The Mare

Velvet

She asked why. I said, “I don’t want to because my mom doesn’t want me to.” And I could feel her trembling, like, through the phone, and I thought how my mother said, “Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about!” Because the trembling was like crying, like how Ginger’s face would look when she had nothing to cry about, and I was glad to fuck with her like that, to refuse what she gave, my mother beside me with her hand on my shoulder.

But when I hung up I could still hear what Dominic said. I would hear it for the rest of my life. If I went to Williamsburg I would see him and Brianna and their baby and he wouldn’t even talk to me. I didn’t have him and now maybe I didn’t have my horse. Ginger loved me and I disappointed her. Why would she let me keep coming there? I disappointed her all the time. And then I had bad thoughts about her.

I said, “I’m going to sit outside”; my mom said, “Don’t go far.”

And I didn’t mean to go. I only started walking because moving with people, hearing them say shit back and forth, held me down, took the bad thoughts out of my mind. Men’s eyes on me made me feel better too, though I don’t know why. Because I knew what my mom meant about them now. I knew why she’d been so mean. It was true what my grandfather said when he was still alive, that she said what she did out of love. I felt love for her. I didn’t want to make her mad.

But I wanted to see Gaby. That’s why I went to find the street she lived on, in case I might find her there. It was where Cookie lived, where my mom told me to stay away from, and I never had a reason to go there anyway. Really, it looked better to me than where we were, with more stores and places to eat and churches, and this store-church had a red electrical sign that said “Mercy Time, 7:00–8:00.” I kept going, past the project yard where people were out drinking from bags and little kids were chasing each other, this girl riding on a boy’s back.

When I got to Gaby’s street I guessed the building and went to find her name on the buzzers. I was just going to find it and go home, but when I did find it, these boys came out the door, almost men, and their eyes were all over me and I went to get in the building past them, mostly just to move, and they blocked me, going, “You coming to see me, beautiful?” “I ain’t ever seen you before.” “Damn, what I could do with you!” So I pressed the buzzer like I’ve got business, and one of them said, “Hey, you the little Dominican girl, ain’t you? From St. Marks Avenue?” I didn’t know him, but I said, “Yea-ah,” like, So what? And he smiled like I was eleven years old and said, “You and your lil’ brother used to know Cookie, right?” I smiled and Gaby’s voice came out the intercom; I said who I was but she didn’t answer, instead he went, “Cookie said you and him used to talk! He said he gonna wait till you turn sixteen and till then—” Gaby said, “The buzzer doesn’t work!” like she was shouting through fuzzballs. “I got it!” said the man, going for the door. “What floor?” I said. I didn’t hear what she said. He said, “She on the third floor, number ten” and let me in.

I didn’t wait for the elevator because I could hear more people coming from somewhere and I didn’t like their voices, so I went for the stairs. I was sorry right away because a light was out and it smelled like a nasty bathroom with disinfectant on top. But it was just the third floor, so I went up anyway.