I D K I S S U E 5
Did you see that dead horse? I asked. I didn’t, she said. There was a dead horse on the side of the highway, I said. Are you sure? She asked. I am sure, I said. I know what a horse looks like. She kept driving for a moment. Are you sure it was dead? She asked. Maybe it was sleeping, or just wounded. I was positive that it was dead, though I began to doubt myself. I hadn’t ever really found myself close enough to horses—only passed them by in the numerous pastures in our town. I knew well enough what they looked like, certainly. It did seem that I could’ve made a mistake, recognizing my first dead horse from the highway, as we drove toward our simple destination. I fiddled with the radio. It always calmed me to do so, though it did the opposite for her. I’m sure it was dead, I said. On the opposite side of the highway, a police car, then another, zoomed past, sirens and lights blasting. It was all out of my hands now.