Mary Gaitskill - The Mare

Then I jumped for Ginger and Paul, and Ginger went back to being her old self, and we went to eat at the pizza place and it was like I was eleven again, and I wished for just a minute that I could stay that way forever before I even knew who Dominic was.

All the way home on the train, I pictured myself at EQUAL on Fiery Girl, running in the practice ring with those beautiful horses. I thought about it so much it was like it already happened. When I got off the train I felt so good I was happy to see my mom, and she saw it because she rubbed my hair and said, “Mi niña” for Ginger to hear. I knew better than to talk about Fiery Girl and the way I rode her. I just leaned against my mom and wrote it on my heart over and over while we went home on the subway.

When we got home I went out because I was in the mood to see people, but I didn’t piss my mom off, I just sat on the stoop so as not to miss dinner. I was only there a minute when the Haitian lady passed by with a pink comb in her hair and real shoes, high-tops, on her feet this time. It had been so long, and I didn’t know if she’d recognize me, but she right away smiled and said, “Hello, my baby!” I stood up and hugged her and she said how funny to see me because she was thinking about me, she had a dream about me that she didn’t remember, but it was something good. She said, “I think something good’s coming your way, but don’t miss it!”

I was shy to ask her name, but she told me, “I’m Gaby, Gaby Alabre, and I live in the project on the Albany Street side. My name’s on the buzzer outside if you want to come see me sometime.”

I told her my name too. I wanted to ask her more about why she thought something good was coming, but my mom shouted down and I didn’t want her to see me speaking with Gaby so I said I would come sometime and went in.

The night she left I went out to the horse barn. It was dark and I could hear the animals react to me when I came in, their silence sudden and massed, like powerful thoughts crowded together, thinking on me. Then I guess one of them grabbed a bucket in its teeth and starting banging it on a wall. Another one snorted and I could feel their thought-shapes part to let me in. Their attention dispersed; they breathed and made quiet noises to each other.

I thought, No wonder Velvet likes it here. It was safe and secret with them, the ground deep under me, under meadows and houses and human things; ant-swarm human thoughts and giant human feelings. Paul, his other woman, Michael, the chopped-up book of my past: wide, clean surges of hope and love forced into weird shapes, breaking free again. Velvet’s mother, her crushed little cursing face, her fighter’s calm, impassive face; that first time, the way she met my eyes like no one else ever did. Mi niña; Velvet; my Velvet. The horses.

I went to Fiery Girl. I couldn’t see anything but the flash of her eye and the outline of her ears and curious nose. There was a sign on her door; I imagined it still said “Do Not Touch.” But Velvet had touched her, rode her, cared for her. I put my hand through the bars and touched her nose. She jerked her head and I pulled my hand back, scared. The horse’s teeth flashed and she grunted; I realized she was biting at her door like a cat scratching at wood. I was afraid to touch her again, but I stood there some moments, feeling the animals, calming.

When I finally walked back, Paul was on the porch, waiting. I didn’t want to be glad, but I was. For the first time in days, we lay down together — rolled away from each other but together. Michael flitted through me, his artificial kisses I had mistaken for “delicate” stuck together with Velvet trying to call me about her murdered friend, stuck together with the hot-point past where my “self” was crushed into a ball like old aluminum, and I didn’t even know what was happening to Michael. My husband lay next to me, blinking loud enough for me to hear.

In the school bathroom some girls walked in talking mean shit about somebody’s hair, that she bleached it so bad it fell out and she had to wear this crusty ol’ wig. I was in a stall. I pulled up my feet and they mobbed up the mirrors goin’, “And she like fifty at least and wearin’ fake Chanel glasses and that blond wig like she Lil’ Kim or somethin’.” A girl banged into the stall next to me. “An’ I heard she bringin’ in retarded AIDS victims to the house?” “Don’t be talkin’ that way about people with AIDS, and that girl ain’t that retarded, either.” “And she don’t even got AIDS, the dude only—” “Yeah, but her own niece pregnant! She should—” “Yeah, but Dominic—” My ears popped open wide; next to me the toilet flushed and the door banged open. “—she say Dominic got somebody else on his mind for real, she can tell.” “While she pregnant ? Word, some bitch gonna die, literally.”

That was the last thing they said, but all I heard was Dominic got somebody else on his mind for real and I think something good’s coming your way, but don’t miss it!

Except I kept thinking about Brianna pregnant and her crazy aunt and somehow the sick feeling of a retarded girl being raped got mixed in it and why did people think the aunt was bad to help even if she did wear a ugly wig? I didn’t want to be the bitch coming in from the side even if I did hate Brianna. So I made myself think about Fiery Girl and how I would see her again soon. But then I just wished I could tell Dominic about the way I jumped her. I wished I could at least text him. But I promised him I wouldn’t. So I called Ginger and we read a book called The Brief Wonderful Life of Somebody together. Except I couldn’t pay attention because of wanting to see him so much it pushed out everything.

Dante woke me, but I didn’t know it was him at first, just felt something hitting my face—“Mami!” Softly he hit his hands on my face and pulled my cheeks. “Mami, I dreamed Velvet fell off her horse and died!”

“Shh, stop.” I pushed away his hands and held his arms at his sides, strong but soft. “Velvet’s fine. She’s in the next room. Now ssshhh…”

“But she said she’s going to ride in a contest, and I’m afraid something will happen.”

“Don’t be stupid. Go back to sleep or I’ll hit you!” And I stroked his head and calmed him with my arms. He whimpered to keep me touching him, and I did until he slept.

But of course then I could not. Asleep in the next room, and she deprived me of sleep! He was only dreaming; it couldn’t be true. I tried to calm myself and sleep, but anger beat my brain like a drum — that she could do this to me in the middle of the night, get into Dante’s dreams and disturb him so he woke me on a work night! I tore off the blanket and went down the hall, threw open her door. I meant to beat her right then, get the truth out of her before she was awake enough to lie, she would stupidly throw it right in my face just to spite me—

But I didn’t. My body suddenly felt weak and I just stood and looked at her, her arms and legs wrapped around her pillow, holding it like Dante held me. If I beat her it would take me another hour to get to sleep. I would do it tomorrow. I would find out and then—“You need to do something different,” said Rasheeda. “You beat her ass every which way and she still not doing what you want. You need to get a different idea.”

I went out into the living room and sat on the couch, making my body calm. Rasheeda. She said when her daughter was sick she prayed. She believed it was the only reason her grandchild didn’t get AIDS. She gave me the prayer she said; it was in my purse, crumpled up. She knew I couldn’t read it, but she gave it to me anyway. I got it out of my purse, opened it and held it in my hand. Streetlight flashed on it, and I tried to remember the prayer my mother loved.