Before I reached the toy aisle, the lavender scent of the unicorn called to me. I had to find which one it was and ran to the shelf of ponies. You can have one, mom says and then we have to get going. Grandma’s waiting for us. Rose. Apple. Coconut. No, it was farther up. I point and tap the bottom of the box: Princess Moonshadow. Mom places it in the cart on top of the pasta sauce bottles, the round pita bread and tomatoes. We have to get in line, now, Mom says. I move over the noodles and carry Princess Moonshadow with me, in its plastic package, the lavender in my hair as I place it on the edge of the conveyor belt. Do you want a bag, the cashier asks. Mom shakes her head and the cashier hands it to me.
Mom couldn’t get out of her chair. She tried pulling herself off, hands white as I bounced Princess Moonshadow on the carpet, skipping over the spot of blood. Princess Moonshadow flies up and down with the sound of the siren in the distance. Dad stands in the driveway. Mom smiles at me and says such a pretty pony and her eyes close.
I brush the seafoam tail of Princess Moonshadow with a small, pink comb, twisting it three times to make a curl. The aqua tinsel tangles in the comb and I slip in my nail, moving it up until it slides off. A tiny piece breaks off in my lap. I have to be careful. The tinsel was getting shorter and shorter.
Mom was hooked up to wires and long coils, connecting to screens that drew triangles and rectangles as she breathed. Grandma holds my hand while we walk to the bed. I put Princess Moonshadow on the rail and told her to feel better. Grandma has a list and we need to go back to the store. Dad covers his mouth with his hand and a strange, high-pitched sound comes out, something I hadn’t heard. Grandma says let’s get a snack. I turn my head to look at Mom and Grandma leads me through the maze of rooms to the elevator.
The lavender disappeared long ago. The spot of blush on Princess Moonshadow’s cheeks faded, the gold jewel on the side dimmed. One hoof up in the air, Princess Moonshadow stands on my pile of textbooks. Only eight more classes and I’ll have my degree in public health. Sometimes I think my mom knew her body was fighting against her, poisoning her blood drop by drop. But we needed groceries. Dad said he’d go, No, Mom said, I can do it. As we walked from aisle to aisle, she told me I could have a pony. The ponies were for special occasions: good grades, birthday or the holidays. Not just because. I move Princess Moonshadow to the side and get my chemistry book. There’s a quiz tomorrow and I need to pass.
Pam Avoledo’s work can be found at pamavoledo.com.
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