Issue #20 (2011) PDF - myweb - Long Island University

Alicia Berbenick
STABLES
I had to kill them; it was the only way I could save the animals. And Colleen. Mrs Tate turned in her
sleep. Her long brown hair broke off in strands around her night cap; her dentures were sunk at the
bottom of a drinking glass on her nightstand. Mr. Tate was snoring louder than my heart – thank
god – because the sound of my organ thumping could have woken them both. I looked at Mrs.
Tate‘s throat. Even in the dark I knew; I‘d remembered enough to know where to cut her - where to
stick her so she‘d bleed out. I‘d learned how to do it so that she would not feel pain for long – the
blood loss and death would happen all at once. That‘s what Colleen told me. She would know
better than anybody, especially when it meant killing her parents.
I realize what I did, and what happened, but you gotta know there was more to this than just
Colleen gettin‘ beat, I mean it goes further. Mrs. Tate one time locked Colleen in the stable with
Moriah, the mare that just gave birth, because Colleen tried to skip town. That horse was already
going crazy and when Colleen tried to escape, the horse went wild and kicked Colleen in the face. If
you were wondering if Colleen was beautiful before the accident; she was, she still is to me. But I
never forgave them for what they did to her. For what they did to that mare. Mr. Tate went off and
killed that mare that day. All that animal wanted was for to be with her colt. That colt came from
inside of her. It‘s something that animals have that not all humans have I guess – the instinct to
protect each other. Humans are the strangest, most unkind animal, if you ask me. Sometimes we
don‘t protect each other the right way.
I guess, after the accident, I was the only one who knew the truth and who loved her face
still. The Tates never knew a thing and they‘d let me sleep over to not let it seem like they were
keepin‘ Colleen hid from the world. When I slept there, Colleen and I‘d sneak out in the middle of
the night to go out to the stables. Across that long yard, the smells of grass, shit and earth made you
feel carnal. There we‘d be, me and Colleen and the animals. Lookin‘ up at the big black night, we
envisioned ourselves ridin‘ off on our horses, just feelin‘ the wind under us and through our hair. I
wouldn‘t let her get cold and the horses, well they‘d just know where to go. They‘d want to escape
just as much as us.
We would stay out in the stables sometimes all night. I can remember the hay being itchy
and us throwing it around, rolling around in it, just feelin alive. Sometimes we‘d just talk all night,
not about other people. We‘d talk about us and the future, about how we were gonna get out of
Belmont just as soon as the year was over. Sometimes we‘d get high a little. Sometimes we‘d make
love or just fool around a bit. But even in these more intimate times, something was just never right.
Sometimes I‘d catch Colleen staring wide-eyed into the wooden roof, lookin‘ like she wanted to
scratch through the cielin‘. And if I ever asked her what was wrong, she‘d say ―nothin‖ or that she
was worried about a test in class. I knew it was just better to love her, to make her feel safe and to
not ask her any questions during those times. How stupid I was then.
In the morning, we‘d always be back in our beds in her bedroom, but I‘d be up just wanting
to be gone already. Once the Tates were up, the world came down over us like a storm with a whole
lotta banging and clamberin‘, shoutin‘ and awful cookin‘ smells. Mr. Tate liked his bacon lightly
fried, almost raw and he made Mrs. Tate cook everything from scratch. He got her to make hash
and biscuits, too, on Sundays, with over-easy eggs and sausage links they made on the farm. Outside,
the land felt dead, like the animals knew about their brothers and sisters layin‘ on plates in the
kitchen. I found my fists clenched at the end of these thoughts, my nails cuttin‘ into my palms.
That morning, a Friday it was, Good Friday, in fact, because we had off from school. Pastor
Malinate had more sway with the school board than the superintendent. Mr. Tate woke us up, comin
13