Mary Gaitskill - The Mare

The next day I called the social worker, Eliza Lopez. She said she knew Velvet had gotten detention, but she didn’t know anything about spitting. She said that Velvet talked instead about her mother hitting her. I asked if she thought it was true. She said she knew the mother was verbally abusive, but she couldn’t be sure about anything physical. A year ago she said her mom beat her; they brought in Child Protective Services and Velvet took it all back. So now the woman didn’t want to call anybody unless she saw bruises and when she asked to see bruises, Velvet couldn’t show anything.

I thought about why Velvet had not wanted me to call the police, that she didn’t want to be “taken away”; I did not tell Ms. Lopez that Mrs. Vargas had not come to meet me. Instead I repeated to her what Velvet had asked me about how white people “walk their path”; I told her my answer, that she didn’t know enough white people. “Do you think that was appropriate?” I asked.

“Oh,” said Ms. Lopez, “I think it was perfect. I’ve told her the same. I told her I’ve been in poor white neighborhoods and they are so disgusting she wouldn’t believe it. More disgusting than anything she has ever seen in her life. That’s what I tell her.”

When I hung up I thought, Now we are really in it. We can’t go back. It was the first time it occurred to me that Paul had been right.

She came up every few weeks all spring. She went on long walks with Ginger; she was over at the barn; she spent time with Edie. I saw her mostly at dinner and after, when I would make sure she helped out with the dishes — she washed, I dried or vice versa. The three of us went to the movies together sometimes; she liked to sit up front in the car with me, and the soft curve of her brow rhymed with the roundness of her stomach and early breasts and also with the soft hilly landscape rolling past in the dark. I began to feel that Ginger was right, that in spite of all the dangers, this really was a good thing to be doing.

And then Edie said to me, “Is she going to come and stay with you? She said Ginger was going to homeschool her.”

I fell off Little Tina. We were in the round pen, and we were cantering and I was making her stop and start and sometimes walk backward. Then somebody started shooting. Behind me Pat said, “What the hell?” and I got scared and Tina started moving too fast. I turned around in the saddle to ask why they were shooting, and the rein came loose in my hand, and then they shot again and Tina moved sideways hard, and I slide off her and I hit the ground; her back legs kicked up and I rolled over and prayed. But she just kind of moved off sideways and Pat was there saying, “You okay?” and I said, “Why are they shooting?” And she said it was idiots target shooting out of bounds, was I okay? And I was. So she told me to get Tina and get back on her. I didn’t think I could, but Tina let me. I walked to her and turned around like, Follow me, and she did. That’s when I took her bridle and took her back to the mounting block.

Ginger just said, “Oh, I know where she got that. In this movie I saw with her, the character is homeschooled. She asked what it meant and I told her. I guess she liked the idea.”

She insisted she said nothing to make Velvet think she was coming to live with us, that the girl was just “experimenting with scenarios in her head.” She said she would speak with her — God knows if she did.

And then the girl turned twelve and Ginger took her shopping. Velvet came back to the house with all these bright bags, but she had to catch the train and I never saw what “we” had bought her. I heard about it later, though. From Edie, not Ginger.

Ginger took me to this store. I told her I was going to a party, and I was. It wasn’t my party; nobody gave me a party. But Alicia was inviting me to a party. I didn’t know why. Maybe because I gave her the paper I wrote with Ginger and because we got in trouble together and I made her laugh. Maybe because Strawberry wasn’t there anymore. Really, I don’t know why. She still acted like she hated me, mostly. But she invited me and I wanted to wear something good. Ginger said, “Let’s buy you something, it’s your birthday soon.” And she took me to this store with things in it nobody in my neighborhood would wear. I said, “This is too fancy,” and Ginger said, “No it’s not.”

But when I came out of the dressing room in this shirt she gave me, the lady in the store said, “A twelve-year-old shouldn’t wear that.” Ginger said, “I’m clueless.” And the store lady picked something. She picked out a short blue skirt that showed my legs and then this shirt. I felt weird, but the store lady said, “It’s very cute.” I said, “It shows my body.” And she said, “But not in a bad way.” I didn’t understand because it showed as much of my body as the other thing that she said a twelve-year-old shouldn’t wear. But in a way I did understand because it didn’t have lace and it wasn’t black.

I looked in the mirror and I was ugly and stupid. I looked and I was pretty. In the store I did look pretty. In my house I knew I would not. At the party I didn’t know. But I wanted the outfit. I wanted it.

I wore it to the party. And nobody spat. They looked at me. I could see they were looking like I looked in the store: I was ugly and stupid and then I was pretty. That is how the girls looked. The boys looked different. And I wished Ginger had not taken me to that store.

But then that boy Dominic walked in. And I was glad that she did.

He wasn’t alone — he was with Chris, who Helena got in Strawberry’s face about. Also this thin tall boy with very dark skin and long straight-black hair who walked like he was somebody famous. And a girl, somebody older than us. She was black but light, with red hair and a silver belt with a buckle that spelled SONDRA, and she walked and turned her little head so beautiful. My gladness turned sharp in me; I remembered Dominic’s arm around Strawberry with her red-streaked hair. Sondra looked at me, but Dominic did not. I looked back at her, then looked away, and then the boy who acted famous was next to me. Up close he had nasty teeth; brown and rabbit-y, but two of them long on either side, like he’s a vampire. His eyes, though, were like warm candy, like a song where the singer sounds like a liar, but you believe it anyway.

He said, “Hey, shawty. Who got that dress for you?”

Across the room, Alicia and Helena were looking like they didn’t believe.

“It’s not a dress. It’s a skirt and a top.”

“Your boyfriend got it for you?”

This song came on: Supersonic, hypnotic, funky-fresh —and I just smiled.

“Aw, your boyfriend got it for you. That’s nice.”

— beat flows right through my chest— he touched my arm. “But I could get you something better. What’s your name?”

“Hey, Shawn,” said Dominic, “what you talkin’ to my little cousin about?” He was there with Sondra, who looked at me very chill. “Sondra, this my cousin Velvet.”

He remembered my name. My glad was back, big and soft; I looked down and mumbled hi to Sondra’s hi.

“Just inviting her for a smoke, thass all.”

“She too young for that.” He looked at me with the little dent in his nose and his eyes soft like—

Suddenly I felt Sondra standing there, strong and perfume-y, with covered eyes. Not saying anything. Not having to.

“She old enough for a boyfriend,” said Shawn.

“That don’t mean old enough to smoke.” Dominic punched my arm real soft. “But you can hang with us if you want.”