The Mare

Velvet

When we first left Penn Station there were people in the subway with happy faces: people with nice clothes, and kids with parents that had bought them things who were laughing and playing with each other. I had my things too, but my cousin and Dante were quiet and looking up at the ads about Dr. Zizmor taking pimples off your skin and people on TV. I was getting a sick feeling. The happy-looking people started getting off. More and more dark people were there, sitting and staring quiet. The farther we went, the more there were. A lady across from me had a shopping bag that said GET MORE JOY!! but under her glasses she looked like she was going to cry and not stop.

I remember what I said to Ginger about people like me not walking our path and I did not like myself for that.

Then a man got on and sat next to the woman, and I could tell he was Spanish. He was by himself, but he did not look sad or quiet. He looked strong and happy in his body. He was looking at me like he liked me, like he knew me. I looked at him and my sick feeling opened up and became deep feeling. I remembered my dream of the horses, running into the bright red sun, moving in and out of each other. The subway ran faster and faster in the underwater tunnel. We moved into Brooklyn toward my cousin’s house. My feeling went deeper. It was like we were the horses, moving together, in and out of each other, going someplace we needed to go. Even though Dante told me my ring looked like something you get from a gum-ball machine and I smacked him and my cousin said my mom gave her permission to whip me, so quit it.

Even though my mom screamed at me all night that I was lazy and she wished she didn’t have me and then took my CD player in the bedroom and played Celia Cruz on it with the door closed.

Even though when I tried to show Strawberry my ring she wouldn’t look and just walked past me. Even though I saw her on the street and she was with Dominic with their arms around each other, which I wouldn’t even care about, except she was smiling her evil smile at me and I knew she wanted me to care so she could laugh at me for it.

Even though when I put my ring with my cotton-ball-box things it didn’t look nice anymore because it made everything else look ugly.

Because when we got up in the morning and my mom did her push-ups and we all got washed and dressed and my mom made our oatmeal with brown sugar, and we all went out — we were moving like the horses. And I was going to let my mare out again one day and she was going to run too. With the others or alone or with me riding her.

I wanted to tell my mom this, but I couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense. And also my mom thought the horses would kill me.