The Mare

Ginger

She was far away when she got ready for bed that night — she didn’t even smile when she asked if she could have her favorite towel with the pink flowers on it. Paul said, “She’s being amazing. Strong. Considering how disappointed she must be about her mother not coming.” “Yeah,” I said. You don’t know the half of it, I didn’t say. I called the translator, didn’t reach her. I hoped to God I hadn’t made a mistake in encouraging this.

The next morning she was still calm, but with something else too, something I could not define. “Velvet,” I said. “I know you can win this. I want you to win. But even if you don’t? You’ve still done something incredible to get this far. I’m more proud of you than I’ve ever been of anyone in my life.”

Normally when I would compliment her, she’d smile awkwardly and thank me with a full, tender voice. This time she thanked me with her voice and face so measured she looked like a much older person, almost middle-aged. Again I wondered if I had done the right thing. Was any of this right?

But after I walked her to the barn, I didn’t doubt. A girl with purple hair greeted Velvet warmly. “Is she competing too?” I asked. “No,” said Velvet. “She’s just coming to help.” I stayed long enough to watch her lead her horse out. The animal seemed to look at me like it knew me and was thinking something very specific. Velvet did not look at me, just at the horse.

It was on the walk home that I finally identified what it was: She looked like her mother. Like her mother the fighter. Except that, unlike her mother, she wasn’t in a tank. She was out in the open. I smiled. I knew: I had done the right thing.

I knew it even more when Paul greeted me on the porch, phone in his hand. “They’re coming,” he said. “Dante just called me.”

“When?” I asked. “It’s starting in like an hour!”

“That’s why he called, they wanted to know what time it was. I get the sense it was a last-minute decision. I told them I’m pick them up at Poughkeepsie because it won’t cost them as much that way.”