The Mare

Velvet

For my birthday my mom made asopao with chicken, which she knows I love, and we don’t have hardly ever. But that night the delicious taste hurt, like it was love that wanted to protect me but could not and could be torn away like nothing. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what it felt like in my mouth and in the way my mom watched me chew.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said. “Don’t you like it?”

“I like it.”

“You’re eating it like a robot,” she said, and Dante did lame robot arms.

I wanted to be with them, to hide from the world with them. But I couldn’t. We were separated even in the same room. Ginger and Pat and Fiery Girl were even further away. The only thing close was Dominic, and he did not want me. He didn’t even respect me.

“So,” said my mother, “what’s this about your riding in a race?”

She looked at me; Dante put his head down. He put his fork down too.

“I’m not riding in a race,” I said.

“Dante told me about a race.”

“There’s a competition, but I’m not in it.” As soon as I said it, it was true.

“No? The great horsewoman isn’t riding in the competition?”

Dante’s eyes came up to look at me.

“Why not?” asked my mom.

“I don’t want to,” I said.

They both stared at me. Dante’s eyes lost their brightness.

I shrugged. “You don’t want me to, Mami.”

Dante’s eyes said Liar. My mom said, “Huh. You finally stopped being stupid.”

Dante pushed his food around but did not eat.

“I’m glad,” said my mom. “Here.” And she dished more asopao onto my plate.