Mary Gaitskill - The Mare

“Sure,” I said, “if her mom lets her come stay with us on the most important holiday of the year, which I doubt.”

“I’m not talking about actual Christmas Day,” said Ginger. “I’m asking about the day after.”

I said, “I still doubt it.” But I was wrong.

So I had to tell Strawberry she could not come see the horses. I told her at recess when she came to see me in the cafeteria. She was quiet and then she said, “It’s okay. I won’t be here anyway. My mama found a place. I’m going back on Easter break.” And she went to be with the others.

—

Then they invited me for the day after Christmas. They were going to have a tree. We never had a tree. In school we had one, my cousin Donna had a pretend one, and there was a silver and gold one at the restaurant where we went last New Year’s. But my mom never got a tree. At first Dante acted like he didn’t care. He said, “Yea! You won’t be here!” Then at dinner he acted like a brat, sticking out his tongue with food on it. So I stuck my tongue out too. My mom was so busy slamming dishes down on the table and talking so loud about somebody at work who criticized her that she didn’t notice. Until he kicked me under the table and I said, “Mami, make him stop!” And she slapped my head and said, “It’s your fault.” And he kicked me and I shoved his food in his lap and he fake-cried and my mom hit the side of my head and told me to go in the bedroom, no food.

I didn’t care. I just closed the bedroom door and opened the window and looked out. Outside, it was raining hard and cold. You could see the rain hitting the dirty sill and pouring in the streetlight. You could smell the wet street and see some dirty snow from before. The only thing that was Christmas was colored lights in the window across the street. I couldn’t see the people that lived there, but I could see their shadows moving on the ceiling. I could feel my grandfather there saying, She doesn’t mean it. She loves you. She’s letting you go have the tree.

I believed him. Still, I wished somebody from here could go with me. My brother. Or Strawberry. I wished Strawberry could go.

We both went to pick her up at the station. Without telling me, Ginger had bought Mrs. Vargas a pair of earrings and the boy a goofy toy that stuck out its tongue when you squeezed it. I swallowed my irritation, but I was embarrassed to be bringing these things, which I pictured them accepting sullenly. But Mrs. Vargas not only smiled to see us, she gave us something first, wrapped in a silver and pink gift bag. The boy was sullen, but this time he looked up when I said, “Hey there, young man,” and he mumbled something. We went to a diner to exchange the gifts and his quick, pleased glance said he was happy with the toy. Mrs. Vargas had given us a scented candle. We ate sandwiches and this time when we said good-bye to the mother and brother, we all hugged and said Merry Christmas; Mrs. Vargas kissed Ginger on both cheeks. She took my hand and gave me a look that was not flirtatious, but that nonetheless acknowledged me as a man. I thought, Well, she is polite.

Then the boy suddenly stepped close to me and said, “Can I come too?” Ginger spoke quickly: “Maybe next year.” And Velvet frowned; I frowned too, and put my hand on the boy’s shoulder to cover it. His mother frowned also, quietly but deeply; she and Velvet exchanged words. Then, with a sideways “Good-bye” in English, Mrs. Vargas pulled her son away from me and down the street. And Velvet smiled again.

While we walked to the train, I asked her what her mom had gotten for her. “The same thing she gets me every year,” she said flatly. “A mug with a flower on it.”

I pictured the tree we had waiting at home, all the gifts Ginger had piled under it. And I felt uneasy, nearly ashamed.

Until we got home and she saw the tree.

I thought there would be snow up where they were and there wasn’t. I thought I would see snowmen. But it was the same cold wet with old pieces of dirty snow on the curb and the grass, except lonelier than my street. Right away when we got out the car, I asked to go see my mare, and for the first time Ginger said no, it was late, didn’t I want to see the tree? I said please and Paul said tomorrow. And I felt mad. Because it was my Christmas and I even said please.

But then we came in the house. It was dark at first and then Ginger went in the living room and the tree went on and — it was like being in a room I never saw before. Their tree was big, much bigger than the one at the restaurant or even at school; it was like the only thing in the room. And there was all different things on it, colored balls with designs on them, glass birds, candy canes, and angels and animals, and you could see they put them together in a way that was on purpose. There was tinsel hanging on every branch. And there were little white lights, but also big lights in soft colors that reminded me of the game I played at day care, Candy Land; there were wrapped presents underneath. My blood started moving really fast in my body, like music that’s too fast to dance to. I thought of Strawberry then, how she talked like a little kid, because that’s what I felt like.

“Do you want to open them tonight or tomorrow?” asked Ginger.

“I don’t know.”

“How about one tonight and the rest tomorrow?”

I picked a little one and when I opened it I found a silver ring in the shape of a blue butterfly. It was more beautiful than anything I ever had. It made my blood run faster, like something too fast for me to hold.

I remember that night and the next day in a soft haze of joy; the look on her face when I turned on the tree lights, then again when she opened her first present. And Edie, acting like it really was Christmas Day, opening her present, taking part. It was slightly unreal somehow and yet at the same time more real than anything. It was like my own childhood come to life again, my memory of Christmases cleansed of the disappointment and anger, the fighting and silent unhappiness that sometimes was there. What I remembered now was the goodwill, the effort made, the cookies my mother baked from scratch, my father bringing in the tree, Melinda and I putting on the ornaments, saving the most delicate for last. I felt all that as a child, but I took it for granted as how things ought to be. Not now.

That night I couldn’t sleep. Everything in me was still going too fast. Also, my stomach felt sick from the food at the restaurant, like I might have to go to the bathroom. I thought about my mom, especially her cooking, how you could feel her in her cooking. I thought about my horse: her rough mane, her powerful shoulders. Her wise wrinkled mouth. Her thinking dark eye. I sat up and turned on the light. I took my cotton-ball box out of my backpack and laid my things out on the blanket: the plastic bell, the red heart, my father’s blue shell, my grandfather’s sea horse, my one-legged Ginger-doll in her checkered coat and her orange ring. I put my new ring in with them. I thought of my horse. My grandfather said, Go.

So I made sure their lights were out and then I got out of bed and put on my butterfly ring and my clothes. I went downstairs really quiet and out the door quiet too. I walked on the dark path to the barn. I would’ve been scared normally, but that night I wasn’t. I wasn’t scared even when I went into the barn and it was so dark at first I couldn’t see at all. The horses moved and asked me to come say hi, and the fast thing in my body got slower. I didn’t talk to anybody else, I just went to her. She was curled on the floor of her stall, her head even curled down with her nose resting on the floor like some little animal. When she felt me there she raised her head; I spoke soft to her and she uncurled to stand and come to me.