Mary Gaitskill - The Mare

“Girl, you need to stop that now. ” It was a man’s voice; Dominic stepped away quick and turned his mean face out ready to fight. But it was a old man — even in the dark, I could see he was old. He said, “Young man, my granddaughter is out too late and she’s too young for that anyway.”

And I will never understand this: I said, “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”

Dominic looked at me, confused. The old man came closer. He was wearing a cap with a brim low on his head and I couldn’t see his face. I checked Dominic; I was surprised to see him looking almost scared. “I’m sorry, mister,” he said. “I was only trying to take care of her.”

“Sure, that’s all right. But her mother is angry. She needs to come home. Come along with me, chica. I’ll take you to the bus.”

And he did. He walked me to the bus. We talked and I don’t know if it was the smoke, but I forgot what we said right away. Except for this: He said, “I want you to tell your mother you love her.” And I said I would. I took his hand and said, “Bendición, Abuelo,” and he blessed me.

When we got to the stop, the 47 was there, so he said “Go,” and I didn’t have time to ask him who he was or anything. I got a seat up near the driver and then I thought, How did he know what bus I took? I whipped my head around to look at him, like he could answer through the window. But he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there, but his voice was in me. Not just in my head, in my body, like part of me. It was still saying “Tell your mother you love her.”

I came home and saw lights on. My mom must’ve seen me out the window because when I walked in she grabbed me around the throat and shoved me against the wall. I flashed on the boy and his dick; I tried to push back. She crushed her whole body against me, even her head bone crushed on mine. She didn’t yell. She didn’t hit. She said very soft that I wasn’t worth hitting because if she hit me now she wouldn’t be able to stop and then the police would come back and see and they’d take Dante away and she wasn’t going to let me do that to her. She whispered, “I could kill you right now. But you aren’t worth it.”

I said, “Mami, I’m sorry. I love you.” I looked in her eyes. “I love you.”

She jerked back her head like I was a snake that bit her. She laughed hard and nasty and then jerked me off the wall and dragged me into her bedroom, where Dante lay curled up and scared. “Mami!” I cried out, and she put one foot behind my leg and then pushed me so I fell on the floor. I started to get up, but she put her foot on me and pushed me down, held me down. Dante closed his eyes. “Don’t you try to manipulate me, you little puta,” she said. “If you love me, act like it. Don’t play bullshit stunts like you just played and then come at me, Oh, I love you. That drama might work with your social worker. I’m sure it works with Ginger. But it don’t work with me.” And she pushed her whole body weight on her foot, pressing into my chest like she was gonna stand on me. “You’ll sleep here tonight. On the floor like a dog. If I get up and you’re not here on the floor, I’ll come get you, and I’ll put you back down until you stay there.” And she got back into the bed with Dante. I heard him whisper something to her; she whispered back like he was the sweetest thing in the world. And then they were sleep-breathing like nothing had even happened.

I lay on the floor like I was paralyzed. Why did that old man tell me to say that? Was I crazy? Was the smoke so strong I saw somebody who wasn’t even really there? But he had to have been there — Dominic talked to him! I lay there for at least an hour with the floor hurting my head, too afraid even to move. It was like I could still feel her standing on me, on my chest. But I kept thinking that I had to find out, I had to ask Dominic — I had to see him, feel him. I wanted him to hold me. That’s what finally made me strong enough to stand up and quietly, quietly go outside.

I thought I would take the bus back and look for Dominic, but I realized it was too late now; the bus might not even run. Instead I sat on the steps and watched the street: boys on corners, sometimes other boys coming to them. Men coming by in cars, this one car stopping and the boys coming up to it. A woman was there in the car, and she looked at me; big earrings, flashing eyes. The boys went back to their corners, but the car sat there, the man and woman talking at each other. I thought of Dominic touching me, felt my body as different now. The man yelled at the woman so loud I could hear, “You wanna smell my dick? You out you fuckin’ mind?” Boys looking away, trying not to laugh; one of them looked at me, trying to catch my eye. The woman yelled, “If I could trust you, I wouldn’t—” These little kids came running down the street laughing and I felt sick-sad ’cause no way should they be out this late. But they just laughed and ran around the corner, like Nova getting away and Sugar inside the fence rearing up like, Fuck this shit. I smiled at nothing. The car sped away so fast the woman’s head snapped back. I remembered the Republican restaurant again; I thought of walking at night. I thought, upstate is nice. But compared to here, upstate is like somebody dreaming to themselves.

I took the Ginger-doll out of my pocket, rubbed it with my thumb. I thought, My mom is right: She’s nice but she’s…I couldn’t think what she was, except that she wasn’t here. My grandfather too. He was nice, but he wasn’t here either. I went out to the street. Somebody banged into me and said, “Watch where you going, stupit lil’ bitch!” I stepped out of his way, and he kept walking. I went to the curb and I threw Ginger down the sewer. I took the little flower ring off first, though, and put it on my pinkie finger; it was too cute to throw away. I kept my grandfather’s picture too. I did take it out of my pocket, but I put it in again and went back into my house and lay down on the floor.

Sugar said, Fuck this shit and slammed through the electric fence, her body tight like a cat going through a little hole. It must’ve hurt like hell, but she got through and ran, ran with Nova and nobody could stop them. My eyes shot open; I thought, The horses have what the people here have. They get beat down and locked up but still, when they run, nobody can stop them. I lay on the floor thinking about it over and over. And when I went to sleep I heard my grandfather’s voice, very weak but clear. You did well. I won’t be talking to you like this again for a long time. But you did well.

I had not thought of Michael for years. Then suddenly, he was there again, floridly. At night, when Paul’s back was like a wall and I couldn’t sleep, I would think of him: the numb, hard way we were with each other, the deep touch of his deadened hands, his broken childishness, the cartoon-cruel expression of his mouth. The time his body trembled and he made a soft noise, and I took my hands off the floor to touch his thighs and he hit me in the face. I told you, don’t touch me! The time he stroked my eyebrows and lips, his strange eyes glittering as if amazed to discover that I had a face. The time he said to me, “You are so lost.” Numb and hard, but with something else inside it; I remembered it with grief and love. Because I had always been haunted by that pitiful feeling, that there had been love between us. Secretly.

These picture-thoughts scrolled past while I grocery shopped or made dinner or walked at night, planning Velvet’s next visit. But I had not had such thoughts for so long that they seemed significant. They seemed related to the drink the night of Velvet’s birthday. Because it was not just a drink; there was a wish that came with it, a need for something I couldn’t put into words. I was afraid to talk about it with Paul. I was afraid he would lecture me, and also that he would associate the slip with Velvet’s presence. And so I decided to go again to my old AA meeting in the city.