Fiction

The old rancher’s chopped, buttery voice hummed as he told me my task for the day. “Tag the youngins’. Green tag’s good for breeding, yellow tag’s alright, and red for meat.” It was a simple task, yet it still made my heart ache.

There was eight calves in all. Three boys, five girls. He’d told me all the tricks to tell which one’s would be good but I can’t pick. I’m a rancher. Trying to be at least. I’ve shot deer and ran a knife between their skin and muscle. I’ve gutted pigs, watching their entrails hit the ground like a clumsy child. I know violence and I know death. Meat cows make hamburgers and I can’t lie, I love me a good steak. I ain’t just a ranchin’ man; I’m a smart man so I know this I swear.

That still don’t stop my hands from trembling for each calf I walk up on. One with grayish white fur and big black eyes won’t stop staring right at me no matter where I go. Even when I’m with the other calves, his eyes track me like he knows. He knows he has his father’s strong muscle and lily white fur. He knows he’s safe, but that his sister gets sores easy and screams all day and all night. He watches me place a red tag on her ear, and for an animal that can’t see much color or feel much emotion, I see his tiny heart break.

When I finally get to him he lets out a low moo of greeting as I reach him in the silver cage. “Yeah, yeah I know. I hate this too.” I look him over feeling the muscle in his legs and remembering how he’s the only calf to never get sick with nothing. I reach for a green tag but even in his knowing eyes, this don’t please him. “Chin up you lil’ thing you’re gonna live a long life of green pastures and lots and lots of babies.”

His moo echoes in the barn as I clip his ear and the more I shush him the more it ticks him off. When I’m done, I rub the top of his head which only ticks him off more. He tears his head back chomping down on my finger in the process. I swing back my hand into a fist on instinct. An instinct I never have and never will use. My hands fall to my side, my fingers shaking against my jeans.

When I was little my momma always said I couldn’t hurt a fly. She’d laugh when I said I wanted to own a ranch. “Now Riley you know ranchers kill things by trade.”

I’d always respond the same way, my boyish southern drawl sounding like chicken scratch personified into speech. “I know momma, but you gotta help it live first. That’s gon’ be my favorite part. Watching it grow up cause of me.”

I stare at him, the green tag bobbing up and down as he shudders his ear trying to wave it off and shake my head. “You’re gonna live a long ass life and when you’re old and stubborn, you’re gonna drop dead.” I look over to the sister of his who was born on the same day from the same father. She has speckles of chestnut running up her legs and haunches that are covered in sores. Her nose is runny from a cold she couldn’t shake from birth, her eyes wet from the constant pain of being alive. “I don’t know what he got planned for you two, but I know if he’s a god who wants any of my prayers you’ll see that little girl running like the day she’s born when he decided to take you from your body.”

I reach out to pat his head again, the malicious look on his baby face gone. I never met a cow who could speak a lick of English, but something in his body knows what I’m saying. He can taste a long easy life like the ball of hay in his lips were replaced with sugar cubes and dew drops.

As I go to leave, I stop as I see the old man hunched over in the doorway to the barn. “You did as I said?” He asked his body a curled over shadow like a comma blocking out the evening sun.

“Yes sir. Eight calves were tagged three green, three yellow, two red.”

He nods slowly, his short frame coming closer into view. His plaid button up has holes in the bottom that never have and never will be mended. He’s a white man with dark leathery skin that has more creases than a crumpled piece of paper. As he gets closer, his soil colored eyes look through thick eyebrows up at me. “Good. They’ll all be grown enough in about three months and the truck’ll be here to grab them then.”

I try to be neutral. Nod my head and not give a damn. I really, really try. I don’t know if it was the widening of my eyes, the crease of my eyebrows, or the tiny downward slight of my lips. Something small and useless no one but that old man would notice.

“You named them didn’t you?”

“What!”

“Don’t play stupid; you heard me, boy.” He gets closer to me, his eyes staring through mine straight to my whirring brain. “Did you name them?”

I look down, my chest full with heavy guilt. “Yes.”

“What’d you name the two headed to the meat truck?”

I walk backwards so he can get a visual. I point to the boy who I chose for the meat truck, his fur pitch black with huge bug eyes. “I named him Soldier cause he looks like he just got back from Vietnam. How big his eyes are and all.” I keep walking until I get to the little girl, her ear trying to twitch off the tag like she knows what it means. “And I named her Lucky cause I think she’s anything but.”

I look to the older farmer expecting him to smack me upside the head and call me an idiot. Instead when I look to him, his eyes have this begrudging softness I’ve never seen in him. “You know the difference between my job and some company that sticks a thousand cows in a warehouse?”

I shake my head and he leans his old tired body on the gate keeping the cows in, it letting out an ancient creak as he does. “They know what care feels like. I had it when I first got this ranch from my father. I was a little older than you but I was just like you. I’d give em’ names. I’d pat their head and talk to them about my day. I had that and I’ve lost it. It ain’t a bad thing boy, but it’s a tiring thing.”

“What are you saying exactly?”

“I’m saying hold onto it as long as you can. The longer you have that, the more human you’ll be when your maker calls you home.”

Maria Hope grabbed her black converse that sat by the screen door. Her mother always said that “those converse were a boy’s shoe,” but Maria found no offense in those claims. She tied up the mud-stained, white laces and then ran out the screen door, hearing it slam shut behind her.

“Maria!” she could hear her mother yell as she ran out of the front yard, “be back before dark!”

Maria slowed down as she neared the field. The dirt road was empty, and the sun was hot. Typically, she saw no other person on this lonely road. She usually had it all to herself. Except for that ridiculously hot summer day, when she came across a young boy, who sat hugging his knees on the side of the empty dirt road. She slowly approached the boy who was, at that moment, unaware of her existence.

            “Whatcha doin?” she asked hesitantly. The boy jerked his head up and placed his hands on the ground, ready to jump up.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said fidgeting with the hem of her pink floral dress that hit just above her knee. Unsuspecting any danger, she plopped down beside the boy.

            “My name is Maria Hope,” she stuck out her hand for him to shake it. The boy, still looking half-stunned and somewhat annoyed, just looked at her. She dropped her hand down.

            “Did your parents not teach you any manners?” she asked giggling, “that’s ok, I don’t mind,”

            Maria looked around at her surroundings. The dirt road sat alone separating a large field and some woods. The sun beat down on the lonely road. The flat, open terrain made Maria feel small. Although she walked this road almost every day, she never really took the time to stop and embrace the atmosphere around it. She looked back over at the boy, who just stared at her with his mouth half open.

            “Well,” Maria began, “you should come with me. I’m going to the woods, just down the road here,” she pointed down the road. Then she stood up and swiped the dust off her dress.

            “Well, see you around, I guess,” Maria stated as she began to continue down the road. She walked towards the fence post that stood alone on the left side of the road. This was where Maria would enter the woods. Then, she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see the boy running up to her. His bare feet throwing up dirt as he ran. He finally caught up with her and they walked together to the fence post.

