The Mare

Ginger

When we got back to the house she wanted to eat a sandwich, so I fixed her a ham and cheese with tomatoes for health. She asked if there were any pickles and I said, No, I’m sorry. She looked at me quizzically while she ate. Tomatoes dripped out. She asked if those girls would be at the barn when she went for her lesson. I said I didn’t know. I wondered if they said something racial to her, but I didn’t want to embarrass her by asking. I didn’t think there would be direct racism in this town. But it might come in a subtler form.

“What did you think of them?” I asked.

“I dunno,” she said.

“Would you want to see them again?”

“No.”

I asked if she’d brought a swimsuit. She said yes. I told her we’d gotten a life jacket for her, for when we went to the lake. She asked to see it, and when I brought it, she put it on and frowned; it was too small. My heart sank a little. We both went out to the garden, where Paul was pulling weeds, and told him we were going to the store to get a new life jacket. He said he would go with us. She wore the life jacket into the car, and I was aware of her fiddling with it as we drove. When we went over the Kingston Bridge, I sensed her stop fiddling for a moment; I turned and saw her hands still in her lap, her soft, responsive profile as she looked out the window, reacting to the huge bright sky and sparkling water. I felt pulled by big feelings, but I didn’t know what they were.

When we got to the parking lot of the store and found a place, she said, “I made it fit.” And she had! She had worked out the adjustable straps and fasteners that we hadn’t even thought to look for. Paul said, “You’re smarter than we are!” and her eyes sparkled shyly.

We decided that since we were at the mall, we would buy her a bike. It took a long time because she was so uncomfortable about choosing one. We kept asking, What about this one? Do you like this one? Do you like the color? And she would say, “I dunno” and look down, as if confused. I asked her, Do you want a bike? She said yes, but almost in the same way she might say no. A salesman came over and that only made it worse. I was beginning to feel we were doing some strange violence to her when she said, “That one” and pointed to a violet bike with flowers on it.

When we got back home, Paul and I got our bikes and we all went for a ride in the neighborhood across the county road behind our house. It was a short ride, but it seemed like an adventure, and it linked the three of us. We sweated up some hills, and then coasted down fast. We came to some broken asphalt — I yelled “Lumpety bumpety!”—and Velvet grinned triumphantly as we bounced over it. When we came to a little park with a duck pond, she wanted to stop and see the ducks. There was a swing set and even though it was preschool size, Velvet wanted to swing on it. We were too big to swing with her, so we took turns pushing her. Then we played on the teeter-totter and the rickety wooden go-round — then she wanted to go back to the swings. She did everything with enchanted hunger, like she was maybe too old for this but wanted it anyway, because she knew it was something she should’ve had. Besides, it was fun—we thought it was fun.

When we got home, Paul asked Velvet if she liked Celia Cruz — she said, “Yes!” So he put on a Cruz CD and turned it up loud enough so that you could hear it in the backyard. Velvet kept me company while I made the salad and got the chicken ready for Paul to cook outside. It felt good to make food for her. I remembered my mom fixing food in the kitchen, her hips solid against the counter as she moved her hands; I remembered the feeling of love and trust in it. I wanted to be that, even if it was only for a little while. When Paul came in with the chicken on a big plate, I knew he was enjoying it too; I could see the pleasure coming off his chest.

At dinner we asked about her family. She told us about her brother, who was visiting another family. She told us her mother worked as an old person’s aide and also rented out a room to a Mr. Diaz, who didn’t live in the room but kept his private business in there. “What business is he in?” asked Paul with too much nonchalance. She said she didn’t know, that he kept the door padlocked when he was gone, and they weren’t allowed to bother him when he was there. She asked if we had any kids. Paul told her about his daughter; Velvet was disappointed when Paul told her that Edie was in Italy. Velvet didn’t ask me about kids, but she looked at me expectantly. When I didn’t say anything, she said she wanted to try her mother again.

Velvet sounded happy when her mom answered; she said, “Ma-mi!” But right away the woman started yelling. She was yelling so loud I could hear her from a foot away. Velvet spoke quickly, sometimes arguing, sometimes almost pleading. I heard “Celia Cruz,” said hopefully; the mother just kept yelling. Finally Velvet looked at me and said, “My mom says thank you for buying me the bike.” Then she put the phone down, looking mad and happy both.

We watched some videos; I had one I’d picked out in advance, a movie about a tough Hispanic girl who learns how to box and triumphs over her crappy life. I hadn’t seen it, but I’d seen trailers for it; they showed one person after another yelling at the girl about how she was no good while the words “Prove them wrong!” flashed on the screen. Then they showed the girl punching the crap out of a bag while music played. I thought it was inspiring—Prove them wrong! — and I looked forward to sitting there with Velvet, being inspired together. We put it on, and there was the first scene of the girl’s father yelling at her that she was no good. Velvet looked depressed. “It’s going to get better,” I said encouragingly. The yelling at home went on for a long time. Then the girl got to school and a teacher yelled at her. Other girls insulted her, and pretty soon, she was in the bathroom, beating on somebody. “Can we watch something else?” asked Velvet.

Embarrassed, I showed her the other ones: something about a Pakistani girl overcoming prejudice to become a soccer star in England and something about a girl discovering that she is a princess. Velvet picked the second one. We watched it together on the couch. Yearningly, Velvet drank in its scenes of senseless abundance and approval. An actress who was famous for playing a beautiful, fun-loving nun when I was a kid took the princess into a room and gave her tons of jewelry. In a trance of pleasure, this little girl who did not know me leaned against me and put her head on my shoulder. Shyly, I touched her hair. Paul came into the room, and I felt his warmth even though the lights were down and I couldn’t see his face.