed his curly black beard and his dark brown eyes were gleaming with delight. As I skip over with my luggage, my parents wave goodbye and drive off.
Later that afternoon, after we already ate lunch, Grandpa sits me on his lap as if I were a baby and says, “Storytime! What story do you want today, kiddo?” His loud deep voice hums against the walls. Grandpa used to be a jockey but he never really talked about it; maybe he’d tell me about that today. I ask him, “How did you get all of those trophies that you have in the stairwell?”
He looks a little quizzically into space, “Hmmm, Ah-ha! I remember!” his face lights up with memories. “Well… you see, before I started dating your grandmother, I was a jockey. And I was a good one, indeed. I was the best in the town, no one could beat me. No sir, not one soul in the whole entire town could come close to my speed. For I was the great Black Wrangler! Feared amongst all men who came to race.
“They would come up to the starting line trembling and shaking, knowing in their hearts that they could not beat me. As soon as those rusty metal gates swung open, my trusty horse Goblin and I would be off. Fast as the wind, nothing could stop us then. We’d be halfway around the track before the others could even catch their breath. Those were the days, just me and my Goblin blazin’ around town.”
I interrupt his reminiscing for a moment and ask, “Did you ever lose, Grandpa?”
He looks at me real hard for a second before answering. Then he says, “Well, there was one time, and only one time when I lost.”
I shift myself to rest on his knee.
“Better get comfortable, because this is going to be a long story. See, before having cars and phones were like second nature, you had to ride your horse round town and send everything by mail. And the biggest baddest horses came from my very town in the heart of Texas. People would come from all across the country to get our horses, and sometimes people would try to challenge us. Then, one day a Canadian rider by the name of Samuel Tremblay came down.
“He strode into town on his jet-black horse as if he were a king. And he challenged me to race on my own track. I looked him hard in the eye and proudly said, ‘Yes!’ The next day nobody was there to watch because everybody already knew that I could easily take this guy. We lined up behind the fences and waited. Then BANG! They swung open and I was off as fast as a speeding bullet. Once I got halfway round the track, I thought it was over. I had won until he too came round the bend right on my heels. I barely crossed the bright red finish line in time. But I sure did show him! After that he went back to his motel for the night.
“Later that same week, I went to the track to practice and the whole city was there watching me work out. I asked my buddy, Bo, why the people were surveying my practice. He told me the news about me and Samuel’s close race, so they wanted to see for themselves whether or not I had slowed down. So, I did my regular warmup and then I lined up at the gates so that everyone could see.
“Bo pushed the button, and as always the second the gates opened, I flew out of the stables as if I were being chased by a cheetah. I was rounding the bend for the last stretch then POP! My lungs burst like a keg of dynamite. Before you know it, I was on the ground wheezing and panting and the crowd was flying out of their seats.
“I woke up in a hospital bed coughing and wheezing still. My whole family was at my side, and the rest of the town outside my room. The doctor walked up next to where I was lying and reported that I had hypertension and that it was pretty minor, but I should still watch out. Of course, I asked her how I got it and she told me that it was passed down through genes. For a second I thought she was making up an excuse but then I remembered that my grandpa was diagnosed with it as well.
“That was only the beginning of trouble. One of the townsfolk barged in to notify me that Samuel Tremblay wanted to face off again but this time at the Houston track 150 miles away from here. I just thought to myself how cruel a guy would have to be to challenge a man in his weakest state. For a moment I just sat there and thought. Then for some crazy reason I sat up straight on the bed and boldly declared that I could easily beat him.
“Two weeks had passed and I was capable of riding to Houston, but I had to get there by tomorrow morning if Goblin and I were going to get any rest before the big race. Canadians had ridden down and my whole county had come up to Houston. It was as packed as the Super Bowl. I must have been there really early because none of the other contestants were up at the newly polished iron opening gates. But the crowd was screaming so loud that you would think that the race had already started. After about 10 minutes, the first guy named Pablo showed up. Then, Billy. Then two lads by the name of Earl Sande and Eddie Arcaro, both of whom would go on to win great fame in later days.”
Excited to learn more, I interrupt to ask, “Did you really race Eddie Arcaro and Earl Sande, Grandpa?”
“Just let me finish, son,” exclaimed Grandpa impatiently. “So, as I was saying, all these men showed up except that arrogant Samuel. I was about ready to leave then out of the blue I heard his voice saying, ‘You weren't planning to skip out on me, were you?’ Then the others appeared as well and the race was about to start.
“Everybody was geared up and ready for the second those iron gates flew open. And when they did, FWOOSH! We rode for our lives, staring right ahead into the heart of the crowd. Galloping away you could almost smell the ferocity of my competitors. The crowd’s hawk-like gaze was piercing the midday heat. All eyes were on me and Tremblay fighting to cross that crimson line. I had never felt so tense. At that moment, it was either win or die trying.
“We rounded the bend with me in the lead by about a good ten feet. But of course, things had to take a turn for the worse. I was riding like the wind until Goblin stumbled upon some of the dirt and all progress was lost. I would’ve quit right then and there, left the track, rode home and hung up my uniform. I would’ve and could've, until I saw Bo and the rest of my family sittin’ in the corner of the stadium, out of sight to most, but not me.
“I looked into Bo’s dark brown strong eyes and I knew that if I had forfeited, then I would let down my whole community. So, I pushed and rode and rode on. Before you knew it, I was number one again. I was running the hardest of my whole life. That finish line was only a few feet away. Then ZIP! Samuel Tremblay had crossed that line half a second before me.
“That was it. I fell to the ground. The Canadian crowd was roaring, screaming and leaping out of their seats like grasshoppers. This was truly the end of the road for me. As I was leaving the track, I remembered that I had forgotten to check my time. So, I turned around, strained my neck to see over the thick crowd gathering around Samuel. And I saw that even though I lost, I had actually run the fastest race of my life. And that son, to answer your question, is how I got all those trophies in the windowsill.”
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About the Author
Elijah more is a seventh grader at Trinity School in South Bend.
He enjoys writing historical fiction stories.
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