            When they reached the fence post, Maria stopped. Here is where she took the time to admire the surroundings. The skinny trees which towered high above Maria, the beautiful colors, and if she closed her eyes, she could focus on birds singing love songs. Then she continued, once again, into the woods. A day like that sweltering summer day was the perfect time to be in the shaded woods. Especially woods that had a creek. As they walked over fallen leaves and sticks, Maria wondered about the boy.

            “Do you have a name?” she asked. The boy swallowed.

            “That’s ok, you don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to tell me anything actually-“

            “David,” the boy said, “My name is David,”

            “Where do you live?” Maria questioned as she climbed over a fallen tree.

            “Down off, uh, Mansfield Road,” David replied climbing over the tree after Maria.

            “Mansfield!” Maria exclaimed, “that’s almost three miles away! What are you doing over here?” she stopped and looked at him, concerned. He shrugged his shoulders, showing no sign of concern.

            “Do your parents know your this far out?” Maria asked in a worried tone as David kept walking.

            “Yeah, they don’t care,” David kept walking through the woods even though he didn’t know where he was going, “well, my mom does care a little, but she just listens to my father,”

            “Oh, and so your father doesn’t care?” Maria questioned.

            “Nah,”

            “Why not?” Maria wondered. David shrugged his shoulders in response.

            “He’s got bills to pay and a family to provide for,” David spoke in a mocking tone. Maria stopped walking and turned to look at him.

            “Funny that he says that cause’ he just spends his money on beer, and a stupid statue of a rooster that he put in the front yard,” David picked up a stick.

            “That’s interesting,” she was unsure of how to respond, “I’m sorry,”

            “It’s not your fault; besides, you should be sorry for my little brothers,” David continued walking, slashing the stick at little green plants along the trail, “they’re twins, and I have to take care of them a lot,”

            “What are their names,” Maria asked as she got in front of David to lead the way.

            “Luke and John,” David responded, throwing his stick off in the distance.

            “Hmm, catchy,” Maria laughed, “are they really close?”

            “Yeah,” David chuckled, “It’s two against one when I’m around them,”

Maria walked under the half-fallen tree, which meant that the creek was close. She finally began to hear and see the little creek in the distance.

            “You come out hear a lot?” David asked as they came upon the creek.

            “Just about every day,” she smiled. The creek welcomed her with the sounds of gentle running water. She could almost feel the sensation of the crisp, cool water rushing around her feet. She began to untie her converse and then she set them upon a nearby rock. David, having no shoes to take off, gladly walked into the creek.

            “It’s so cold,” David turned to look at Maria, somewhat surprised, since it was so hot out.

            “It runs all year long, so the water stays cold,” Maria replied as she walked into the creek. David let out a laugh and then sat down in the almost two feet of water. Then he leaned back, submerging his head under the moving water.

            Maria and David stayed in the creek for close to an hour, until they became somewhat tired and decided to go to the shore and sit on the rocks.

            “The stones are thirsty,” Maria stated as cupped her hands, scooped up some water, and then poured it over the rock that she was sitting on.

            “They’re just rocks,” David chuckled in response.

            “Maybe, but I think they’re special,”

            “You’re pretty strange,” David told her.

            “Thanks,” Maria laughed, “my mom says it’s ok to be different, she tells me that I’m one of a kind,” Maria noticed David smile, and then look away, but his smiled faded.

            “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Maria responded. David shook his head.

            “Nah, you didn’t make me sad,” he paused as he picked a blade of grass beside him, “I’m glad you’re happy,”

            “You deserve to be happy too, you know,” Maria replied. David, once again, shook his head from side to side. Maria noticed the sun was beginning to set.

            “Hey, I’ve got to get home,” Maria stood up. David reluctantly stood up also.

            “You’re not allowed to stay out after dark?” David questioned. Maria shook her head.

            “My mom doesn’t like me to,” she responded as began to put her converse back on.

            “Oh, yeah, well-,” David began.

            “I’ll be out tomorrow though,” Maria told him. David smiled.

            “So will I,”

            “Well, I can meet you at the creek then, since you know where it is now,” Maria said.

            “Ok,” David agreed and then stuck out his hand. Maria smiled and then shook his hand. She then began to make her way out of the woods and onto the dirt road.

            She began to hear the crickets and could feel a slight drop in the temperature as she walked back. As much as she didn’t want to think about it, she knew that David would not be going home for some time.

            The next day, Maria decided to pack some food and water to take with her to the creek. Once she had packed two chicken salad sandwiches and two bottles of water in a bag, she slung it over her shoulder and began to make her way to the creek. Upon arriving at the creek, she set the bag down and observed the area. It seemed as though David hadn’t arrived yet. She began to untie her converse as she sat on the big, flat rock.

            “Hey,” David’s voice appeared, “look what I’ve built,”

            Maria turned to her left to see David appear from the woods. She stood up and could see a little fort that David had built with some fallen sticks and limbs.

            “How long did it take you?” Maria asked curiously.

            “Not too long, I got it up before dark,” David responded with a proud tone in his voice.

            “Before dark?” Maria questioned, “you mean you stayed out here last night?”

            “Yeah,” David responded enthusiastically. Maria’s mouth dropped open.

            “David,” she spoke harshly, “that’s not safe,”

            “It’s fine,” David chuckled, “I do it all the time,” he then walked over to the creek and began to walk around, splashing the water by kicking his legs.

            “You mean you haven’t been home since yesterday?” David nodded his head and seemed unbothered by Maria’s concern.

            “Well, at least I brought some food,” Maria picked up the bag and held it out to him. David ran out of the creek and sat down on the rock beside Maria.

            “Really! I’m starving,” David tore open the bag and began to scoff down the first sandwich. Maria sat quite stunned as she observed David. He truly was starving. He swallowed the last bite of the first sandwich and then grabbed the other one. Before he bit into it though, he paused.

            “Were you going to eat this?” He asked. Maria shook her head.

            “David, you have to go home,” Maria said hesitantly as she watched David devour both sandwiches and the waters.

            “I will,” David wiped his mouth, “when I think it’s ok to go back,”

            “What about your brothers?” Maria replied. David sat silent for a moment, then he rubbed his forehead.

            “Yeah, I got to go back,” he spoke quietly.

            David and Maria spent the rest of that day playing in the creek. However, they both knew that the fun time would end, understanding that David would have to return home. Acknowledging that he would be in some type of trouble, David told Maria that he didn’t know when he would be back. Thus, reluctantly, the two parted ways, unsure of when they would meet again.

            For the next five days, Maria went to the creek, however, David was never there. When one week passed, Maria decided that she would wait three more days and if she didn’t see David, she would go and find his house, to make sure that he was still alive. Although it was still a sizzling summer day, the sun was not that bright. Grayish clouds were slowly overtaking the blue sky as Maria walked down the dirt road. The wind blew harshly, continuously stirring up the dust into her eyes. She could see the dark grey storm clouds coming nearer in the distance.

            She began to run toward the fence post, where she would enter the woods. Running quickly, yet cautiously, she made her way over the fallen sticks and leaves. She came upon the creek and stopped running. And to her surprise stood David, leaning on a tree.

