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2018 storyline folder "Loving Learning Winning Losing"
Previously | Next

background noise
James

“To Henry!”
Glasses chink. Dad is beaming - I'm almost afraid his grin might fall of his face - as he's giving a toast on his youngest son.
The common room in the guest quarters is normally used for meals whenever we have guests for a clinic - but today we’re just having a little personal celebration with team and family. Because yes, this family surely loves a party. Whenever something somewhat significant happens - boom, party. Be it a major life event (no idea how the room held 100 people when Janet married), a Grand Prix win, or like today, Henry being selected to fly to Belgium in September to compete in the Youth Nations’ Cup finals with the Young Rider team.
I mean, it’s great. For him.
Really, it’s cool. Him being out and about and successful means we’re having an overabundance of parties lately, and I am the last person to complain. I mean… always a good reason to get drunk on my brother’s behalf. The last time I was the reason for celebration was when I had my very last Young Riders’ competition and was formally welcomed into the vast world of Seniors. That’s been, like, 6 years ago... But who cares.
I open another beer. Across of me sits the Man of the Moment, almost hiding behind the bottles that I have already emptied. He seems tense, a little nervous for some reason - man, that boy really needs to loosen up some. “Good job, man,” I say, sliding a bottle over to him. He shakes his head, declining the beer, but still I see his face lighten up some.
“Thanks,” he says. “Joint effort, though. Sam was the total pro, and wouldn’t it have been for Ailish’s last round...”
“But still, you could’ve messed everything up and didn’t, you went clear. When I had my last YR team competition, I destroyed the entire course. They came up with the concept of dropped scores because of me -”
Henry doesn’t know what to say. I laugh, and take another swig. “Just kidding. You did good, Nug. Be proud for once.”
It’s half past 9 on a Thursday night - we’re leaving early tomorrow for a local show with the youngsters, so once in a while somebody is bowing out. Dad is still sitting at the table with the uncles and the other riders, their conversation growing more exuberant by the hour. Silent crying is sounding from the baby alarm. Remy and Georgia can’t decide on who’s going to look after the girls - they’re both insisting on going so the other won’t have to; these people are just too nice for their own good. (In the end, they both run out of the door anyway.) Somewhere in the corner, one of these old Fleetwood Mac songs is blaring. I check the news on my phone.
Pony Finals, Dublin coverage, something about a new campaign… nothing particularly interesting. But then a headline catches my eye.
“US Showjumping Team for World Equestrian Games Announced”
If ‘my heart skipped a beat’ wasn’t such a cheesy expression I would be half tempted to describe my reaction to that headline that way. Finally. The line-up is out. Did I get a mail? I haven’t checked my account in forever. Hastily, I open the link - that damn old phone needs forever to load a page - and after scrolling through a bunch of ads and the first half of press text I finally reach the list of 5 names. All or nothing, here we go -
---. My name isn’t there.
I didn’t make it. Not even the reserve.
No way.
I look up, my brain completely blank; and meet my brother’s eyes.
“What?” he asks, confused by why I suddenly have my gaze fixed on him. I don’t answer - at first. There’s an old wine stain on the table cloth.
“The WEG team is out,” I finally say.
Henry raises his eyebrows. “And?”
I say nothing.
“Oh,” he puffs out, shoulders dropping. “Oh man.” One might think he was feeling genuinely sorry for me, but I see the glee sparkling in his eyes, a triumphant, condescending smile. I can pretty much hear him think - Yoohoo, I made it and my brother didn’t! Finally I’m better than James, Dad is so proud of me! I’m gritting my teeth so hard that my jaw starts hurting. I’ve clenched my fists, can barely control their shaking -

