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Daybreak in Seattle
Original article written by The Steward posted 6 years 3 weeks agoEmily Shields watched her feet, dangling beneath her as she perched on the ledge outside the announcer’s booth at Seattle Downs. Her feet were as far as she could see in the pre dawn light; even the floodlights facing the track weren’t on yet for morning training.
It must not even be four yet, she thought through the music streaming into her ears via old-fashioned headphones. Training didn’t begin until five, and the lights only took 30 minutes to warm up.
The barns of the backside sprawled to her left, but only a few dim nightlights indicated that horses and their grooms lived there. Most of the horses stabled at Seattle Downs year round had been unceremoniously kicked out to nearby Madrona Ridge, one of the oldest Thoroughbred farms in the United States. Instead, the five low-slung barns were host to only the best racehorses in the world as they prepared for the 47th Steward’s Cup.
In other years, Emily would have been patrolling the barns, glancing in on the fleetest contenders hours before their own connections even arrived for work. Then she would mount up on her pony horse and watch all the morning training from the track, chatting with trainers and throwing out offers on the flashiest fillies. Now she had no pony, no energy to walk the barns, and no will to even try.
She felt the presence of someone leaning out the window behind her, but couldn’t hear the disapproving gasp the person gave upon seeing her in her precarious position. A moment later, she felt her headphones being carefully tugged off her head, and the late Chester Bennington’s voice belted,
“And you're angry, and you should be, it's not fair
Just 'cause you can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there…”
“Get back up here this instant young lady,” said the familiar voice of the only person Emily knew would regularly be at the track at this time.
She sighed halfheartedly, reaching back to pull herself upright so she could turn and climb back through the window. When she did, she found herself looking right into Jon Xett’s stony face, his arms crossed over his chest. “Would you like to explain yourself?” he asked.
Emily ducked her head, refusing to meet his eye. She slumped into the couch behind the announcer’s binocular stand; Jon plopped down beside her.
She made him wait 15 minutes, staring darkly out into the slightly lightening sky. He obliged, patiently outlasting her silence. “It’s going to be another gray day,” she finally said. “Every day here is gray.”
“Not every day,” he countered. “Just every day this week. And that’s no surprise, for November.”
“Gray like my mood.” Instead of pushing her, Jon continued to wait companionably. Finally Emily said, “I just don’t feel like I can do it anymore.”
“Which parts?”
“All of them!” she burst out. “I have seven different bosses that I answer to. I am raising two kids by myself. I am moving from one place to another, aimlessly trying to find a place to call home and dragging the kids with me. I’m dealing with some serious PTSD, exhausting anxiety, the big D, you name it. I can’t even host the big Steward’s Cup party we have every year! Do you know what people looked like when they found out I had to let them down again!? I have 200 broodmares and I can’t even tell them apart anymore. People get mad if I sell yearlings, they get mad if I don’t sell yearlings. And frankly, the yearlings aren’t selling that well; I’m afraid we might go under. This winter will be our last chance…”
She stopped to take a breath, the tears coming freely now. “You don’t understand, Jon. I know this isn’t me. I am not this sniveling girl that can’t stop crying all the time. I am not someone who thinks these thoughts that keep coming into my head…” her voice dropped to a whisper. “I feel lost, alone, and completely overwhelmed. I just want to stop.”
“You are being terribly hard on yourself,” Jon said quietly. “You’ve been through a lot, but everyone is going through a lot. Everyone is fighting battles you don’t see, with sentences much worse than yours. And you have so much to be thankful for-”
“That’s what makes it worse!” Emily broke in, furiously. “I have kids and some of the best horses in the world and I get to travel and hang out with you guys. But it’s chemical. You can’t stop it.”
“You’re trying, though.”
“I know that better than anyone.”
As the sky lightened, a dull gray mist had settled over the track, it was nearly 4:45 now, still 15 minutes before the track would open for training. Despite the allegedly locked gate, a burly bay horse flashed intermittently through the fog, jogging the wrong way up the stretch on the outside rail. He was not accompanied by a pony, but a solitary figure in a pale T-shirt could be spotted down by the wire.
“There’s something you have to be grateful for,” Jon noted, gesturing to the horse.
“A trainer that breaks the rules?” Emily grumbled, eyeing the dark-haired girl suspiciously.
“No, a Triple Crown winner, of course. They’re rare and special, treasure them when they come around.”
Dragonfly had apparently stopped and turned at some point, because the next time they saw the multimillionaire horse, he was galloping back down the stretch, ears pricked and strides quick. He carried his head high, despite a shadow roll, but Emily and the rest of the world knew that when in a dog fight in the lane, Dragonfly dropped his head and bulled his way to the wire.
The red lights at the gaps flickered off, signaling that the track was now open for training. Horses streamed onto the harrowed dirt just as Dragonfly pranced off, a shadow in the dark mist.
An enormous, burly black lead pony led a much sleeker, narrow black colt beneath them, stopping at the wire to watch other horses gallop past. The rider on the hulking horse turned in the saddle and lifted a hand in greeting.
“When did Vandelay get a pony?” Jon asked, frowning.
“That’s Bear,” Emily explained. “They just clicked, I guess.”
“I thought he was retiring?”
“Slowly but surely, but that horse he’s leading is Prince Louder, who runs in the Juvenile. He’s the reason he’s not gone yet. Plus that lease auction went pretty well, several people won bonuses. I’m not sure if he’s keeping it up, though. I kinda want to get my hands on those mares.”
They were quiet for another moment, before Jon stretched his arms and rolled his head on his neck, heading for the door. Then he paused and looked back. “You said there is a filly.”
Emily knew exactly what he meant. For the first time, her face broke into a glorious smile. “Yes, yes there is.”
“I waited 45 years for an Arc winner,” Jon continued, seemingly at random. “It was worth the wait. It helps to have things to look forward to.”
“I know,” Emily agreed, joining him in the hall outside the booth. Like the fog, her mood had lifted, and although she knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long, it helped to even have a few minutes respite. “I do need to call Skippy about Jett, that colt he’s got in the Sprint Championships. Oh, and I should stop by Kris Bobby’s barn to check on Safe With Me, and I promised Mike Larson I would look at his sprinters, I think there’s about a hundred of them…”
Her voice carried down the stairs towards the track level, where her friend Gigi Gofaster was leading her bright eyed twin toddlers across the apron towards them. This won’t be forever, Emily thought, still chattering in Jon’s direction with her mental to-do list. They won’t be small and exhausting forever. We won’t be moving around forever. If I work hard enough, the yearlings will start selling really well. Then I’ll be able to quit some of those side jobs I’ve taken on. This is just a rough patch. There’s so much to look forward to, if I can just get through one day at a time.
--Thank you for being patient with me right now. The Daybreak series will hopefully return in full force in the next two SIM seasons. Until then, I strongly welcome writers to put forth their own Steward's Cup week thoughts and stories while we prepare to hopefully invite a host of new players from the Equestricon convention into our community--