            “David!” Maria said excitedly, “you’re back!”

            “Yeah,” David chuckled, “still alive,”

            “What happened?” Maria asked as she sat down on the big, flat rock.

            “Well, whenever I got home, my parents weren’t too mad,” David sat down beside her, “but my dad took me with him to the rock quarry, where he works,”

            “The rock quarry?” Maria spoke in a haunted tone, “you mean the one that’s a full day away? The one where people die?”

            “Yeah,” David paused, “yeah, I worked really hard, and they want me to come back,”

            “No, you can’t,” Maria shook her head.

            “Why not? I’m still alive,” David stood up.

            “How many people did you see get killed?” Maria demanded.

            “Three,” David spoke quietly, “I got caught in the middle of a gun fight actually,”

            Maria stood up and threw her hands in the air. The wind was picking up a lot, so she struggled to keep her hair out of her face.

            “Do you hear yourself? I only saw three people die,” Maria questioned him forcefully.

            “Yeah, but the pay is really good. I can buy my own food now, Maria,” David paused, “but you wouldn’t understand that,”

            “Look, I’m just trying to look out for you,” Maria responded.

            “I don’t need you to look out for me,” David stood straighter. Maria slowly began to nod her head as she began to feel small, cold raindrops hit her skin.

            “Fine,” Maria awkwardly fidgeted with the hem of her dress, “guess I’ll see you around then,” She then turned quickly and began to run away from the creek. The rain was coming down steadily now and it was cold on her skin. She ran onto the dirt road, which would soon be turned into a mud road. Her feet hit the ground hard as she ran with anger.

            “Maria!” She heard her name being called.

            “Maria, wait!” David yelled after her as he ran behind her. Since he was faster, he caught up to Maria and grabbed her arm, slowing her down.

            “What?” Maria yelled, “I thought you didn’t need me!”

            “That’s not what I said!” David yelled in response, “I said I don’t need you to look out for me, that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you to,”

            Maria opened her mouth as if to say something, but she said nothing. She realized that David was saying that he was sorry. Maria looked at David. His white shirt was soaked and was see through now. His brown hair was dripping wet and stuck to his head. She could see raindrops fly off his eyelashes every time he blinked. He breathed heavily and had a look of desperation in his eyes. Unsure of what to say, Maria gave him a hug.

            “Come on, we should get out of the rain,” Maria said as she squinted her eyes, trying to see better in the now down pour.

            Maria and David ran to her house. They ate peanut butter sandwiches and played a few card games before going back outside once the rain had stopped.

            “Where’s your dad?” David asked Maria when they were walking along the dirt road.

            “He um, he passed away three years ago,” Maria responded bluntly.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” David was slightly shocked, “why didn’t you tell me?”

            “There was never a good time to bring it up,” Maria shrugged her shoulders, wiping the sweat off her brow. It was extra humid out since the rain had just ended. The sun was bright, and Maria thought she could smell the mud and the wet grass.

            “Was it hard?” David asked her. Maria began to nod her head.

            “Yeah,” she paused, “I forgot to give him a hug the last time I saw him. He was in a car wreck,” Maria suddenly stopped talking. She had never told anyone about how she didn’t hug her father before he died and it was stirring up that feeling of sadness, and she didn’t like sad things.

            “I can’t believe school starts in two weeks,” Maria spoke, changing the subject.

            “Yeah,” David agreed, “the boys are gonna make so much fun of me,”

            “Why?” Maria asked.

            “Cause’ I’ve been hanging around a girl,” he responded.

            “Oh please! You poor thing,” Maria laughed. Then she picked up a scoop of mud and threw it at David. Hitting his shoulder, the mud splattered with part of it going onto his face. Maria laughed even harder and began to run down the dirt road.

            Maria and David spent the next two weeks spending all the daylight they got at the creek. Building forts, bridges, and swings, they had created their own paradise. However, once school had started, they couldn’t do that anymore, except in the afternoon. After the first week of school though, Maria saw less and less of David. Eventually he stopped going to school and he even stopped going to the creek. One day, Maria found him at the creek.

            “You better have a good story,” Maria approached him as he sat on the flat rock, tracing the lines with his finger. David said nothing in response and instead just looked forward.

            “Um, David, hello!” Maria spoke up. David stood up, revealing a black eye.

            “Don’t worry about me anymore, Maria,” David walked past her as spoke.

            “What are you talking about?” Maria was getting more frustrated. David stopped walking and turned to face her. He stuck out his hand, waiting for Maria to shake it. She shook her head from side to side, refusing to shake his hand.

            “Why would I do that?” Maria questioned, “I’ll see you tomorrow, when you finally decide to show up at school,” David dropped his hand and began to shake his head.

            “Use your words, David,” she demanded.

            “We’re leaving,” he stated, “my dad lost his job here so, we’re going to the rock quarry, we’re leaving,”

            Maria didn’t know what to say. She took a deep breath, trying to understand what David had just told her.

            “Sorry,” David said.

            “I’ll see you again, right?” Maria asked, quietly. David shrugged his shoulders.

            “Maybe,” he paused, “hopefully,” It was silent for a moment. Maria studied the ground beneath her. The dirt was dry and covered with small pebbles.

            “I got to go now,” David put his hands in his pockets. Maria looked up at David. His left eye was red, from where he had been hit.

            “I never noticed that you have green eyes,” Maria blurted out. David smiled.

            “I’ll see you around, Maria Hope,” he responded.

            “See you around, David,” Maria replied. David took a deep breath and then turned to exit the woods. Maria was left standing in the big woods all by herself. Although she was used to being alone and had often enjoyed it, after spending the summer with David, she had grown to hate it. Maria sat on the flat rock and brought her knees close to her chest. She didn’t cry and she didn’t laugh. In fact, she sat with no emotion written on her face. I didn’t give him a hug. Maria jumped up. She then took off running out of the woods. The sun was beginning to set, making her realize that she sat in the woods for a long time.

            No, no! Maria thought to herself as she ran down the dirt road. Maria didn’t stop running until she got to Mansfield Road, which was three miles away from the creek. Tears began to slowly trickle down her face as she ran harder. Her legs and chest burned, but she couldn’t stop.

            She began to run down Mansfield Road, actively looking for a house with a rooster statue and a sold sign. The houses were far away from the road, and they were spread far apart. However, in the distance she could see a small house on the right side of the road. As she came upon the red, rickety mailbox, she stopped running. She saw the sold sign in the front yard and a tipped-over statue of a red rooster. She then began to run down the long, gravel driveway. There were no cars at the home and no furniture on the front porch.

            She ran up the old wooden steps and knocked on the screen door. She heard nothing. Tears began to flow, and she began to breathe heavily. She opened the screen door and then opened the door, which was surprisingly unlocked. She walked inside an empty room. The house smelled like cigarette smoke and water damage. No one was home. Everyone was gone, except for Maria who stood lifeless and limp in the empty front room. She slowly walked out of the house and then sat on the front porch step. With no one around, or even nearby, she hugged her knees and began to cry softly. Maria began to realize that she would probably never see David again. After all, the rock quarry was a dangerous place.

