The Mare

Paul

Velvet entered the arena at a quick walk that almost immediately turned into a focused, almost delirious trot. Her mother stood and cried out, her voice high and wrenching: “Velvet! Velveteen!” Her voice transfixed us, all of us; as if commanded, Ginger, Dante, and I rose to our feet. “Velvet!” Ginger shouted. “Velvet!” I answered. “Go, Velvet!” As if she could hear us, the girl put on speed, circling the arena with streamlined, almost scary speed. Her mother covered her mouth and grabbed Dante’s shoulder. Then the horse went for the jumps like it was on fire, and the bleachers exploded. I heard Edie, then Kayla and Robin and Jewel’s squeaky voice and even Becca shouting for her, with Silvia shouting in Spanish, first terrified and supplicating, then in fierce exhortation — Vamos, Velveteen, vamos, tu puedes! — her eyes blazing, moving her knees and fists almost like she was running, shouting with growing confidence and finally victory. Because her child was winning; she knew even before they called it from the pavilion: Velvet had won the most points in Jumping. I wanted to hug Silvia, but this small woman suddenly glowed with something you should not touch with familiarity. So I did not, and then she and Dante were up and going toward their child/sister, who had dismounted and was being congratulated by somebody with purple hair. With Ginger of course right behind them.