The Mare

Velvet

She was on the floor with her gown way up, reaching to pull a towel off the rack. “Mami!” I said. “Here!” And I got the towel for her, then went to run cold water on a cloth. I looked in the mirror—oh shit—I was dressed in my street clothes and makeup. But she just sat with the towel around her like she was cold, so I kneeled and put the cloth on her forehead; she looked at me with strange eyes. I said, “Mami?” and she had to puke again. I held her hair away from her face and remembered making rivers of puke in a blue rubber pail, how she held me. My ragged toy that somebody gave me, I would lean it out the window and pat its back and pretend it was puking, plah plah plah! What happened to that toy?

I stayed up with her all night. She saw my clothes and makeup; I saw her look and felt it. But she didn’t say anything, not that night or next day. She yelled like always. But not about that.