The Mare

Velvet

Shawn never answered, so I thought his phone got lost or stole. I went to his house. I knocked at the door for a long time and his grandma finally came. Her face was deep, her eyes were so deep I was scared to look at them. I saw she didn’t remember who I was and, looking at her face, I didn’t want to say.

“What you want, girl?”

“Is Shawn home?”

Her eyes remembered me; they remembered and they hurt. I said, “When will he be back?”

She said, “Baby, Shawn’s dead. You didn’t know? They shot him.”

Music played from cars driving by; supersonic, hypnotic, funky fresh. A chill went through me. This beat flows right through my chest. I said, “Who shot him? Why?”

“There is no ‘why.’ He was with a boy had a beef with some other boys. He was just there. That’s what they told me.”

I said, “Sorry,” but it didn’t come out. Still, she heard.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” she said. “Thanks for comin’ by. Now you go home.” She started to close the door.

I said, “When was it?”

“Fifteen days ago. Saturday before last.”

Saturday before last: that was the day of the county fair, when I heard Shawn in my head saying “lil’ Orphan Annie.”

Real soft she said, “You look older than you are, don’t you? You probably no more than fourteen years old.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“Thirteen,” she said, shaking her head. “Thirteen.” She closed the door.

I went away from the house and sat on some steps a few doors down. Music still played from cars, different songs crossing each other. I tried to hear the song that played when I met Shawn. But it was gone. People walked by. I touched my face with my hand; my skin felt thick and numb.

I thought: I want my mare. I want to put my arms around her neck and feel her feeling me.

I didn’t have Pat’s number, so I called Ginger. She wasn’t there and Paul didn’t answer either. I called twice and then I called Ginger’s cell. She didn’t pick up. Lil’ Orphan Annie.

I didn’t leave a message. I put my cell in my pocket and went to pick up Dante.