Tranquilize my heart, horse: A true story of friendship against all odds

Horses and I have never quite seen eye to eye. Perhaps it’s something in their beastly nature, their walk, their essence. They eat apples. I do not. They enjoy running around. I do not. Our differences have, time and time again, added up to this huge, unsurpassable wall between us. That all changed a week ago.  

I was invited to a friend’s house out in the countryside. After a few weeks stuck inside my house, I was ready for a change, and the whole idea seemed very jovial and Jane Austen-ish. My friend, Ben, was a Palmerston North lad who enjoyed drinking DBs and smoking cigarettes sitting on the back of his ute. He also owned a horse.  

Hercules was the horse’s name. A slender brown steed, with a glistening look in his eye that only invited trouble. For the first few days I stayed well clear of the one-toed hoofed mammal. Yes, you heard me. One-toed. And that’s not even a Hercules thing, that’s just a horse thing. As I said, we had our differences.  

We didn’t have much to do with each other, which is how I liked it. During the days, me and Ben would shoot clay pigeons and play video games, passing the time between each can of beer.  

Only at night, would I hear Hercules’ wailing neighs. Beckoning me. I would shut the window pane as quick as I could, trembling slightly.  

Near the end of my stay, Ben had an idea. His parents were out of town for the day, and he’d sussed some ketamine from his local dealer. I’d never done ket before; weed or MD was usually my drug of choice. But I was bored and ready to get fucked up. So, we took a pill each and waited for it to kick in. Soon, it began.  

I felt...silly. Happy, even. Grinning from ear to ear. Fucking hell. It was a good feeling.  

We started out watching a movie, reclined on puffy beanbags that looked like faces. The movie droned in the background whilst I luxuriously stretched out, wriggling my fingers and toes one by one. About 20 minutes in, Ben left the room. He wanted to call his girlfriend to tell her how much he loved her. I left him to it.  

In the background, I could hear a gentle whinny. Hercules. He was calling me.  

Cautiously, I stood up, my legs like lime-green jell-o in each step. I somehow managed to get outside, I don’t quite know how. The grass was rustling luminously in the wind. Everything was so vivid, so heightened.  

I found my way to the stable, almost drunkenly. There Hercules stood, his brown fur almost glowing black in the dim light. How had I never seen that his beauty before? Once, I’d thought of him as a plain, drab horse. No more. There was a refined elegance to the way he dipped his face to his hay, almost shyly. A long, noble nose that beckoned me forwards. Longing to be touched.  

I sat beside him in the hay. Hercules grunted to acknowledge my presence, and continued eating. Hesitantly, I put out a hand to stroke his muzzle. He bristled for the barest second, then seemed to relax into my fingers. His hair was the softest, purest thing I could imagine. In that moment, I swear I loved him.  

It was also in that moment that I remembered that ketamine is famously a horse tranquilizer. Of course. Of course.  

“Is this how you feel, Hercules?” I asked into the cold silence.  

Did he feel it too, that very second? That quivering, violent beauty of life? The sound of the grass in the breeze, the call of the moon? That joy, oh that infinite joy, tea-stained around the edges with grief and loss?  

Maybe this was why horses run. They run for life. To escape the edges of it all. What are you running from Hercules? What horrors have you committed in your life? What sins? And could they ever be forgiven?  

At that thought, he sighed slightly as if to say, I don’t know either. We are all just doing our best, in this life.  

I pressed my face to his, cheek to cheek. I’m sorry I judged you, Hercules. I understand you, now. I get the apple thing too, almost. How crisp, how hard. A fruit to really feel something.  

Do you have children, Hercules? Parents? Friends? Lovers? Why are you out here, all alone? Is it by choice, or by force? How does it feel to be ridden? To have someone’s weight upon you, their life, their trust? Is it comforting, like a weighted blanket? Pleasing to help a friend in need? Or is it oppressive under all the pressure - both physically and metaphorically? As the time passed, I began to feel like it was more the latter. Oh poor, sweet Hercules. My Hercules.  

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. It could have been minutes, or hours. I felt so disconnected from the physical world, as if my soul had slipped from my body, peeled off like a wetsuit or an orange skin. It was only me and Hercules, two old souls, in the woods of life.  

Eventually, I heard my name being called and I slipped back into myself. Made my way back to the little kitchen, with my little friend. My old life, full of hubris and smoke. More man than horse.  

I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to Hercules the next day, I left too early. Besides, I didn’t feel like explaining our newfound emotional connection to Ben. But now, a week later, I can’t stop thinking about that night. I know what it’s like to be a horse. The highs, the lows. The yays, the neighs. How can I go back to my life now, after that? Knowing what I know? Having seen what I’ve seen?  

Tell me reader, what do I do now?