The Mare

Velvet

I couldn’t have another lesson right away because Pat didn’t have room in her book. But I came to visit the horses the next day. I saw those other girls in the barn, but I didn’t talk to them and at first they didn’t talk to me. I watched the quiet one, the one with the long brown hair; I saw she didn’t talk to the purple-hair boy-face or the one with the glasses either. She knew I was watching her though. I could tell by the way she moved. It seemed like she liked it that I watched, and that made me think she was a jackass, like she thought she was somebody to watch.

Still, I did watch: the way she led the horses in and out, how she brushed them, the way they moved with her and stood still for her. When she cleaned the stalls, she used the pitchfork like she was important, like she was saying, If you want to be around horses, you’ve got to clean a lot of horse shit. And when she went to this paper bag where the horse cookies were kept, it was like she was showing me, Here’s where the cookies are. Finally I said, “My name is Velvet.” And she put out her hand and said, “I’m Beth.” She nodded down the barn at the purple-haired girl. “That’s Gare Ann. She’s kind of dumb, in case you didn’t notice.”

Pat came in and out, pushing her wheelbarrow, talking and joking. Cats walked around. There was this boy too. I don’t know what he was doing; I think he was a little bit retarded. Even though it was Gare that Pat did the “brain monster” to: She put her hand on Gare’s head and said, “I’m starvin’ to death!” Gare ducked and turned red, and Pat wiggled her hand and went, “I’m the brain monster! I’m hungry. Where’s some brains?”

I didn’t care; I just paid attention to the horses. Graylie was like a old gangster with a nice personality. Diamond Chip Jim was the handsome one. Officer Murphy was like a little kid who likes dumb jokes. Little Tina knew she was beautiful. Rocki was sad, like he was when I first saw him. I asked Pat why he was sad. And she said, “Because his owner doesn’t like him. Because she wants him to be perfect and nobody’s perfect.”

“I like him,” I said.

“And he knows it,” said Pat.

I smiled and I thought, So does she. Fugly Girl — so-called. I didn’t go up to her when the other people were around. But I could hear her making that biting-grunt sound and sometimes kicking, and when I walked past, she got quiet. I could feel her watching me, and sometimes I would watch her back, quickly.

Late in the afternoon, when the girls were gone and Pat was out giving a lesson, I gave her a cookie. She ran up for it — she grabbed it so hard she broke it — so I gave her another one and she grabbed it again, then snapped her teeth at me and banged her hoof on the door like she was mad at me. The kind-of retarded boy put his head around the corner and stared at me. I moved away. I thought, Fuck that horse, no wonder they call her Fugly.

But later, after dinner, I walked over again, when nobody was there. I came to her stall with some cut-up apple and a carrot. All the horses made their talking noises when I walked in. I stopped to say hello to Reesa, and I gave her a piece of apple first. Then I went to Fugly Girl. She came up really fast with her ears laid back, like she was going to snap her teeth again. But she didn’t. She stopped and looked at me, kind of bobbing her head. Then she came up to the bars and worked her nose. She turned her head to one side and then the other. Her brown eye thought; her white eye got soft. I gave her a piece of apple and she ate it. I didn’t try to pet her, I just fed her. Then I stood there with her for a while, leaning against the stall. She bit the wood, but peacefully, and for some reason it reminded me of Cookie talking, saying I was fine.