The Mare

Silvia

Dante woke me, but I didn’t know it was him at first, just felt something hitting my face—“Mami!” Softly he hit his hands on my face and pulled my cheeks. “Mami, I dreamed Velvet fell off her horse and died!”

“Shh, stop.” I pushed away his hands and held his arms at his sides, strong but soft. “Velvet’s fine. She’s in the next room. Now ssshhh…”

“But she said she’s going to ride in a contest, and I’m afraid something will happen.”

“Don’t be stupid. Go back to sleep or I’ll hit you!” And I stroked his head and calmed him with my arms. He whimpered to keep me touching him, and I did until he slept.

But of course then I could not. Asleep in the next room, and she deprived me of sleep! He was only dreaming; it couldn’t be true. I tried to calm myself and sleep, but anger beat my brain like a drum — that she could do this to me in the middle of the night, get into Dante’s dreams and disturb him so he woke me on a work night! I tore off the blanket and went down the hall, threw open her door. I meant to beat her right then, get the truth out of her before she was awake enough to lie, she would stupidly throw it right in my face just to spite me—

But I didn’t. My body suddenly felt weak and I just stood and looked at her, her arms and legs wrapped around her pillow, holding it like Dante held me. If I beat her it would take me another hour to get to sleep. I would do it tomorrow. I would find out and then—“You need to do something different,” said Rasheeda. “You beat her ass every which way and she still not doing what you want. You need to get a different idea.”

I went out into the living room and sat on the couch, making my body calm. Rasheeda. She said when her daughter was sick she prayed. She believed it was the only reason her grandchild didn’t get AIDS. She gave me the prayer she said; it was in my purse, crumpled up. She knew I couldn’t read it, but she gave it to me anyway. I got it out of my purse, opened it and held it in my hand. Streetlight flashed on it, and I tried to remember the prayer my mother loved.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help, or sought your intercession was left unaided. Mary, don’t let my daughter die on a horse. Humble her, punish her, but don’t let her die. Surely she isn’t doing something so stupid. Inspired with this confidence, I fly unto you, Virgin of virgins, my Mother. Because she won’t listen to me, nothing I do works. Before you I stand sinful and sorrowful, punish me, punish her, but don’t let her die that way. She is foolish, but not bad except for pride, and it’s my fault that she was born wrong, not hers. Forgive, forgive, despise not my petitions, have mercy, hear and answer me.