Jasper, a huge umber-colored horse with long limbs and a powerful stride whom everyone loved and wanted to ride … fell. I was riding him at the time.

I was at a week-long riding camp. Jasper was the horse I was assigned to. He was the tallest, which awed the little kids but scared me since I’d be the one on his back. However, he was a calm and kind horse who seemed relaxed despite the tremendous power he possessed.

But, the fall ….

We were doing a full-speed canter around the arena. Puffs of sand flew up from under hooves into my face. I was doing half halts, where I’d gently pull on Jasper’s reins to tell him to slow his powerful stride yet not stop. Smaller horses and ponies cantered around the arena, cutting close to me and the others. I rode with the most experienced group; we knew how to avoid collisions. Jasper’s canter was rhythmic and controlled, my position correct, and my heels down with my back straight.

We neared a turn, just another turn. He and I were both focused and working together to move as one. The sound of pounding hooves filled the air. My breathing was relaxed, and memories of my last fall were far from my mind. Two years earlier I had fallen with a horse named April. This was the first time I’d forgotten the threat of the mighty creatures I rode ….

And then I was falling.

Everything was collapsing at once, and time seemed to slow. Just a stumble, my brain told me as Jasper’s body began to drop under me.

Milliseconds later my brain concluded, I’m going to fall off. I remembered my training and loosened my feet from the stirrups so I wouldn’t get dragged by Jasper, who I believed would continue to run.

Then his front hoof gave way, and I remember looking over his muscular brown shoulder and watching his body fall with me.

Like a jolt, I remembered April’s fall and how my wrist broke as she rolled.

I need to avoid Jasper.

Silence in my ears and blurring colors around me. In the edge of my vision I could see Jasper had hit the ground, was rolling and flailing. I rolled and rolled, my face and body engulfed with sand and dirt.

Last time, with April, I had sat in shock, but now I was on my feet in an instant. Other riders on horseback came toward me and my fallen horse. Sand crunched between my teeth and a cloud of dust rose around me, covering my skin, clothes, and hair. A girl who wasn’t riding ran across the ring to my side.

I looked down at my wrists, to check for a break. Nothing?

My ankles? What about my elbow?

“Mya! Are you okay?”

“Everyone back up!”

My instructor ordered everyone away from me and Jasper, who had gotten back on his feet, looking panicked and alert. Another helper led him by his twisted reins away from me. I heard so many voices and so many questions.

All I could seem to say was, “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

The older girl helped brush off the dirt. I wasn’t in shock this time; instead adrenaline pumped through me. Nothing hurt, but my mind raced and reeled and my steps were shaky. I made my way over to Jasper, who still was panicked from falling. His attention was on me, and his ears were up.

After a brief investigation, my instructor concluded that Jasper’s foot simply went too far into the ground, causing him to stumble. He had been unable to regain his balance.

I wasn’t hurt … right? But Jasper?

Above his eye was a bloody gash, and his knee was badly scraped. “I’ll wash his wound with some of your water, Mya,” my friend said.

As she did, I more closely inspected the tall horse, finding blood on his bottom lip. The girl investigated, pulling back Jasper’s lip to reveal blood in his mouth, staining his huge yellow teeth.

For the rest of the day in camp, the story of my fall spread. Everyone wanted to know my perspective since no one else had fallen like that, while for me it was the second time. I became like a broken recorder, saying the same things over and over.

Since it appeared I wasn’t hurt and Jasper was fine, it became a joke: “Don’t pull a Jasper on me,” people would laugh when someone almost fell. Everyone was supportive and kind.

Debilitating back pain came in a rush that night. Adrenaline must have prevented the pain from setting in earlier. My mom said it was like when you get hit by a car. My grandma and dad wanted me to quit riding.

I’m fine now, and so is Jasper. The joke lives on, as do I. However, after the fall, my confidence dropped. I made excuses to get out of doing anything that seemed dangerous. Falling with Jasper reminded me how quickly a tragedy can happen. My life could have ended in that instant.

I may be scared, but I continue to ride, praying that I never have another Jasper pulled on me.