“Pa,” says Henry. The pure and perfect ‘disbelief’ in his eyes, he turns around to the man a few seats away. “NO” is all I think, but he says it anyway -
“James wasn’t selected for Tryon!?”
“I know,” says Dad. “Unfortunate.”
One more word and I flip this table over, with everything that’s sitting on it. “Very,” I spit out, tempted to just turn around and leave. “I just don’t get it,” I raise my hands defensively. “Solid top ten at every leg of the Champions League, and that win last week down in Florida… - I shouldv’e been in there, I should’ve!”
“You know, James,” Dad has gotten up, walks over to the seat next to me and grabs its back. “Representing a country is much more than just results. It’s about sportsmanship, commitment, duty, conduct… in the end - yeah - just how you represent the country..” He side-eyes the empty bottles on my place. “Conduct, James.”
I stare at him blankly. “They ruled me out for misconduct?!” I can’t quite believe what I hear.
Dad shrugs. “Maybe, who knows.”
“Are you ---ing serious? What the --- did I do?!”
“...You want me to make a list?”
“I - ... Since when is there a rule against having fun?”
He doesn’t reply. The room has become a little more silent; oh, raised voices, gotta listen. I glance to my mother, her expression is one big warning sign. I turn to my dad again.
“I swear, dad, if you told them not to select me to teach me a lesson-” I say, my voice forced low.
“I didn’t. Don’t blame me for this -”
“Who am I gonna blame, then?”
“You -” he says, growing gradually more impatient with me - “you should just stop with all that nonsense. For once concentrate on your sport. For once think about everyone you harm with that… childish behavior.”
“Childish? What the --- are you talking about?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about - I’m fed up with all the grooms that quit on me because you play your games with them and then leave them in the gutter. You think I don’t notice what you’re doing behind my back?!”
I choke on my beer.
“You know what, James?” He’s almost triumphant now - damn, he got me silent and now he’s making the most of that moment. “You really should get yourself a woman who teaches you some manners. Someone who won’t take all that bullshit that you keep telling people. And with this I mean, one woman.”
OK, I’m out. Jumping up from my seat, I spit out, “Oh, great, thank you Dad!” I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t know how to lead my life! Thank you very much-” I bow to him and turn around to leave. This is too much. I need a few shots.
But of course he won’t let me leave.
“James Alan Crosby!” he calls after me. “How old are you, 12?!” Oh boy, I got him pissed good. And at this point, he doesn’t care anymore that the whole room is going to be hearing what he’s now calling after me. “Right, walk out on me. That just proves my point. What a disgrace to this family!”
This flips a switch in my head. “Fine, I am! Do what you want, throw me out of the League for all I care!” Knocking over a chair, I storm out of the room.
“--- this!!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That picture is not meant literal, it's not a scene of the story - in a way it's rather symbolic. I just liked the idea of having Dad help to close Son's buttons to show that Dad is arguably more excited about it than Son - which might be the entire problem in a nutshell. XD
Writing the story was like molasses. If I ever thought my dialogues might be getting better, I'm now convinced otherwise. Hope it's not too sticky to read... Nonetheless I enjoy putting out these chapters, since it means that shit is now starting to go down. Have fun, James, have fun. 8D

I just noticed that I never uploaded that picture of the Crosby parents to my gallery - so that might be the first time that you're meeting the Dad? : D Anyway, here he is. In all his patriarchial weird- yet adorableness. He might have his issues, but I love him. He has a point! Jim is actually the bigger villain in this story lol! Don't believe what he says about Henry. That boy doesn't have a mean bone in his body :' (((

Art, characters (c) by me, no ref used (except to know how the US team jackets look like!)
Featuring Peter and Henry Crosby

Description
2018 storyline folder "Loving Learning Winning Losing"
Previously | Next

background noise
James

“To Henry!”
Glasses chink. Dad is beaming - I'm almost afraid his grin might fall of his face - as he's giving a toast on his youngest son.
The common room in the guest quarters is normally used for meals whenever we have guests for a clinic - but today we’re just having a little personal celebration with team and family. Because yes, this family surely loves a party. Whenever something somewhat significant happens - boom, party. Be it a major life event (no idea how the room held 100 people when Janet married), a Grand Prix win, or like today, Henry being selected to fly to Belgium in September to compete in the Youth Nations’ Cup finals with the Young Rider team.
I mean, it’s great. For him.
Really, it’s cool. Him being out and about and successful means we’re having an overabundance of parties lately, and I am the last person to complain. I mean… always a good reason to get drunk on my brother’s behalf. The last time I was the reason for celebration was when I had my very last Young Riders’ competition and was formally welcomed into the vast world of Seniors. That’s been, like, 6 years ago... But who cares.
I open another beer. Across of me sits the Man of the Moment, almost hiding behind the bottles that I have already emptied. He seems tense, a little nervous for some reason - man, that boy really needs to loosen up some. “Good job, man,” I say, sliding a bottle over to him. He shakes his head, declining the beer, but still I see his face lighten up some.
“Thanks,” he says. “Joint effort, though. Sam was the total pro, and wouldn’t it have been for Ailish’s last round...”
“But still, you could’ve messed everything up and didn’t, you went clear. When I had my last YR team competition, I destroyed the entire course. They came up with the concept of dropped scores because of me -”
Henry doesn’t know what to say. I laugh, and take another swig. “Just kidding. You did good, Nug. Be proud for once.”
It’s half past 9 on a Thursday night - we’re leaving early tomorrow for a local show with the youngsters, so once in a while somebody is bowing out. Dad is still sitting at the table with the uncles and the other riders, their conversation growing more exuberant by the hour. Silent crying is sounding from the baby alarm. Remy and Georgia can’t decide on who’s going to look after the girls - they’re both insisting on going so the other won’t have to; these people are just too nice for their own good. (In the end, they both run out of the door anyway.) Somewhere in the corner, one of these old Fleetwood Mac songs is blaring. I check the news on my phone.
Pony Finals, Dublin coverage, something about a new campaign… nothing particularly interesting. But then a headline catches my eye.
“US Showjumping Team for World Equestrian Games Announced”
If ‘my heart skipped a beat’ wasn’t such a cheesy expression I would be half tempted to describe my reaction to that headline that way. Finally. The line-up is out. Did I get a mail? I haven’t checked my account in forever. Hastily, I open the link - that damn old phone needs forever to load a page - and after scrolling through a bunch of ads and the first half of press text I finally reach the list of 5 names. All or nothing, here we go -
---. My name isn’t there.
I didn’t make it. Not even the reserve.
No way.
I look up, my brain completely blank; and meet my brother’s eyes.
“What?” he asks, confused by why I suddenly have my gaze fixed on him. I don’t answer - at first. There’s an old wine stain on the table cloth.
“The WEG team is out,” I finally say.
Henry raises his eyebrows. “And?”
I say nothing.
“Oh,” he puffs out, shoulders dropping. “Oh man.” One might think he was feeling genuinely sorry for me, but I see the glee sparkling in his eyes, a triumphant, condescending smile. I can pretty much hear him think - Yoohoo, I made it and my brother didn’t! Finally I’m better than James, Dad is so proud of me! I’m gritting my teeth so hard that my jaw starts hurting. I’ve clenched my fists, can barely control their shaking -

