Homestretch by Paul Volponi Page B

gripping lightning bolts in its claws, and even a snoring beaner taking a siesta under a big sombrero.
    Dad had a tiny tattoo on the inside of his forearm, from his days in the navy. It was of a hula-dancing girl wearing agrass skirt. And whenever he flexed his muscles, she’d shake her hips.
    I wouldn’t look down at my arm anymore, not until that artist was done. But some woman came in off the street with butterflies tattooed on her wrists and ankles. She sat there watching him do the colors for a few minutes before she said, “That’s just gorgeous. I can almost smell those yellow roses.”
    When that buzzing stopped and the artist flipped up his safety glasses, I finally looked.
    That tattoo was so beautiful it nearly broke my heart when he had to cover it with a big bandage. But he warned me, “It’s an open wound, and you’ve got to take real precautions for a while.”
    So I took care of it like he explained. I kept it moist with baby lotion, and I didn’t pick at any of the little scabs, no matter how much they itched.
    I went to find Tammie at her grandpa’s barn so I could show her my jockey’s license. Cap was standing at the door, looking inside at his row of four horses beside a dozen empty stalls.
    â€œTammie’s not here right now,” he said, barely shifting his eyes.
    The feeling inside Cap’s barn was different than Dag’s.There was a calmness here, and standing next to Cap, I could feel it seeping into my bones.
    â€œI guess you grew up around racehorses,” I said.
    â€œNo, not me. I was raised in Chicago by my father, a photographer. My mother died before I was old enough to remember her,” Cap said. “But I’d see horses every day on the streets pulling ice wagons. Before electric refrigerators, people needed ice for their iceboxes, to keep the food cold. Anyway, I’d pet those horses, feeding them sugar and such. Then one day a driver left the hand brake off in his wagon, and a horse followed me all the way to school. I thought that horse loved
me
. I never considered it was the sugar in my pocket.”
    That’s when I showed him my license.
    â€œDag arrange that for you?” he asked like he already knew the answer.
    I just nodded my head.
    â€œI saw you ride this morning, and the best thing I can say about it is that you’re still in one piece. I think you know that too. So I’m not sure what that snake sees in you. Don’t think I’m just against him because the horses that used to fill these stalls are in
his
barn now,” said Cap. “But Gas, let me ask you. Where’s your family?”
    I’m not exactly sure why I started to tell him the truth.
    There was something behind his eyes that kept them steady while he talked. Something that said he wasn’t going anywhere. That he wasn’t going to move off the spot he was standing on, not unless he was good and ready.
    The only person I ever knew like that before was Mom.
    â€œMy mother was killed back in March, around Easter time,” I said. “After that it’s just my dad. But I don’t talk about him much.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear it,” Cap said. “Just to say—if Dag hasn’t asked you about your family yet, it’s probably because he doesn’t have to. He can read it all over you.”
    Then Tammie got there.
    â€œGas, is that a jockey’s license? Congratulations,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.
    For the second her soft lips were on me, I could feel the blood pulsing through my entire body, and then my face turning flush.
    â€œGrandpa, did you see Gas on the racetrack riding that nut job of a horse with El Diablo leaning all over him?” asked Tammie. “That was gutsy.”
    â€œIs that what they call ‘crazy’ these days?” said Cap, grinning. “Gutsy?”
    â€œNow all you need’s a trainer to put you on some live runners