Horse Tracks

Christmastime enveloped Newark, Delaware. It was 1967. Gift giving started a week ahead of the actual holiday. Horace “Horse” Summervale focused on not slipping on the ice. He just knew that he had a new pair of winter boots that would warm his feet and keep him upright. Though the presents had been delivered, they would not be opened until December 25.

He slipped on the ice and busted his lip on the sidewalk. Little blood rivulets issued from his wound. He kept going, though. He had to keep moving. At eleven years old, Horse felt the tight-knit community overwhelm him. When he showed up to the Morrison’s house, he had wiped his mouth but some blood still showed. A little mound started to form as well.

Larry Morrison opened his door. He chuckled lightly, “Horace Summervale! What happened to you, boy?”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Morrison, I took a slight spill back there and opened up my bottom lip.”

“C’mon in from this cold, now.”

“Who is it Larry?” Madeleine Morrison asked from the kitchen.

“It’s Alice and Monroe’s boy, Horace. Get some ibuprofen for his lip.”

“Tell him to take off all those winter clothes and come into the kitchen and get some game hens and greens.”

“Yes, young man. You’re doing good delivering presents like jolly old St. Nick himself,” Morrison laughed. “Here, set up a tray in front of the TV,” he continued.

“I came to give you all the gifts that had been handed down to me. You’re my last stop,” Horse lisped. First, Madeleine brought out the drug for Horse's injured lip. Then she brought the food.

Morrison noticed the boy’s boots in the corner. They were like chewed up pieces of furniture.

“Don’t worry, son. I can buy some boots for you to wear.”