“Pa,” says Henry. The pure and perfect ‘disbelief’ in his eyes, he turns around to the man a few seats away. “NO” is all I think, but he says it anyway -
“James wasn’t selected for Tryon!?”
“I know,” says Dad. “Unfortunate.”
One more word and I flip this table over, with everything that’s sitting on it. “Very,” I spit out, tempted to just turn around and leave. “I just don’t get it,” I raise my hands defensively. “Solid top ten at every leg of the Champions League, and that win last week down in Florida… - I shouldv’e been in there, I should’ve!”
“You know, James,” Dad has gotten up, walks over to the seat next to me and grabs its back. “Representing a country is much more than just results. It’s about sportsmanship, commitment, duty, conduct… in the end - yeah - just how you represent the country..” He side-eyes the empty bottles on my place. “Conduct, James.”
I stare at him blankly. “They ruled me out for misconduct?!” I can’t quite believe what I hear.
Dad shrugs. “Maybe, who knows.”
“Are you ---ing serious? What the --- did I do?!”
“...You want me to make a list?”
“I - ... Since when is there a rule against having fun?”
He doesn’t reply. The room has become a little more silent; oh, raised voices, gotta listen. I glance to my mother, her expression is one big warning sign. I turn to my dad again.
“I swear, dad, if you told them not to select me to teach me a lesson-” I say, my voice forced low.
“I didn’t. Don’t blame me for this -”
“Who am I gonna blame, then?”
“You -” he says, growing gradually more impatient with me - “you should just stop with all that nonsense. For once concentrate on your sport. For once think about everyone you harm with that… childish behavior.”
“Childish? What the --- are you talking about?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about - I’m fed up with all the grooms that quit on me because you play your games with them and then leave them in the gutter. You think I don’t notice what you’re doing behind my back?!”
I choke on my beer.
“You know what, James?” He’s almost triumphant now - damn, he got me silent and now he’s making the most of that moment. “You really should get yourself a woman who teaches you some manners. Someone who won’t take all that bullshit that you keep telling people. And with this I mean, one woman.”
OK, I’m out. Jumping up from my seat, I spit out, “Oh, great, thank you Dad!” I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t know how to lead my life! Thank you very much-” I bow to him and turn around to leave. This is too much. I need a few shots.
But of course he won’t let me leave.
“James Alan Crosby!” he calls after me. “How old are you, 12?!” Oh boy, I got him pissed good. And at this point, he doesn’t care anymore that the whole room is going to be hearing what he’s now calling after me. “Right, walk out on me. That just proves my point. What a disgrace to this family!”
This flips a switch in my head. “Fine, I am! Do what you want, throw me out of the League for all I care!” Knocking over a chair, I storm out of the room.
“--- this!!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That picture is not meant literal, it's not a scene of the story - in a way it's rather symbolic. I just liked the idea of having Dad help to close Son's buttons to show that Dad is arguably more excited about it than Son - which might be the entire problem in a nutshell. XD
Writing the story was like molasses. If I ever thought my dialogues might be getting better, I'm now convinced otherwise. Hope it's not too sticky to read... Nonetheless I enjoy putting out these chapters, since it means that shit is now starting to go down. Have fun, James, have fun. 8D

I just noticed that I never uploaded that picture of the Crosby parents to my gallery - so that might be the first time that you're meeting the Dad? : D Anyway, here he is. In all his patriarchial weird- yet adorableness. He might have his issues, but I love him. He has a point! Jim is actually the bigger villain in this story lol! Don't believe what he says about Henry. That boy doesn't have a mean bone in his body :' (((

Art, characters (c) by me, no ref used (except to know how the US team jackets look like!)
Featuring Peter and Henry Crosby