            The crickets were loud. The sun was almost completely away for the night. Yet, Maria still sat on that front porch step. Taking a deep breath, she dried her tears. Coming to the realization that she hated goodbyes; she stood up and began to walk away from Mansfield Road. As she walked past the fence post, she realized that once again, it was just her and her black converse on that lonely dirt road.

Leo pushed through the tangled vines, creepers, and sawgrass toward the tiny clearing
deep inside the willow grove. The pungent smell of things rotting filled the air. A little creek that
spread out through the trees kept the ground sodden. Breathing hard, Leo followed Weiner, his
friend’s face split in a jester’s grin.

“Come on, hurry up, I gotta pee,” Weiner said.
“Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, I’m coming.”

Leo and Weiner had spent all Saturday afternoon at The Plunge, Santa Barbara’s
municipal pool, sharing the summer heat and tepid water with a packed crowd of kids. Weiner’s
real name was Oscar, but everybody called him Weiner after the maker of hot dogs. Exhausted
and bleary-eyed from messing around in the highly chlorinated pool, they had crossed Cabrillo
Boulevard and headed home.

“Hey, you wanna go looking for tennis balls?” Weiner had asked.
“Where?”
“In that grove next to the courts.” Weiner pointed. “People knock ’em there and are too
lazy to find ’em.”

“What’re we gonna do with a bunch of tennis balls?”
“Clean ’em off and sell ’em, stupid.”
“Yeah, right. I knew that.”
“Then why’d ya ask?”
“Shut up!”

They now stood apart in the clearing, bathed in sunlight, in the heart of the dark jungle. In
the background the grumble of traffic on Cabrillo sounded like the surf off Leadbetter Point.
Weiner unzipped his jeans and watered the ankle-high crabgrass. Leo felt the back of his
neck go numb with an excitement that a seventh-grade boy shouldn’t feel, surely a mortal sin
that he would need to confess to Fr. Beckett before Sunday mass. How the heck am I gonna do
that? Leo thought. What’ll I say to that old Jesuit, that I thought about . . . about touching
Weiner . . . and more? I don’t even like him that much.

“What are you staring at?” Weiner asked.
Leo grinned. “Nothing much.”
“Screw you. Come on, let’s look for balls.”

The boys combed the clearing but found nothing. After slogging through the muddy
undergrowth, scratching bare arms and destroying shoes and jeans, they came away with only
three dirty tennis balls. Scraping slime from their Keds at the curb, they headed home to San
Andres Street and its Magnolia trees with virgin-white flowers. They didn’t talk much, Leo
pondering what he had seen in the clearing, about the sun shining off Weiner, his hair ablaze,
blue eyes gleaming. He shivered and forced himself to think about something else.

The following day, Leo and his father, mother and older sister drove to church in their
year-old ’58 Studebaker. They always attended 9:15 mass at Our Lady of Sorrows, sat in the
same pew, mumbled the same prayers, and listened to their stomachs growl from fasting before
taking communion.

“I gotta go to confession,” he muttered to his sister, Elsa.
“What nasty little sins have you committed this week?” she whispered.
“None of your business.”
“I hear you thrashing around and moaning in bed at night.”
“Shut up!”

He left the pew and walked to the rear of the church where confessional booths occupied
one wall. A line of kids and adults waited outside the curtained-off compartments, one on either
side of the center one where Fr. Beckett most likely sat. Leo joined them, shifting from foot to
foot. Jerry Vasquez from his class stood at the head of the line. He looked back and grinned. Leo
closed his eyes, memorizing what he would say to the priest.

When it came his turn he pushed through the curtain and knelt, facing the closed partition
window. He could barely hear mutterings from the person confessing their sins on the other side
of the priest and the good father giving absolution. Yes, it was crotchety old Beckett. Finally, the
partition slid open.

“Go ahead,” Fr. Beckett said.
“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It’s been three weeks since my last confession.” Leo
always wondered why they wanted to know that. Was there some time limit for confessing sins?
“Father, I talked back to my parents, I lied to my fifth period teacher, and . . . and I had
impure thoughts about a boy in my class.”

There, he had gotten it all out without stumbling too much. Leo held his breath, hoping
Fr. Beckett wouldn’t have any questions. But alas . . .

“What was the nature of these impure thoughts, my son?”
Holy hell, does this guy want me to draw him a picture? “I . . . I wanted to touch him.”
“I see. Did you act on these impure thoughts?”
“You mean, did I touch him?”
“Yes, my son.”
“No, that would be too weird.”
“Good, good. You must be mindful of any such transgressions, either in thought or deed,
and avoid the occasions of sin.”
“Yes, Father.” Leo tried to remember what an “occasion of sin” was from his catechism
class.
“For your penance say three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys and make a good act of
contrition.”
“Yes, Father. Oh my God I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and …”

Leo rattled off the prayer as he had done since he was seven. He rose and pushed through
the curtain, feeling light, a great weight having been lifted, his sins washed away and God’s
grace flowing into his soul once again. But as he made his way back to the pew and his family, a
cold fear tightened his chest. Would he feel that way again about a boy? Was it a one-time thing,
something natural that boys go through? Should he stay away from Weiner? Was his friend, in
fact, an occasion of sin?

Reaching the pew he climbed over his sister, knelt, and focused on saying his penance,
the prayers forcing out other thoughts. But fear firmly implanted itself within him, and that night before sleep, visions of the sun-drenched clearing returned and he struggled to rid them from his
mind.

Leo’s fear of being homosexual faded to an occasional outburst, replaced by good old-
fashioned lust for women. In the years to come, he made many trips to the confessional,
mumbling to some supposedly celibate priest his sins of licentious thoughts, self-abuse, and later
actual sex. But it got harder and harder for Leo to feel “heartily sorry” about any of it.

When he thought about the clearing and Weiner, he inwardly cringed and felt disgusted.
This revulsion morphed into a distrust and resentment of gay people. After all, if he could see the
error of his ways, why couldn’t they? They must be weak, or worse, Godless with no moral
compass.
***
In his early forties, Leo became a partner in an environmental consulting firm. Life had
been good: he’d avoided the Vietnam War and married Louisa, a woman he’d met at UCLA and
loved dearly. They had the requisite three children and with two professional incomes could
afford to live and raise a family in Santa Barbara.

Leo never told Louisa about the clearing or Weiner. His childhood friend had faded into
the past, barely remembered as a face in a crowd of school kids banging lockers shut and
hurrying down hallways. But he did remember something from his Catholic education, a
fragment from an epistle written by St. Paul to the Corinthians, “When I was a child, I used to
speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things.” Leo told himself that the clearing and Weiner were childish things that should
be forgotten or at least repressed. Over time, his efforts failed.

A week or so before Easter, Leo volunteered to help interview people for an engineering
position with the firm. As senior member of a five-person panel, he sat in an airless room, behind
a table in a three-piece suit, and helped question each candidate. The hours dragged. All the
applicants seemed to have studied proper interview etiquette from the same playbook, with no
standouts, until the very end.

