Velvet

My mother has lost her keys. She’s supposed to pick me up.

But she hasn’t yet.

I call every half hour or so on the payphone next to the barn to find out if she’s left, but all I get is an increasingly panicked response on the other end of the line.

There is nothing she can do. There is no one she can call.

Eventually, I run out of quarters.

It’s cold, so I zip up my baby pink jacket and begin galloping around the arena, pretending I’m a horse. There are some novice jumps set up, low enough that I jump them, myself, just as I imagine a horse would do. I am no horse, but I am a cold child shivering beneath the coat I wear. I continue to run. I continue to jump.

I get by.

While I wait.

But even though I hear the song, the warm, deep murmuring of the horses in their stalls, I start to get nervous.

I walk up to my horse’s stall and slide the door open. The mare is warm beneath her blanket, and I move in to hug her neck. She sighs deeply and gives an exasperated snort, tolerating me like an old lady tolerates young children. She is the closest thing to me, my protector. It’s not that she would fight someone off for me; it’s that she is so big that she makes me seem stronger.

Sometimes, the persona is more than enough to take into battle.

I know a lot of things at eleven.

The last person at the barn left an hour ago. I wonder if I will see anyone else tonight. I hope not. Maybe if someone shows up, if someone comes to turn out the lights, I will hide. I will fade back into the depths of the stall.

And I will wait some more.

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