Glory Appears

Excerpt from "Hiding Glory"

by Laura Chester

When I first looked up and saw Glory standing on my bedside table, I was astonished, for he was such a tiny fellow, as blue as the color of the morning glories that opened by my window each morning. I thought if I blinked he might disappear, but he didn’t go anywhere. He just stood there pulsing.

When Glory had very strong feelings, his blueness seemed to shine with that heavenly sky-lit, unearthly blue, but in the evening, the color was even more remarkable, because it was as if he were lit up from inside. He had a long silver mane and silvery tail, the most beautiful horse I had ever laid eyes on.

Glory spoke in his own horse language, whinnying softly, but I could understand. The first thing he said was, “I’m sorry you are sad.”

He didn’t say—I’ll give you something to cry about—as if I would cry over nothing. I usually only cry when my brother gives me a snake bite, twisting the skin both ways on my arm. I would never tell my brother about Glory, because he would only make fun, then rip up my flower box trying to figure it out.

To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure how Glory came into existence, though I do not doubt that he was real, a very real part of a fantastic world.

When I asked him, “Who are you? Where did you come from?” he turned his head and lifted one tiny, silver hoof. It looked like a shiny, brand new coin, glittering in the moonlight. He was pointing to my window box, though I thought he meant that he had come from the starry night, and in a sense, that was where he did come from and where he would someday return.

He explained that he was the guardian of the morning glory vine, and that only at night, when the flowers puckered, did he let himself out for a run. He had just leapt out, when he heard me crying, and he was coming to investigate the source of my misery.

I told him that school was starting soon, and I was upset, because I wanted a new pair of Adidas Sambas, but my mother thought they were way too expensive.

Glory snorted and shook his silver mane,“Adios Adidas!” He seemed to be teasing, but it didn’t hurt my feelings. “Maybe all you need is an open mind!” As he said this, air went streaming through his silvery mane—it had the look of freedom, no worries, just riding along in the moment.

But wouldn’t things fall out of an open mind? I pictured an open lunch box, with all the contents spilling out.

Glory did not seem concerned with possessions, edible or otherwise, and he wondered about my school. “There’s no use wasting your brain. People on earth do that all day long, and make their children do it too, to keep them busy and out of trouble. But trouble is exactly what children like, because that is where all the fun is!”

He believed that kids were forced to do the exact opposite of what was best for them—“Children should be seen and not heard?” he snorted. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? Children should sit perfectly still? What rubbish!” And the way we were taught-- he thought it was a crime, cramming dates and facts into perfectly spacious minds.

“But children have to learn things,” I told him, as if he was the ignorant one. “Here in the modern world,” I explained, “children have to go to school and learn to read. It’s the law.”

“That’s not a real law,” he nickered. “Why don’t you get on, and I’ll show you?”

“You’re not exactly my size,” I retorted. I didn’t mean to make him feel small, but he wasn’t offended by my belittling remark.

“Why don’t you try me? Just close your eyes and hold on.”

I had always wanted to be a real rider, though I’d never gotten further than the quarter-a-ride variety out in front of Price Chopper, the galloping pinto that rode in place and stopped when the music was over. My mom was sure I’d break my neck if I ever rode a real horse. Why go looking for trouble?

I wasn’t sure where this pony would take me. He didn’t even know my name. Was this the same as taking candy from a stranger? Would it upset my mom even more than she already was?

But somehow I trusted Glory. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, and sometimes children have to do what they are going to do. Perhaps it was one of those times.

I stepped forward, out of the world of my childhood, into the great unknown. “I’m Turner Flint,” I introduced myself.

“I know,” he responded, turning in a circle, and then making a little bow.

I had been informed by my friends that Turner wasn’t a normal girl’s name. It was my mother’s last name, turned into my first name, so that she wouldn’t lose everything when she married my father. And then she up and lost him anyway.

Glory made an elegant equine bow, letting his pure white forelock brush the surface of my bedside table. Then he raised his head and bobbed it up and down. I thought I heard the tinkling of silver bells from somewhere deep inside him.

“Are you ready for some sparks, Turner Flint?” he asked, and his dark eyes glinted like shiny black seeds.

I glanced out the window, and could see that the moon was one day short of being completely full. It was slightly lopsided, but shedding plenty of moonlight over the rooftops of Boston. I wanted to ask Glory how we would get to where we were going, and if we would be back in time for breakfast? “Should I take my glasses?” I asked, because I usually wore glasses. Funny, how I didn’t seem to need them now.

He leapt onto the windowsill into a circle of moonlight, and I could see quite clearly that he was wearing a saddle and bridle that were as yellow as the bottom of a morning glory’s throat. It made him look like a mount for a fairy princess, not a girl with strawberry-colored hair and big thick glasses, a tall gangly girl with freckles.

I tried not to think, but closed my eyes, and lifted my foot towards the stirrup. It became just my size, though I hardly know if I became smaller, or if Glory became big, because everything happened so quickly.

With a tremendous jolt, my hair streamed back, as he leapt from the windowsill out into the air. We landed on a rooftop across the street, but from there it was like flying from cloud to cloud. “Hang on to my mane and don’t worry,” he snorted. “We’ll be there in no time.”

No time is right, because I still didn’t know where we were going, or if I’d be back in time for breakfast. It was as if we were riding on a raft of air, streaming through the nighttime sky, and as we rode, I could see dawn appearing in another world. The stars were like a sugar sprinkling behind us, glittering up the dark, while a whole new landscape was unfolding, with brilliant colors and vibrant bird songs. So, this was the country where children could play without mothers or teachers hanging over them.

When we landed, it was like bouncing on a great big cushion. I smelled something sweet, like apples or honey. The grass was so soft, it looked like feathers to me. Glory told me that we’d landed in a holy grove. A group of young birch trees encircled us, and a trickle of a stream went gurgling by.

Glory and I were both incredibly thirsty. I slid out of the saddle, and cupped my hands. It was the best tasting water I had ever had. It tasted like stones and smelled of the forest, but it was sparkling clean. I wondered what we would eat when we got hungry.

“You’ve got strawberries hiding in your hair,” Glory whispered, as if he could read my mind. I ran my fingers through my hair, and he was right. Delicious ripe berries fell into my hands. Deep in my pockets I found hard tack cookies. I nibbled on these and watched Glory graze on the soft green grass, until he’d had his fill.

Leaning back on my elbows, with my feet out before me, I saw I was wearing a pair of Adidas Sambas as well as a blue velvet outfit, a slightly deeper color than Glory’s own. I thought I must be dreaming, but I pinched a strawberry and it squirted me on the nose.

“We’re in Joya now,” he proclaimed, “where your flowers and birds and mammals were named, before they were sent to earth.”

I tried not to think about what would happen next, as Glory lay down beside me, resting his muzzle in my velvet lap. He wanted to nap before we continued. So, I let him sleep, stroking his forelock, gently unsnarling the tangles that had gathered in his mane. His muzzle was incredibly soft, and I stroked it too, and felt his grassy breath upon my leg. His nostrils quivered as he breathed in and out, and his eyelids seemed to flutter like petals.

I think I fell in love with Glory right there upon that mossy hillock, with Joya leaves wafting in the breeze overhead, sunlight filtering through them. He was as still and delicate as the most perfect flower. I felt like he was already my very best friend, and that we would always take care of each other.