As the young man seated himself, Leo opened his folder and stared at his resume. His
name was Oscar and he had grown up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

“So tell us why you applied for this job?” the first interviewer asked.

Oscar answered. His voice had a musical lilt, not rushed but thoughtful, and yet firm. Leo
studied the man: dove gray three-piece suit, light rose colored shirt, burgundy print necktie, gold
cufflinks, manicured fingernails, perfectly coiffed blond hair.

“Tell us something about your work history and what abilities you could bring to this
firm?” the second interviewer asked.

Leo didn’t listen to the answer. His mind drifted back to the clearing, to the other Oscar.
He shuddered, trying to shake the image. This man looked nothing like Weiner. Yet he knew this
Oscar was gay. How did he know that? How could he know that? And why would it matter?

It was Leo’s turn to ask a question. “Do you have family here in Santa Barbara?”
“No. My partner and I just moved here.”
“Your partner?”

The other interviewers glared at Leo, knowing that these questions were unscripted and
might get the firm in trouble.

“Yes. My partner was just hired by the City.”
“Really. What department?”
More stern looks from the other panel members.
“Public Works.”
“Well, having some connection to the City could be an asset to our firm,” Leo said. “How
do you like Santa Barbara?”

Oscar relaxed in his chair. “I love this community, the mountains and the sea, the Spanish
architecture, no snow.” He chuckled. “And the people seem friendly and . . . and more
accepting.”

“Different than the last place you lived?”
“Oh God, yes. The AIDs scare really shook that community and anyone that was . . . was
gay was looked on as some kind of leper, like in Biblical times.”
“But even Jesus befriended the lepers,” Leo said.
“Yes, he did. But I’m not certain mainstream America is ready yet. Maybe someday.”
“Yes, maybe.”

Before Leo could ask anything else, the other members jumped in with the normal and
safe questions. Afterward, they discussed the eight candidates and argued about who should get
the job. Leo pushed hard to hire Oscar and after an hour, he’d won over the two holdouts. Oscar
became the panel’s unanimous choice.

Leo kept staring at the new-hire’s resume, wondering how a morally questionable person
could be so successful, so poised and adroit, so accomplished in his profession. But then, did
Oscar’s gayness matter? Why did it matter to Leo? Was he threatened by it? Did his religious eliefs allow him to judge? And what about “Judge not, least ye be judged”? Judging others
seemed so natural to Leo. But maybe it shouldn’t.

As a partner, Leo seldom made contact with Oscar. But two months after the young man
was hired, they found themselves in the break room drinking excremental coffee.

Leo cleared his throat. “I . . . I wanted to tell you that you were very brave during your
interview – telling us you were gay.”
“I know it was a risky thing to do. But I didn’t want to hide anything. I figured if the
interview panel couldn’t accept me, then maybe I didn’t want to work here.”
“Well, we’re glad you’re here.”
“So am I. But I have to ask, did you hire me because I’m the best person for the job or to
convince yourselves that you accept gays in the workplace?”
Leo grinned. “For me it was both.”
“Thanks for telling me. And by the way, you asked the best questions.”
***
Children moved away and begat grandchildren, fulfilling careers became repetitive work,
bodies deteriorated, life goals simplified, lives slowed and some stopped.

On Sunday, Leo left his car in the parking garage and hobbled to his favorite restaurant
on State Street. Tourists crowded Santa Barbara’s main boulevard, searching for eateries to enjoy
brunch and hide from the hot Santa Ana winds. Leo ducked into a dark and cool café. It had been Louisa’s favorite and ever since his wife’s death he made it a point to eat there on Sundays. He’d
stake out the corner stool at the bar, have a glass of wine then a couple Bloody Marys, watch the
big screen TV and shoot the bull with the other old men and women who showed up on Sundays.

But today was different. With wobbly legs, he leaned on his cane and stared around the
room. A crowd of young people occupied every barstool, with all the tables and booths filled.

Francisco, the bartender, grinned. “Sorry, Leo. Something should open up soon. You
want a glass of wine while you wait? On the house.”
“Thanks, some Chardonnay would be nice.”

Leo tasted the cold golden elixir and scanned the room, looking for familiar faces and
finding none. Two middle-aged men sat at a table against one wall, leaning back in their chairs
and sipping something dark from martini glasses. The taller one caught Leo staring. He smiled
and waved Leo over, pointing at an empty chair.

Leo felt wary about joining them. He was positive that he didn’t know them, and no
stranger had ever offered to share a table before. But his legs were giving out. He shuffled to
their spot. The tall one spoke first.

“You look tired, old man. Would you like to join us?”
“I . . . I would. My pipes are killing me.” Leo gulped his wine, slumped onto the chair
and adjusted his jeans and ratty denim jacket, feeling self-conscious about his scruffy clothes
compared to his tablemates. The two looked like they’d just come from church, wearing their
Sunday best. Leo hadn’t been to church in years.
“My name is Sheldon,” the taller one said.
“And I’m Cooper,” the other chimed in.

“Glad to meet you gentlemen. I’m Leo. Say . . . Sheldon Cooper. Isn’t that the name of a
character on that TV sitcom?”
“Yes, yes, we get that all the time,” Cooper said. “But the guy playing that part is so
flaming. It hurts just to listen to him sometimes.”
“Flaming?” Leo raised an eyebrow.
“You know, super gay. We’re gay but that guy just gets on my nerves. The writers should
have butched him up before he married that woman in the series.”
“Yes, I always thought that was strange,” Leo said.
“You don’t think we’re strange?” Sheldon asked. He had reached across the table and
taken Cooper’s hand.
“No, no. I don’t know you fellas.” He stared at his empty wine glass and sighed. “But . . .
but when I was a boy I was scared that I might be gay.”
“Why?“ Cooper asked.
“There was an incident and it has stuck in my head.”
“Let me guess,” Sheldon said. “You lusted after some boy?”
“Well . . . ”
“Relax, we’ve all been there. But few have done something about it. You didn’t do
anything did you?”
“The priest I was confessing my sins to asked me the same question, seventy years ago.”

Sheldon laughed. “Don’t get me started about priests.”

The silence grew. The duo sipped their drinks, with Leo thinking back to that afternoon
in the clearing with Weiner. Was it just a flash of hormones? But why would it stick in my head
for all these years?

“Will . . . will my questions ever go away?” he murmured.
“Probably not,” Cooper said. “But don’t worry about it. The questions shouldn’t stop you
from drinking life to the lees.”

Leo nodded. The silence grew again. He tilted his wine glass back and frowned when he
found it empty. Sheldon raised an arm and signaled Francisco to bring another round.

Finally, Leo asked, “So . . . so what do you guys do?”
Cooper answered. “We’re fashion designers up from LA. Taking a break. And you?”
“A retired engineer . . . living the good life, you know.”
Cooper smiled. “I would have pegged you as some old rancher, in town to enjoy the big
city lights.”
“Yes, I kinda dress the part. I wore Armani suits to work for years. Thought I’d try a
different tack.”
“So I take it you don’t have many gay friends,” Cooper said.
“None that I know of. And in the old days it seemed that few wanted to come out. My
family lived next door to a guy for thirty years and we never knew.”

