The Mare

Velvet

Ginger looks like she’s about to cry and I’m like, But I’m okay—then I go, Right, she’s scared of my mom. But I’m not stupid enough to call my mom. I call my cousin and say, “Hola, Mami.” Nobody who can speak Spanish is even there yet, so I tell Donna I can’t bother my mom at work, but I bumped my head and Ginger wants to be sure I’m okay, could she be my mom and give permission? She asked questions, but then the translator came, this girl who hardly knew Spanish, and I knew it was okay, and they let me see the doctor. He tapped my knees with a little hammer and made me balance on one leg and count my fingers. He asked if I knew where I was and where I was from. He wanted to know the name of my horse; he smiled when I said, “Fiery Girl.”

“When can she go to sleep?” asked Ginger. “I heard you can’t sleep after a concussion.”

“She can sleep at bedtime,” said the doctor. He thought a second. “Maybe wake her after a few hours. I think she’s fine, though.”

But I couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake feeling Fiery Girl run under me, and seeing the branches and rotten fruit fly past me like time and outer space. At first it was a good feeling, but it turned sick and bad, like black coming in on the edges of the sky. What if they would never let me see her again? My brain had a bruise on it, that’s what the doctor said, because it hit against my skull. “Crap for brains, but she can ride, you gotta give her that.” That’s what Beverly said. I pictured my brain pressing on my skull and I felt like there was something invisible pressing in the dark, trying to get visible. Was this what happened to my brother when the babysitter gave him the aspirin? I was afraid if I slept I would dream of hell and I would not wake up. Why did my grandfather tell me to go to hell that time? Was he in hell? Alicia said almost everybody went to hell, it didn’t even matter if you were a good person or not. Gare said, “You rode the hell out of that bitch.” I said, “Don’t call her a bitch.” But maybe I sent her to hell. Because if I couldn’t see her, who would take care of her? Who would love her? The way she looked at me when Pat put her away in her stall — even though she did not turn her head, I know she looked and loved me with her dark eye. I thought of Dominic, turning to look at me while he was with Brianna. My heart hurt. I held my chest, and it hurt.

Ginger came in her nightgown and shook my shoulder. I said, “You don’t got to do that. I’m awake.” She kissed me. I said, “Ginger, when can I see my horse again?” She said, “I don’t know. Don’t think about that now.” “But I want to see her!” “You will,” she said. “I promise you will. But right now try to rest, get better.” She kissed me again. “That’s more important right now.”

She left, but still I could feel her. I felt my mare, her body standing quiet for me in the field, her muscles and skin, holding me. Still, I felt alone. And there was still the invisible thing, pushing through, and I was scared.