“…and finally, to those students who cut through the fairgrounds on their way home from school, we have a very important announcement for you.” The principle’s voice sounded tinny and hollow through the speaker box in Mrs. Hall’s second grade classroom. Unlike the morning Pledge of Allegiance, where I just sort of mouthed the word watermelon several times over, I made a point to listen to the very important announcement. After all, I was one of the students who cut through the Shelby County Fairgrounds after school. As for my oath to America through patriotic prose, I don’t think I actually bothered to learn the words until I was a teenager and had to write a report about Francis Bellamy.

“Fairground officials have notified us that students should not stop by the stables to pet the horses. One horse in particular, they have warned, named K.C., is a bit unruly and ill-tempered and could bite you if you were to get too close. So students, let’s avoid the horse stables and just focus on getting home. Okay? We want everyone to make it home safely.”

No one has ever accused me of being a genius. It was no surprise to anyone who knew me, that as my friends and I cut through the Shelby County Fairgrounds on our way home from school that afternoon, that I would ask, “What was the name of that horse again? You know; the one they don’t want us to pet?”

“K.C.” One of my friends said.

“Yeah, K.C., that’s it. Let’s go over to the stables. I’m not afraid to pet that horse.”

My friends gathered around in a semi-circle as I approached K.C. He was a white horse who would’ve looked twenty feet tall to any second grader. His size alone must’ve made me look that much braver to my friends.

I reached into my book bag and grabbed out some loose papers and rolled them up. I began petting his nose with the papers, testing his aggressiveness. This horse seemed okay to me.

“See? He’s fine.” I said. “This horse wouldn’t hurt a fly.” I stuck the rolled up school papers in my back pocket, the way Dennis the Menace always puts his slingshot in his back pocket. I reached out and started petting K.C. with my hand.

No sooner than I began, K.C. reared back on his hind legs, the way horses always do in westerns before the cowboy on their back yells, “Yah!” and the horse hits the ground running. K.C. whinnied and dropped back down to the ground planting his teeth into my forehead, just above my right eyebrow. Dazed, I turned around and looked at my friends as if asking, “Did anyone see what that horse just did to me?” The looks on my friend’s faces was the answer to my expression.

My friend Dustin inched forward, “Tony…you’re…uh…you’re…bleeding.”

With the sleeve of my black and yellow jacket, the one my grandfather had embroidered for me at his shop, I touched my forehead. I looked at the sleeve to see how bad it was.

It was the most blood I had ever seen in my life.

(To be continued...)