The Mare

Paul

I saw her ride for the first time. She’d spent the weekend practicing and she wanted us to come. She and Ginger were getting ready to go when she looked at me and said, “Could you come too?” The walk over was heartbreaking, me talking too much about how beautiful everything was and them not saying anything.

The horse surprised me at first — the way Velvet talked about it I expected it to be big and beautiful and it was not. It was built somehow a bit strangely, with a narrow chest that from the side was deep in breadth. But its muscles were fine and distinct under its glossy, moving skin and its steps were springy, like it had elastic ankles. Its head was overlarge, but there was something noble, senatorial, in its boniness and size. As Velvet rode it quietly around the arena, I guess warming it up, I began to see its personality and to understand; the horse was rippling with nerves, like its basic forward movement contained fierce motion in all directions, which Velvet controlled seemingly without effort. Ginger and I stood against the fence to watch and every time the horse passed us, it looked at me sideways like, Check it out — see what I can do! and I smiled to remember Velvet describing how it looked exactly that way. Once, the horse broke into a nervous jog, which Velvet smoothly corrected without so much as a glance at us.

A fat, tough-looking woman was in the ring too, giving a low running commentary that I couldn’t hear. She finally came over to us and said, “How do you like our star rider?” I realized I’d seen her a couple of times early in the morning driving horses in the road. I answered her, “Wonderful!” and Ginger looked at me coldly.

The woman registered the look and walked away without comment, back out to the middle of the ring. She gave Velvet an instruction I couldn’t hear and Velvet began to ride the horse harder; it picked up speed and ran with a loose, elegant gait, throwing its legs around, ambling with speed. Velvet sat up in the saddle and leaned forward; the horse put on more speed. The hair on my neck stood up. Ginger’s lips parted and her face glowed; her parted lips stayed quiet, her smile touching her eyes and cheeks only. I realized with a sharp sensation that she looked like she did when she first loved me.

Velvet flew over the first jump and the second, flowing like silk. I made an involuntary noise; Ginger laughed, tiny and delighted.

When she first loved me: her softness emerging as if from hiding, overjoyed to be out in the open, coming to me open-armed. Velvet took the third jump and the horse thundered past us, throwing off heat and breathing with fierce ease. I reached for my wife’s hand; she let me. Velvet rode past again, calm and delighted too, her face in an expression I’d never seen on her before, oblivious to everything but the animal beneath her.

Ginger let go of my hand. “She’s going to win,” she said. “She’s going to win.”

“You were right to do this,” I said. “It’s incredible.”

“I just want her to win,” said Ginger.

And I answered, “So do I.”