Sheldon grinned. “Yeah, coming out to my parents was the worst. Mother probably knew
all along but Dad just freaked out. We used to do all the manly things together: sports, camping,
playing poker, shooting guns, all that stuff. But over the years he’s learned that we’re not Satan
out to corrupt anyone’s soul.”

“I think the old priest that I confessed to would disagree with you.”
“They should talk. Let he who has not sinned . . . ” Cooper said and the pair of them
laughed.

From across the room Francisco motioned to Leo that a space had opened up at the bar.
Leo grinned and shook his head. He thought about the clearing, without the coldness that usually
accompanied such reflections. The clearing was clearing up, and for the first time he felt he
might be able to live with those nagging unanswered questions.

It was raining, but Isaac Walsh wasn’t surprised. It was always raining. They’d had rain continuously for years, without relief. Remarkable, wasn’t it? He’d said so to Anne just this morning, but she’d only laughed in that careless way of hers, like wasn’t he an odd duck, thinking such things.

Anyway, the rain wasn’t so bad, though it made his joints ache—as a young man, he’d thought that was a myth. It was still nice to sit by the front window with a book in his lap and watch the puddles down on the sidewalk spread and ebb, spilling over. Kids skipping through them, dogs sniffing at bloated worms. The occasional cardinal at the birdfeeder. The book in his lap was beside the point. Isaac had been reading the same one for years, too. For at least as long as it had been raining. Something by Wendell Berry, with trees on the cover. Pretty ones, across a yellow field.

He turned the page experimentally, the paper making that shivery sound. It was grainy under his fingers and the sentence at the top of the next page was an interesting one. Oh yes. Interesting. Outside the window, a bedraggled sparrow hopped onto the perch of the red birdfeeder. Anne filled it with seed every day. The sparrow cocked its head at Isaac, like it had asked him a question, but if it had, he hadn’t been able to hear it through the pane.

That was the sort of observation that made Anne laugh. An odd duck. He tried turning the page again. Interesting.

Somewhere, a hammer hit nails. Or was it thunder? No, of course not, someone at the door. Over the sound of the rain, it had taken him a while to realize. He pulled himself to his feet.

“Coming! Just a minute.”

God, his back ached, and his voice felt like scratchy wool. Through the window, the sodden sparrow took flight.

The lock took him a minute, getting it turned right. When the door opened, there was a young man on the porch, wearing a blue raincoat and big glasses. A paper bag cradled in his arms had turned soggy and torn in several spots. With the hood of the raincoat up, it was hard to tell, but he looked like…

“Morning, Mr. Walsh. Got your groceries. You all right?”

Hearing the voice did it. Toady, that was the boy’s name. Toby, rather. A good one, if a bit odd himself. Laughed at strange things. Birds of a feather, they said, didn’t they. He remembered the sparrow and felt suddenly and unaccountably sad. But Toby looked worried now, so he must have been expecting something. An answer.

“Yes, yes.” Isaac stifled a cough. God, it was cold out here, the dampness getting in his bones. “Fine, thanks. Bring ’em in.”

The door shut too hard behind them, making Toby jump. Anne was always doing that, too. Something about the set of the hinges. Isaac’s chuckle turned into another deep cough.

“Are you sure you feel all right, Mr. Walsh?”

A good one, that was for sure. Better than some of the kids they’d sent at any rate. “Don’t you plan on getting old, Toby?”

The boy smiled sheepishly, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. A can of soup escaped one of the tears and almost rolled off the edge before he caught it. Good reflexes. “It’s Tony, Mr. Walsh. Did you remember about your appointment?”

“Anne can take me.” His calendar was on the fridge. He peered closer at it. Lots of empty squares. It was probably one of the damned doctors, trying to kill him, though they’d not succeeded yet.

“I’ll just clean up a bit, then we can go,” Toby said. “You can sit down.”

That sounded fair enough. Isaac made his way back to the chair by the front window, as the boy set to scrubbing and clattering around the kitchen. Putting everything in the wrong places, no doubt. Anne would have a fit when she got back. There was always an order to things, for her, but good luck figuring it out. Once she’d thrown a bowl across the room, when he’d left it in one cabinet instead of on another shelf for the umpteenth time. Or had it been the other way around? Didn’t matter, anyway.

He’d hardly sat down when the front door opened and shut behind him. Then someone in a blue raincoat was out in the yard, right by the window. Big bag of birdseed against their feet, scooping it up into the feeder. It was hard to tell through the rain-smeared glass, with his eyes all fuzzy now, but it didn’t look like Anne. Where had his glasses gone? Anyway, he didn’t think she had a blue coat like that. Isaac almost called out to the trespasser, just so they’d know he was watching, so as not to do any funny business. But they were filling the birdfeeder, weren’t they? Couldn’t be all bad then. The raincoat turned and smiled, waved. Young, glasses, curly brown hair. Looked just like, just like…

But then he was gone. The front door opened, shut too hard. It was always doing that, something about the hinges.

“You ready, Mr. Walsh? Anything you want me to bring for you?”

Hearing the voice, he knew, though the name still eluded him. Slippery things, names. Like birds. He turned in his chair and nearly tipped it, before Toby was there, balancing it and helping him up.

That was it: Toby, of course. The odd duck.

“I got your keys,” the boy said. “And your papers. Let’s go.”

“Is it still raining?” Isaac asked.

“That’s right, Mr. Walsh.”

No surprise. It had been raining for years. He coughed. “Remarkable, isn’t it.”

Toby walked with him to the door and helped him into his boots, his old brown coat. It still smelled like cigarettes, though he hadn’t smoked in what, twenty years? More. It was warm, though, and the pockets were full of memories. He’d worn it on the last trip he and Anne had taken, a cruise around Norway. At night, the stars were so close and numerous you could almost touch them. It was cold, like today, though the air there was breathless and dry.

He clung to the railing to get down the porch steps, but on the sidewalk it was easier. Little worms and fallen leaves clung to the pavement. The puddles looked bottomless as wells, but when he stepped in them they only splashed and sputtered.

“Stay dry, please, Mr. Walsh,” said Toby, laughing. His car was on the street right ahead, a little blue thing, looked like it would blow away in a storm. Same color as the boy’s raincoat.

“Where are we going?” Isaac asked.

“Dr. Gomez, remember? Just a check up. You’ve been taking your pills, right?”

He got into the car, his knees practically against his chest. Everything was plastic inside. “Don’t make cars anymore.”

“What?” Toby laughed again.

“Coffins,” Isaac muttered. That was what they made, these days. Cheap plastic coffins.

They pulled into the road. Houses rolled by, white and gray and brick-red walls, leafless trees, flashes of cloud. The whole brilliant world. When he was young, he’d never stopped to look at it, really. Too busy living. Loving.

“You in love, Toby?” he asked.

The boy seemed taken aback. “Sure. Maybe.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know, we’ve only been together a little while. Taking it slow.” He steered casually, one hand on the wheel. It made Isaac nervous so he looked out the window instead. A woman rode on a bicycle, careless of the rain. A dog howled behind a chain-link fence.

