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And by doing that, I gained a love for writing. A love I never knew existed..

One Lone Pony Standing In The Snow

I became a writing machine. I never knew I had it in me, but once I did become aware of that fact, I became obsessed by it. Anything I learned, anything I heard, I wrote down. My teachers began not to look at me as the kid that came from that 'crazy' family, but the kid who can write excellent stories. I began to bring my stories to my English teacher to check over. I never told her it was for my therapy sessions. God no! I just told her they were little things I was working on. She read the first one. A short story about AJ and I and the monster who lived in my closet. She took me aside and told me that maybe I should consider writing as a profession. A way to lean in college.

It was the first time any of my teachers even mentioned college. Up until that point, I think they just assumed I would end up working at a pizza place my whole life. Of course, did they assume that or did I?

To inspire me, besides my regular assignments, my teacher would give me situations to write about and a word limit. Nick, I would like you to write me a story about your first Halloween costume. Make it three hundred words. I didn't look at it like extra work, to me it was a release. I had found something I was really good at.

"So Nick, what did your teacher say about your Halloween story?"

"She really liked it. She thought it was funny"

"It WAS funny"

"Thanks" I looked over at Shelby as she was glancing over my A+. Her opinion was very important to me.

"Did you show this to your brothers?"

"No"

"Why not?"

"I think the better question is why?"

"You don't think Howie or AJ would appreciate this story?"

"I don't want to bother them with it" She gave me a look. The look I was growing more and more familiar with. The look that said, okay we will drop this for now, but I will bring it up again. When you least expect it.

"So, do you think you will go into writing for college?"

"Maybe. I really like it. Mrs. Christopher, my English teacher, told me to write an essay and submit it in with my college applications. I think it's too late"

"You do? Why?"

"It's already the end of February. I haven't even applied anywhere yet. People are already hearing back from places"

"It's never too late" I nodded, "Yeah, I guess you're right"

"I think writing an essay is a brilliant idea. Did she give you a topic?"

"No, she just said to make it very introspective"

"Then may I suggest something?"

"Okay"

"How about your Dad?" I looked away from her.

"Nah"

"Why not? Nick I think you need to write about your father. It would do you some good"

"No, it won't. It would just open wounds"

"But Nick, sweetheart, those wounds are still open and bleeding. Let this essay be the band aid"

"I don't know Shelby"

"I do. I can tell this needs to be done. Do it!" She wrote something down on her paper.

"But..."

"Nick, I know this will be hard for you. It will hurt" She bent and reached out her arm to me, placing it on my knee. "It will also heal. Besides, it's just an essay, it's not a confession of love or anything"

"I love my father" I said defensively.

"You do?"

"Of course I do, he is my father"

"So? Nick don't tell me what you think I want to hear. You shouldn't love someone just because he is your blood. You should love someone because you want to. Do you want to love your father?"

"Of course"

"Why?"

"Because...I want him to love me back" She smiled at me then pulled her hand back.

"Have you ever told him that?" I rolled my eyes.

"No. he wouldn't want to hear it. Look, you don't know my father, he is not like a normal guy"

"What do you think he would say if out of the blue you told him you loved him?"

"He would laugh and call me a fag probably" I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. I felt a headache coming on and my happy fuzzy mood was going away.

We talked for a while longer but then happily my time was up. She reminded me one more time that I had to write an essay about my father for her. Walking to my car, I fumbled with some ideas in my head. I could write a funny one and make dad a caricature of himself. Or I could get my revenge and make him a weakling that ends up lost and alone by the end of the story. So many possibilities. I decided to do the one thing I had to do to make my final decision, I went to visit him.

The home he was living in now was a much nicer happier place. Called The Watchtower. It was a series of buildings set up in an oval shape. The guy who ran the place claimed he was on a mission from God which is why he created it. Of course if it was a mission from God, he sure did charge a pretty penny to live there. I had only been there once before. I came with Howie one day when he had to drop something off for Dad. Medicine or something. I didn't even go in. I waited out in the car as Crazy people surrounded me. Kind of felt like one of those Great Adventure African safaris except substitute the animals for crazy people.

I couldn't believe I actually went alone. I sat in the little parking lot debating with myself if I should just turn around and go home, but finally I decided to go for it. So I went in. The place looked like part nursing home and part hospital. The workers all looked like nurses and the four huge cherry wood tables in the kitchen held many different people. Most were old. Had to be in their nineties. Then there were a bunch of mentally handicapped people. People like my father occupied most of the house. Mentally ill.

The nurse who was handing out dinner, turned towards me and smiled. I looked away when I noticed she was lacking quite a few teeth.

"Who are you here to see doll face?" She asked me. An old man she was placing a dinner in front of, was drooling while staring at me. Old people and crazy people made me nervous. I wanted to just run away, but..

"What the hell are you doing here?" I heard his voice echoing from the back table. Of course all heads turned his way, then back to me.

"You know this adorable kid?" the nurse asked my father.

"Yes, he is my kid"

"Oh! John, you have some very handsome children" She said continuing to hand out dishes of Ham and sweet potatoes.

