Burn Down the Ground by Kambri Crews

Author:Kambri Crews [Crews, Kambri]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-345-53220-6
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-02-27T16:00:00+00:00

My ninth grade of school had barely begun when Mom delivered more bad news. “We need to sell Charlie Brown. He costs too much money, Kambri.”

I hadn’t been riding him much since Maria and I had stopped being friends. When I did, he was back to his unruly self, hating the saddle and not wanting to walk without another horse and rider to keep us company. We would barely leave our driveway when he would start bucking or walk under a low-lying branch in an attempt to scrape me off his back. If he succeeded in getting rid of me, he’d run back to the shed, leaving me to walk back on my own.

He carried expenses with oats, alfalfa, and vet bills. Selling him and his tack would help lower our debt. We were living in a shed. Charlie Brown had to go.

We sold my saddles and tack at the next auction. Carrie, a girl on our bus, convinced her father to buy Charlie Brown for a hundred dollars. He was a good horse and worth more than that, but we were not in a position to turn down an offer. Carrie’s family had a lot of farm animals and they were familiar with Charlie Brown. I had taken him on overnight trail rides with Carrie and her family, so they had seen how he broke into full gallop on the corner of Boars Head, knowing he was almost home. He turned into our driveway so tightly I could reach down and touch the dirt if it weren’t for the death grip I was giving the saddle horn. Impressed by his ability to turn a corner so fast, they planned to retrain him and enter him in barrel races at the local rodeos.

My heart was broken when I said goodbye to Charlie Brown, but I knew he would be better off in Carrie’s care.

Soon every trace of Charlie Brown was gone except for the iron longhorn bell we had used to summon him. “I kept it so you’ll always have something to remember him by,” Mom said with a consoling smile. Dad hung the bell in the kitchen by the door to the shed. Every now and then one of us would clang it. The piercing caterwaul inside the metal shack made my ears ring, but I didn’t care. I liked remembering Charlie Brown.

Today, the bell sits on a shelf against a brick wall in the living room of my Queens apartment with layers of chipped paint where Dad tried covering up rusty spots. The chain is corroded but still attached. Every now and then I get the urge to take it out on my fire escape and give it a good clanging just to hear it ring.

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