“Slow,” he said. “That’s good. What’s her name?”

“Anne,” the boy said, which confused Isaac. Maybe it was a joke. He repeated the name, as a question.

“No.” Toby spoke a little louder. “Ryan. I said Ryan, Mr. Walsh.”

Funny, the way he said it, like a challenge. A little defiant, but also wary. Though Isaac had never been one to care about queers doing what they pleased, and who the hell was it hurting, anyway. Anne had grown up Evangelical. Still didn’t find such things acceptable, although she’d stopped talking about it nowadays. Everyone was a product of their life, weren’t they. Oh yes. You just had to get by.

“Ryan,” Isaac repeated. “Good name.”

“Thanks,” Toby said. They got to a stop light, sparkling red on the wet street. A vulture squated on the metal limb of the light, dark and motionless.

“Damn reaper,” Isaac muttered, but Toby didn’t seem to hear. He coughed. “How’d you meet him?”

“On an app. Just, you know, online. How about you? You were married, right?”

The vulture seemed to be watching. Lonely black eyes, but kind. Then they were moving and it was gone. What was it Ryan had asked him? No, Toby. He’d asked about marriage, hadn’t he?

“Yes,” Isaac said. “We met in college. June, uh, junior year. She was in accounting. Family didn’t want her to go. She fought the whole way.”

“Must have been a tough lady.”

“Oh yes.” A chuckle snuck up on him, making him shake. He could still see her as she’d been that first day, lonely on the fringe of a party. They’d hardly spoken, but he’d recognized her a couple of days later, after classes, and they’d fallen into a conversation that lasted most of the night. Philosophy, which they were both taking as an elective. Religion. Art. Family.

“Yes, that’s Anne,” he said. “Tough. Your Ryan, what’s he…”

“He’s a teacher. Math, over at Cherry Hill, the high school. It’s hard work.”

“Kids,” Isaac agreed. “Little devils, aren’t they.”

Toby laughed again. “Yeah. The stories he tells, man. It’s like a battle.”

“Yes. You do love him, don’t you?”

There was a long silence between them, only the hum and rattle of the car.

“I guess so, Mr. Walsh. I think so.”

A song was playing in the corner of his mind: It makes the world go round, love and only—

“You think so? What, you don’t know how you feel about it?”

—and only love, it can’t be denied.

He was an odd one, Toby. Odd duck. Funny sense of humor, and now he was laughing again. Out the window, the suburbs opened into a bare field, dark trees, like on the cover of that book he’d been reading. Farther back, an old brick farmhouse. He’d driven by here a million times and always wondered who lived there.

No matter what you think about it—

“You all right?”

Toby must have asked him something, and now his back hurt from the sitting. He cleared his throat. “What?”

“I asked how you knew, when you met your wife. Must have been something special.”

—you just won’t be able to do without it. Who was that? Neil Young? No. Dylan, that was it, he was almost certain.

“Special,” he repeated. “I don’t know the words. We were so different back then, but it didn’t matter if we agreed on this or that, you know. It was just right. Like in the song.”

“What song?” Toby said, but Isaac couldn’t remember the name. He’d ask Anne when he got home, she always knew those things. They fit that way.

God, he missed her.

Into the silence, the man sang: Take a tip from one who’s tried.

They passed a powerline, a whole flock of sparrows balanced along the wires. It had stopped raining for the moment, hadn’t it? Finally, after all this time. He tried to count the birds as they went by but it was hopeless. Each one was only a thin scratch along the sky.

“Beautiful,” he said, knowing it might sound odd.

“What is?” Toby asked. No surprise there. The young were always distracted, always hurrying past the truth.

At least Anne understood.

END

I just got off the phone with Hannah … and I’m exhausted. I haven’t been this ‘done in’ since our last conversation — if you can call a monologue a conversation. Because that’s what my conversations with my sister always are. I talk and, I imagine, she listens. It’s not that I want — or need — to talk, but Hannah doesn’t — want or need; I haven’t been able to discern which, perhaps both. I tell her about all the things that are going on in my life, but there’s rarely a remark, not to mention a reply or a question on Hannah’s part.
Silence. I get a lot of silences.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy talking, but I do need to have a break now and then. I’ve often wondered if Hannah has anything going on in her life to tell me, thus the reason for her silences? It’s caused me to think: How can I get my sister to participate in our conversations?

Emma, the 17-year-old helper in our stables, overheard me complain about Hannah to my wife.
“Encourage Hannah to join Instagram,” Emma advised me.
“Instagram? Why Instagram?” I asked, as I didn’t know a thing about the app.
“People go on Instagram to tell the world all about themselves,” Emma explained.
“And … people care?” I wondered.
“That’s not the point,” Emma said.
“If that’s not the reason, then why do they go on Instagram?”
“People love to talk about themselves, don’t you get it? On Instagram, that’s all anyone does; they tell you everything about themselves,” Emma informed me. “On Instagram, people can make up stories — about their lives, who they hang out with, even about their sex life.”
Emma was giving me a real-life education.

“But, Emma, I don’t believe my sister has much, if anything, to tell people.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Being on Instagram is like make-believe. People create the life
they wished they had — but don’t. It gives them a weird kind of satisfaction and even happiness, thinking they really are living this life they’ve made up. They tell you things that never happened, even about people who don’t exist. Everyone does it. People think that it makes them more interesting than they really are … or so they believe.”
“Emma, to tell people one hardly knows things about themselves that could possibly be — in many cases are — exaggerations or outright fantasies — had never occurred to me.”
“Aaron, you’re a writer. Think of Instagram posts as creative nonfiction. Why don’t you ask your sister to come over; I’ll talk to her about what I’ve just told you. If your sister agrees, I think you should be there when we talk. You could use a little help too.”
“This should be fun,” Emma said during the first meeting with Hannah.

“It will give you an outlet to say whatever is in — and on — your mind. Do you have a boyfriend?” she asked Hannah.
“Sorta,” Hannah said.
I looked at Hannah. She never mentioned a boyfriend to me.
“Do you like him?”

Hannah hesitated, as if by admitting that she did, would be letting out her secret thoughts
— to a stranger, not to mention to me.
“I take it that by hesitating, you do,” Emma said, answering her own question for Hannah. “Have you had sex with him?”

Hannah blushed, a deep crimson, but I saw her lips curl into a smile.
“I’m assuming by the expression on your face, that you have,” Emma said. “Good; a good start. Now, is the sex satisfying … and by this, I mean do your orgasms make you scream and thump his chest with your fists?”
As Emma said scream and hit his chest with her fists, Hannah began to cough, almost choke. I quickly got her a glass of water; I needed one too.
“Great. I’m beginning to see a lot of material for Instagram. Is the relationship exclusive? By this I mean, neither of you has sex with anyone else.”
There was a painfully long pause before Hannah answered.
“For me, he’s the only one ….”
“Can I assume that that is not the case for him?” Emma asked.
Hannah looked away, then down at her hands. She changed positions in her chair, obviously uncomfortable. I was becoming uncomfortable as well.
“Hannah, I’m asking this because it’s not uncommon for one party in a relationship to be
fooling around, either with or without the knowledge of the other party. If your boyfriend is
having sex with another girl, do you want him to stop … and only have sex with you?”
“Yes,” Hannah answered without hesitation.
“And, you’re concerned that if you tell him this, he might dump you for the other girl?”
“Yes,” Hannah said in a whisper.
“Okay. You’re going to make him jealous.”
“How?” Hannah asked, looking up, her face suddenly resembling a 16-year-old.