"I know, they take after me" That made his whole table laugh. I felt my cheeks getting flushed with embarrassment.

"Well, are you just going to stand there like an idiot? Or are you going to come over here?" I walked over hesitantly. Still feeling all of the stares as I approached my dad.

"I'm sorry dad. I didn't realize you were eating. I'll come back some other time"

"No, that's okay. This food sucks ass anyway, come on we can go in my room" I nodded and followed my father as he walked to his room at the end of the hall. He had a room mate who was about 76 years old. He had an oxygen tank next to his bed, which he always had to be attached to except when he smoked. Ironic, but true. Luckily he was at dinner so we found ourselves alone. He took a seat on his bed and I sat across from him on a chair.

I felt uncomfortable. So I started to fidget. "Sit still!" He yelled at me.

"Sorry"

"So, why are you here? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah dad. everything's fine"

"Feeling alright?"

"Uh huh"

"Good"

"I was just wondering, I am kind of writing an essay for school"

"Did you bring me any smokes?"

"No"

"Okay, do you have a few dollars I could borrow?" I reached in my pocket and took out three crumpled up one dollar bills. He smiled when he saw them. He was happy to see them. Not so much to see me. Yup I had made a huge mistake. He placed the money in his pocket.

"Anyway, I was saying I am writing this essay and I wanted to write it on you"

"Okay whatever"

"Um..okay well I was wondering if maybe you could tell me a story about when you were little"

"Hey could you move over so I can see the television?" I scooted my chair over. He began to intently watch Full House, of course on mute. I didn't know what to do. Do I just say forget about it? Or do I keep bugging him? I had no idea so I just sat and watched him watching Full House.

Neither of us said a word for a little while. It felt like hours to me, especially since I was hungry. Also I was certain that soon Sarah would be worried because I hadn't retuned home.

"I always wanted a pony" My father suddenly said out of the blue.

"You did?"

"Yes. Always wanted one but never got one"

"You lived in the Bronx dad. I hardly think you could raise a pony there"

"Doesn't matter. Even if I lived on a farm. My father would never let me have one"

"Why?"

"Because he didn't want me to be happy. You think I'm an asshole Nicky! you should have met your grandfather. He was one tough son of a bitch!"

"I don't think you're an asshole dad" He looked over at me and winked.

"So, when we used to go to the Catskills"

"You did? On vacation?"

"Yup every damn summer like clock work. Your uncle Sam lived up there"

"Oh"

"So, Sam and Gloria owned a farm and they had some horses. I used to pretend that one of the ponies was mine"

"Oh"

"Lightning"

"That's what you called him?"

"Yes dumbass! That's what I called him"

"I used to look forward to seeing him every single summer. It became the one highlight in my otherwise monotonous life" He was telling me this story while still staring at the muted television.

"When Sam died, we went up in the dead of winter. There was snow all over the damn place. Snow and relatives" He chuckled. "I hated my family. Anyway, we all go to Gloria's house after the funeral. I am being totally ignored by everyone. So, I decide to go out to the barn and look for Lightning" I nodded. He closed his eyes.

"He was out in the middle of all the snow, prancing around. Licking it up and taking it all in" He then turned the TV off and gave me his full attention, "I wanted to run over to that damn horse, jump on his back and ride away. Far away. You know the crazy thing? I think he wanted me to it too" I looked down at the ground. Had he ever opened up to me like this before? Had I ever let him?

"I don't think they ever gave him enough attention. I would have though"

"Why didn't you go?" I asked him in a whisper.

"Because when I got to wherever I was running to, nothing would change. Only the fact that now I would have a damn horse to feed" He put the television back on and snapped back into his normal character. "Ah well, don't you think you should be getting home? I mean I can only take so much of you" I stood up and put on my jacket.

I realized that I didn't have to make him a weakling who ends up lost and alone because in many ways, that's who he was. I turned to him just then, "Dad, I just wanted to say that.." He looked up at me from his bed. "Um.. I..I.."

"What? Stop stuttering you sound like a retard!"

"I..um.."

"What? Spit it out boy!"

"Um..it's nothing. Thanks for telling me the story" I then pat his shoulder and walked out. The toothless nurse smiled at me as I left. I think if I was closer she might have actually pinched my ass or something. A pony ...

"So you couldn't do it huh?" Shelby asked me on my next visit.

"No. I almost did. It was on the tip of my tongue, but the words wouldn't come out"

"Why do you think that is?"

"Not sure really. I think he really needed to hear it, but I couldn't deliver"

"Maybe you were afraid he wouldn't reciprocate"

"Probably" I admitted. I had really wanted to tell him I loved him. The words just wouldn't come out.

"I am proud of you for trying though and for going to see him"

"Thanks"

"This is also an extraordinary essay. You should really consider putting it in your applications" She handed it back to me.

"Thanks. I think I just might"

"Love the title too, One Lone Pony Standing In The Snow"

"Yeah I do too" I said. Just like Dad in many ways, I found myself searching for my pony to take me away to a better place. It was too late for him but maybe there was one waiting for me somewhere...