Open Writing

“OK class. Form a nice line at the barré. Stella, you come to the front, you’re the smallest. All together now! One, two, three; one, two, three. Keep those toes pointed! Again…. One, two, three… and – plié!

“Right!” and clapping her hands for silence, the teacher took the dancers through their paces again and again, making sure their timing was right; their style and arabesques perfect. Stella had been going to ballet classes since she was three, and at thirteen was a seasoned performer. She’d competed in several international competitions and danced as a member of the corps in three of the famous Balanchine ballets. Even her schooling formed part of her dancing life and performances and competitions were scheduled around lessons and examinations.

It took a lot of effort though. Dawn starts and hours of travel each day through peak traffic to the centre city ballet school. The whole family was caught up in her ambition to become a prima ballerina. Hours of practice, dedication and exercise, aching muscles and sore feet, but no matter how sore she was, she was determined to succeed. Then one day, she was called to the Principal’s office.

“Stella, my dear. What I’m going to say is going to hurt you deeply, but it has to be said. It seems you are unlikely to grow any taller in the next couple of years. Today’s dancers are tall and slim, it’s necessary for the modern ballets, and you just don’t have the necessary height. I’m terribly sorry, but after much deliberation the staff and I have decided that you should find another career.”

Many hours of discussion and weeping followed, but soon Stella came to accept the inevitable and her second love, which for years she had pushed into the background, came to the fore.

“Mom, you know I’ve always loved horses. Dad has often said that one day I’d be a jockey. I’d like to train to become one.”

“Stella, darling… Don’t you think that’s a bit unrealistic? Why, you’ve hardly ridden a horse in your life! I know that Dad and I are very keen on racing and go to the course whenever there’s a big race, as well as Dad having shares in several horses. But that won’t make you a winning jockey. It’s really hard work!”

“Yes I know, Mom, but I want to go to the Academy. I can finish my schooling there and get a complete training and within a few years I’ll be competing in races – it’ll be fun!”

Stella’s enthusiasm, fuelled by information she’d obtained from jockeys at the few race meetings she’d gone to was basically correct, and in a few months she began her training at the Natal jockey academy.

It took more dawn starts, several nasty falls and sheer dedication, but Stella had a streak of steel in her character and nothing was going to stop her making a success of her second career. Her years of ballet stood her in good stead, her muscles were toned and strong, her sense of balance excellent. She was small, compact and light, and she handled her rides with sensitivity and delicacy. The trainers were impressed and she fitted in easily with the rest of the apprentices. She easily managed her formal schooling and thrived under the intensive training.

“Gosh, I’m exhausted! But that’s Matric over. I think I’ll get a good pass mark, and in a couple of months my apprenticeship will be finished. Then I can really start riding – the trainer says I’ll get two rides a week, and if I ride any winners, he’ll put me up three times a week. Soon, I’ll be competing in some decent races – it won’t be long before I’m earning big money! Then I’m going to buy a small car – I want to have a runabout to give me more freedom. I don’t want to depend on Mom all the time. She’s had years of driving me around, she needs a break.”

The trainers and other jockeys loved “Shining Stella” and after her tenth win, she was given a celebration dinner, where everyone toasted her in Appletiser and carried her shoulder high round the stable yard.

--oo0oo--

The going was yielding; the sun hot on her back. In the distance she could hear the surging roar of the crowd as she cantered up to the starting stalls. Wrapping the tapes across the horse’s withers and under his tail, the grooms pushed the reluctant animal into the starting gates. The other runners were shoved into place in the same rough but efficient manner. Stella loved these moments. Excitement rising to fever pitch, the flutter of the jockey’s silks in the breeze; the gleam of their highly polished boots poised high on the horse’s backs; the whiff of male sweat and determination…

Then, Crack! The starter’s pistol signalled the ‘Off’, and she was away, surging forward with a leap of pure joy. This is what it was all about, this is what she’d been working for. She loved it, heart and soul, this was the career she’d always wanted.

Edging her way in towards the rail, she delicately placed herself behind the leading runner, waiting until the horse ahead of her swerved enough for her to nudge him subtly, carefully to the left. In a second or two he’d move out of her way, and she’d move into the gap and urge her mount forward. Then, she’d let him have his head and they’d stride into the lead…

She’d have made her 21st win, and Harry the trainer would give her the Toyota he’d promised her.

Then it happened. Without changing his horse’s stride, the jockey on the leading horse slashed her animal across the eyes, making him falter and crash into the barrier. Stella, propelled by the momentum of the race, somersaulted and landed awkwardly. She heard her knee tear and snap. Stunned, she lay still as the rest of the field rushed on. Then a wave of blackness overcame her.

In the ambulance she reached for the paramedic’s hand. “Was it a bad break?” she whispered, her parched throat and swollen lips refusing to form the words.

“There you are, dear. Come back to us – we were getting a little worried. You’ve been out for quite a long time!” the over-hearty voice said in reply.

“Just answer my question,” Stella screamed in her head. “It’s important!! I must know if I’ll be able to ride again, or if this career is over in the same way as my dancing.” But the paramedics couldn’t tell her anything. It depended on the results of the X-rays and the doctor’s examination. Three operations later, water therapy and miles of walking to strengthen her weakened muscles, Stella returned to the academy.

“It’s only for six weeks, darling,“ her mother had softened the blow by saying. “In a couple of days when your confidence returns and you’ve got over your fear of horses and what happened, you’ll be back up there with the winners again. You mark my words, I know how brave you are!”

Gradually she improved and on her 22nd birthday when she won the prestigious Racing Cup for the millionaire owners of the fancied runner, she knew she’d got back her form and that her career was set for success.

Stella’s star was shining again.