My Little Pony
I was a movie star once. When I was nine years old I was a big star in
certain circles. My greatest success was a film called 'My Little Pony'
after the toy. The toy pony came in lots of colours but the one in the
movie was white all over except for his eyes which were black. In the
movie I wore a spangley circus costume and did tricks with the pony.
The last trick was getting fucked by the pony. My father made the films
in an old barn out on Long Island. There were three guys who worked on
the films besides my father and all of them used to fuck me, but my
father was the only one who got to fuck me in the movies. And the pony
of course. The pony was my father's idea. I asked him if I could have
one of those My Little Pony toys, I think that's how he thought of it.
He got me my own little pony, a pink one with purple hair just like I'd
asked for only by then I didn't want it anymore.
I don't believe that story about the pony. You can't believe a word she
says. She's always making things up, embroidering at best. I've looked
and looked on the internet and there's no trace anywhere of a film like
that. I think she made the whole thing up. I've caught her in lies
before. I used to be a ballet dancer, that was one. Ask her what
company, she just looks vague and says oh here and there, not one
company, it wasn't like that. Or says she can't remember. We used to
have a big house in France, she said to me once. A house with servants
and a big Alsatian dog. A house by the sea. At night you could hear the
sea crying... What part of France? I asked her. She just shrugged. I
don't know, I was too little. Next she'll be telling me about the time
she had to fuck the dog.
I had such a pretty costume! she said. Pink. All sparkles. A little bra
and panties and a tiara too. I'd always wanted a tiara. Where was your
mother while all this was going on? I asked her. She looked down at the
floor. You're confusing me, she said. My mother never said anything
about it. It was my father... I don't believe any of this.
In France we used to have lunch in the garden, she said. Long lunches
that went on all afternoon. The table was set with crystal glasses and
thin white china plates, with fat pink roses all around. The knives and
forks so heavy I could barely lift them. Many people came to these
lunches, friends of my father's. I used to play with the dog, his name
was Bidou. I remember a priest who often came to lunch, he used to hold
me on his lap and stroke me under my dress. And your mother? I said.
She was there too... I don't remember. Oh yes! Here's one thing I
remember. My mother in a straw hat. It had pale blue ribbons, I wanted
a hat like that. Why don't you believe me? she says. I believe you, I
say, it's just that none of it's true.
For a while they locked me away, she said. They said I told stories,
they said I was a crazy girl and told stories. Do you think I tell
stories? Yes, I said. Of course you tell stories. Some of your stories
are beautiful. Not this one, she said. No, I agreed. There was a doctor
with a red beard, she said. He didn't believe my stories either. When I
told him about the pony his face turned redder than his beard. Did the
pony talk to you? he said. As if a pony could talk. I thought you never
told anyone about the pony before, I said. I thought you said I was the
first person you ever told. You and the doctor, she said. I don't count
the doctor, he wasn't anyone.
The doctor gave me pills to eat that made me sleep for a thousand
years, she said. Twisting her left hand in her right as if she's trying
to remove it from her wrist. When I woke up I was a different person.
When I woke up everybody was gone. Where was your mother? I said. I
don't know I tell you! She was not there. My father too was gone. I was
all alone. That's when I met you, she said. Looking at me with those
looking glass eyes. Everything she says is a lie. If everything I say
is a lie, then I'll tell you I'm lying. Then you'll have to believe me,
won't you? she said. Is everything you say a lie then? I said. Yes, she
said. Everything. Every word. Every single syllable.
Grace Andreacchi is an American living in London. Recent books of hers include SCARABOCCIO, a novel,
and TEN POEMS FOR THE END OF TIME.
Read more of GA's work in the archive.
Detail of photo on main page courtesy
W i g l e a f