Outside a golden horse with the longest mane pranced round. A man gave her an orange drink. He said, "Pop," like no one around here. She kept thinking of the sound the can made opening.
She'd never seen the man before. Her stepfather sent her outside to watch the horses. As if she didn't know what the little vial on the table held or hadn't heard the bubbling inside a bong by now. She was six years old.
In the man's arms, being carried further from the house, she imagined the horse wore a saddle. She could feel herself separate from those hands, made out of air, as she ran and jumped on, riding in circles, waiting somewhere else.