"Auras" by Connie Chen — Our June 2024 Silver Medal Winner

Connie is our second place winner from the contest posted in our June 2024 issue!

What the judges had to say:

“This story built well, showing conflict, adding suspense, and revealing all in good timing.”

“...(the) writing evokes comparable themes to those of Margaret Marshall Saunders’ “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise”— one of my favourite books ever.”

“I was hooked by the story’s beginning.”

Meet Connie

Connie Chen is a recently retired physician living between Toronto and the Okanagan. She's taking this time to work on a novel as an homage to her mother.

Auras

the unedited story by Connie Chen

Ma comes out to see me this crisp autumn morning and my happiness erupts as I nuzzle her neck. Her hand caresses my face and neck. I’m young again. I can smell the apple in her pocket.

“Hey, let’s saddle up for a ride?” Her voice rumbles like an old cowhand’s smoky rattle— after a night of carousing, but her touch is ever sweet and gentle. She pulls the apple from her pocket, placing it on her palm. I chomp its tart juiciness, droplets of nectar trickling between her fingers. I promptly lick it up.

“You sure can slobber, even for an eight-year-old.” She laughs wiping her hand on her jeans. “Have ya missed me girl? Sorry I ain’t been around these six months.”

My ears prick forward trying to catch all her words. I’m good at understanding human speech, and what I can’t, I deduce from her tone and movement. But most important is the color of her aura. Today it’s the yellow-green of hay drying in the hot sun, hanging onto the last of its moisture—like the sadness clinging to Ma. I want to tell her it’s a useless trait—keeps one from living. It’s the law of the land, but humans seem to have trouble understanding it. Instead, I wicker and nuzzle her shoulder. She seems content with that.

“You’re right, we should mosey along. Let’s get ya saddled.” I sense we’re going to our favorite spot. “Let’s watch one more sunset.”

Ma walks into the barn. Her gait is slower. She comes back with my saddle—well-worn from days fixing fence posts, and overnight trips rounding up cattle on our way to the selling place. Her natural grace eludes her today. She staggers like a drunk coming out of a saloon—her limbs now tinier than a new foal’s legs. Even the saddle’s a chore. I kneel on my front legs allowing her to cinch it in place.

“Thanks girl. I ain’t got no strength.” It takes her three tries to swing her leg over my back, as her long braid swishes over my eyes. Her once beautiful blonde mane is now white and stringy. The color matches the shade of my grey coat—stunning on a horse, not so much on a human. It doesn’t help that she’s not sleeping well either. Last night, I awakened in my pasture to shouts from the main house. Her kids were back. Though they had grown, their smell was the same. But their auras were different. The shouts came mostly from Ma’s boy. Something about getting another opinion and not giving up. His aura had burned brightly when they’d arrived—red as an apple. His gait was that of a charging stallion. Ma’s girl was quieter—her aura glowing in shades of pink swirling with hints of blue: mad but trying to stay calm. She spent most of her time hugging Ma, dripping eye water onto Ma’s bosom and berating the boy. The boy and girl paced off—like two stallions challenging for supremacy. I would have missed the last part of their conversation if not for the wind.

“We’ll take Ma for another treatment,” the boy said.

The girl resisted. “She’s too weak, can’t ya see? Tell him, Ma.”

Ma focussed on the boy. “Honey, I’m tired. I’ve had a good life.”

“You always side with Becky. Besides, what if I’m not ready to let go?” The boy threw a cushion at the wall.

“I ain’t sidin’ with no one, Brent. I’m just bone tired. How about we sleep on it?”

A short while later, the main house went dark, signaling that everyone had gone to sleep. I could hear the creaking of Ma’s bed through the night, singing the song of a forgotten bird. And now in the early dawn, she’s here, ready for our ride.

We start out for the old log cabin, high up on the range, overlooking the ranch—left by a settler back when most of my ancestors ran free. Even at a slow trot, Ma is having trouble keeping her seat. I slow down to a walk, but Ma doesn’t seem to notice. The reins slacken while I nibble on the long grass along the edges of the path. As we ride, the path narrows, the rocks become boulders, and the grass changes to tumbleweed. I try to keep steady, but the shale breaks easily underneath my hooves, and I feel the earth slipping away. Ma jerks upright to keep from falling as I come to a halt. I shift, balancing her slight frame on my back.

“Whoa girl. Maybe we’ll walk the rest of the way.” Ma slides off my back swaying like a willow. It takes her a minute before she starts to move. I nuzzle her shoulder—my way of telling her it’s better to stay on me so I can lead her home. But humans have trouble understanding horse—even Ma, though it could’ve been her stubbornness.

We walk for the last hour as Ma’s head creeps lower—like the geldings on their way to the selling place. The day grows longer, the sky awash in deepening oranges and pinks—a prelude to the moon’s arrival above the horizon.

“I don’t think we’ll make it,” Ma says, shuffling to a large boulder. “Let’s rest awhile.” She leans against it and gazes into the fading sky. I can hear faint howls in the night and the quiet rustling through the grass, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“It sure is peaceful here. If only Brent could see.” The rustling sounds grow nearer. “Nature’s grand plan. But that fightin’ spirit of his gets in the way. He’s too much like me.”

Ma’s aura shimmers like the embers on the late nights of a cattle drive. I’d seen similar on the day Ma birthed me. The same colours surrounding the dying horse lying next to me. Don’t worry, Ma—I’ll show your kids the way.

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