Eighth Place

 
Painting of pink and yellow swirls that resemble both flowers and flames, against a black background.

“The Autistic Phoenix” by Anum Farooq

The year that Sovereignty outruns Journalism in the Kentucky Derby, my Mother cusses for the first time. She blames it on OPI changing the chemical formula for Cajun Shrimp nail polish, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t tell her I left my cheap apartment with last night’s empty whiskey glass on the table and my panties on the floor.  I don’t tell her I'm sure American Promise won’t win.  

Before the race begins, Mother compliments the extravagant hats of the women in attendance. Perfect Southern belles, she says. Like you and Ella. Me and my sister’s Barbies were always throwing soirées, saying yes ma’am, and teasing hair — just like Mother had whispered in our ears since we were in our bassinets.  

The camera cut to the track. 

Mother’s breath hitches as the stable doors pop open. Her upper body surges forward like the horses as she clutches her paisley blanket — still unfinished, slightly unravelling. It smells like lemon and eucalyptus with a hint of secrets spilled under our oak tree. Ella had picked Proverbs 31:25 for the corner square. She is clothed in strength and dignity. Same verse on the Can’t wait to meet you Grandma! card that Ella gave to Mother. They’d erupted in cheers then, just like the crowd on TV. 

The Kentucky weather is muggy. Grey darkness pressing down from the atmosphere. Like the day of Ella’s ultrasound. The hooves hitting the soggy dirt sound like the BA-DUM BA-DUM of the heartbeat we’d heard when the cool gel slid over her stomach. She lay belly up. I told her she looked like a Hungry Hungry Hippo. She laughed like she did when we ran through the sprinkler to spite Mother. Now, Mother sits beside me, muttering.  

I’m  too invested to listen. I clench a Boy or Girl? napkin tightly as the horses round the corner, and our favorite contender falls farther behind. The glow in Mother’s eyes disappears like Ella’s smile while listening to the doctor. Severe birth defect. Not compatible with life. Harmful for mother. The current regulations, he said. It sounded like a pomegranate splitting open. He left her with an information pamphlet about infant-sized coffins and a funeral home. I crinkled it until I got a papercut. Options, he said.  

The horses run the final stretch.  

I’ve prayed that American Promise will leave the rest of the muddy hooved horses in the racetrack dirt behind, but we both frown when he comes in 8th. We’ve lost yet another bet.  

Shit!” she yells. 

Right before the derby started the hospital called. The day became a funeral of sorts — mourning what wouldn’t be while watching horses run somewhat free. The jockeys controlled their bodies, just like the men in suits with tiny star-spangled flag pins controlled Ella. “At least it won’t get my god-awful nose,” she’d said, crying as she packed for her flight to the neighboring state for the procedure. I watch the jockey waving with his picture-perfect children. Ella never will.  

Years later,  Mother will watch the derby at 8:00 AM sharp in the retirement home. She’ll ask, “Ella, how is the baby?” I won’t tell her I am not Ella and that the woman she imagines will never be.  

Mother will complain about my cracked nail polish as I search up the video. I’ll know that great power almost always succeeds over the reality of what has been lived; hope seems to eternally lag behind. I’ll know that Sovereignty will get the Garland of Roses. The same hue of red as the flowers I still leave for Ella.  

“American Promise will win,” she’ll say.

The horses take off.  

About the author

Sarai Abram is an undergraduate student at Rice University studying History, English, and Creative Writing. She's a heavy metal enthusiast, lover of bright-colored clothing, and a huge fan of 80's movies. The rule of threes is her latest obsession. You can find her on Instagram @glxssy.sarai. 

about the artist

Anum Farooq is an autodidactic neurodivergent artist. Her art relates to exploring, dreaming and discovering the world around us. Anum has her artwork showcased globally from SAAC's Art in Public Places “Winter Showcase 2021,” Mississippi, to Curating Futures “(Im)material,” Yorkshire, and “Teaching Children About Racial Justice," Massachusetts. She has been interviewed for publications in culture capitals. Her art is a reflection of her unique perspective and creative vision, capturing the beauty and complexity of the world around us. She was selected as a Tate Online Artist in 2012, and was awarded the Certificate of Merit by the Mayor of Enfield in 2002. In 2022, she was longlisted for the Digital Innovation in Art Award, and has been recognized for Exceptional Merit in the 4th edition of the Global Talent Art Prize, alongside 2023 Artistic Excellence Award from Circle Foundation for the Arts in Greece.

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