The Mare

Velvet

I never even had one doll except for the broken key chain I found on the street — Ginger and her sister had a whole box? And I’m supposed to feel bad about that? I thought, Dante’s right: She is a bitch. Or just dumb.

Then my mom said, “Come here. Your hair is a mess — let me braid it for you.” I went to her and said, “Mami, you know something crazy? Ginger said she likes my hair natural.” And she laughed and said, “Likes it! That’s funny! I’ll believe she likes it when she goes to the shop and pays somebody to make her hair like yours!” She worked on me with love in her quick hands; making fun of Ginger put her in a good mood. She said, “This black woman I know says she hates white women saying, Oh, your hair is so beautiful. She wishes she could slap some knowledge into them!” And she laughed deep in her body, working my hair so that my scalp tingled all the way down into my neck. It made me feel so soft that I thought soft about Ginger again, how her voice on the phone had a bruise on it when she told about her sister. And about the mare, looking at me with her ears up. Saying she was sorry and I didn’t even say good-bye to her.