The Mare

Velvet

Pat said we’d walk the course the day of the show, but she wanted me to see it the day before so I’d “have a basic visual.” So I was expecting something scary or at least a little big. But it was just a place like Spindletop called Grace Meadow. I wanted to say, This is it? It’s so small! But I didn’t want Pat to know I’d been someplace else. Especially when I saw how she was with the Grace Meadow people. Or even how she was walking from the car to the Grace Meadow office: nervous, in her eyes and hands. I never saw her nervous before. Outside the building, a Mexican guy pushed a wheelbarrow of shavings — he saw Pat and they said hi, they knew each other’s names, and I could tell he didn’t know what she was even doing there, especially with me. Then she went into the office and introduced me to this lady Grace, who had a face like a muscle and spooky eyes, like if I was a dog and she looked at me, I’d whine or I’d growl. She talked polite to Pat, and to me she said, “What a romantic name”—but she looked like she did know what we were doing there and that it was something little and funny.

When we walked out to the main arena, I couldn’t help it, I said, “I thought it would be bigger,” and Pat said, “Compared to what? This is a schooling show.” I didn’t say anything. Mexican guys were turning out beautiful horses with thick shiny coats; the horses were moving like they knew they were perfect and the men were their servants. I looked at them and felt like I did at EQUAL, that they were part of some giant thing that I didn’t know or want to know. I was thinking, It’s so small. Why bother?

Until we walked back to Pat’s truck and I saw Lexy getting out of her car with I guess her mom. She looked right at me and at Pat too, running her eyes up and down on us. “Hi,” she said, meaning, You’re here?

“Where you know that girl from?” asked Pat.

“Just around,” I answered.

Pat didn’t say anything. Neither did I. But I was thinking: Yeah. I’m here.