“I’m assuming your boyfriend uses Instagram, since everyone — except your brother here ….”
“I don’t,” Hannah told her.
“You will … with my help,” Emma said. “Now, we’re going to set you up with an Instagram account. Then, you’ll post that you met this simply divine hunk ….”
“But, I haven’t,” Hannah said.
“You will … in your posting on Instagram. As I told your brother, you needn’t be truthful on Instagram. Hardly anyone is, and, more to the point, no one expects that the posts they read are, in fact, the truth,” Emma informed my sister.
“You mean, the hunk you were referring to doesn’t have to exist?” Hannah asked in total disbelief.
“Exactly,” Emma told her, “… except in your imagination. His name — what should we call him?”
“Mike?” Hannah suggested.
“Too blah. We need a name that suggests … virile masculinity. Chad … or Rod ….”
“What about Pearson?” Hannah suggested. “I once knew a boy with that name, in school.”
“You gotta be kidding,” Emma giggled. “To me, Pearson suggest a school principal, not a virile hunk. Now, let’s get down to bare tacks. I’ll click on the app … there it is. I’ll let you fill in the information it needs while I clean the stalls, otherwise your brother here might fire me,” Emma laughed.

An hour later, Emma returned.

“Let’s see,” and Emma reviewed Hannah application for the Instagram app. “Good. Have
you given any thought to your new potential lover?” she asked Hannah.
“I like the name you suggested, Rod,” Hannah told her.
“Before you meet him, we have to make sure your current lover — what’s his name?”
“Melvin,” Hannah told her.
“Okay. Tell Melvin that you now have an Instagram account ….”
“Why?” Hannah asked.
“So that he reads what you’re going to post, otherwise how will he know that Rod has entered your life. Speak to Melvin tonight and casually mention that you’re on Instagram. You and I will meet tomorrow and start posting, okay?” and Emma returned to cleaning the stalls.
“So, what do you think?” I asked Hannah after Emma left.
“I don’t know, Aaron. It sounds so … creepy.”
“It’s exciting, Hannah. A new adventure for you.”

The following morning, after Emma had finished her stall chores, the three of us met.
“Did you tell Melvin?” Emma asked Hannah.
“Yeah. He was surprised.”
“Well, he’s in for more surprises. Today, you’ll post that you were shopping in the supermarket and dropped a container of … what do you normally buy that comes in a breakable container?” Emma asked.
“Orange juice. The brand I buy comes in a glass bottle,” Hannah told her.

“You dropped your bottle of orange juice — very embarrassing — and this fellow came over and helped you clean it up before the store personnel said they would take care of it. The fellow and you started chatting; he told you his name was Rod. You continued shopping together and he suggested the two of you have coffee at the Starbucks next door. How’s that for a starter? Melvin’s ears should perk up. When you speak with him tonight, I bet he’s going to make some remark … and I doubt it’ll be complementary.”

When the three of us met two mornings later, Hannah looked different: she had on makeup.
“You look smart,” I told her.
“I asked my best friend Betsy if I could borrow her stuff. Like it?” Hannah asked.
“It suits you, sis. Why not buy your own … if you think you’ll be using it regularly, that is,” I suggested.
“Hi guys.,” Emma greeted us pushing a wheelbarrow filled with manure and shavings.
“Wow, Hannah, you look … terrific. I bet it won’t take Rod long before …. Well, let’s not put the horse before the cart, as your brother here told me when I first started working for him. Did you speak with Melvin last night?”
“Yes ….”
“And?”
“I got the impression that he didn’t like that I had coffee with … Rod,” Hannah told us.

“Good. Now, you’re going to have lunch with Rod. I assume you exchanged numbers?”

When Hannah nodded, Emma continued. “Nothing too intimate, but sufficiently quiet and cozy to be intriguing. He asked you to meet him at The Chelsea Grill; how’s that?”
“I like the place. It reminds me of a New York Soho restaurant. I haven’t been there with Melvin as he only eats steak and potatoes which The Chelsea Grill rarely offers.”
“So, it’s doubtful that he’ll see you there. Now, what’ll you wear, and what will Rod wear?”
“Well, I have this skirt and matching blouse that Melvin thinks is pretty ….”
“No; absolutely not,” Emma said emphatically. “What you wear when you meet Rod must be something Melvin has never seen on you … and it must be revealing.” When Emma said this, I saw Hannah blush once more. “Cleavage — wear something with a modest cleavage, and slacks. I personally don’t like them, but guys go crazy over women in slacks ….”
“But ….”
“As for Rod …. Let’s say he’s just over six-foot, wears his dirty blond hair somewhat on the long side, looks like he has a 6:00 shadow — that’s sexy — and his jeans ride low on his hips. How does that sound?”
Hannah left smiling. I couldn’t wait to hear about Melvin’s reaction.

When we met the following day, I almost didn’t recognize my sister. She had a new hairstyle — one with highlights — and was wearing a cashmere V-neck that was quite … well, revealing, and a pair of slacks that showed off a slim waist and … well-rounded … derrière, and heels! She looked like a new person.

“From the smirk on your face, Aaron, I take it you like what you see,” she smiled.
“Like? I love it; you look smashing.”
“He’s … hot,” she told me in an undertone. “I never thought I would say that about any guy, but Rod is … hot.”
I was beginning to enjoy my sister’s imagination. I couldn’t wait for her next post.
“Hannah, is that you?” Emma asked when she joined us. “Well, tell us what Melvin thought of you having lunch with your virile hunk.”
“He hung up on me. I thought he was going to suggest we have dinner together, but suddenly the connection went dead.”
When Hannah told us this, both Emma and I roared with laughter.
“You let your line out and caught the fish, Hannah. Now we have to reel him in,” Emma told her.
“Are you referring to Melvin or Rod?” Hannah asked.
I was not a little confused by her question. Melvin was her boyfriend, — or that’s what I thought he was, whereas Rod was make-believe. Was my sister staring to hallucinate?
“You told us that Rod works out at the gym several times a week ….”
“Melvin abhors exercise; he never goes to a gym,” Hannah informed us.
“Good. In today’s post you’ll tell everyone that Rod asked you to workout with him … and that the two of you pumped iron — use those words,” Emma instructed Hannah.

Hannah arrived flushed but happy when the three of us met the day after.

“Rod really looks great in gym shorts and a tank top,” she announced before Emma or could say anything. I was beginning to believe that my sister was developing an imagination, that she was catching on to Emma’s teaching. “And, helpful. When I had difficulty lifting the 5- pound barbell, Rod stood in back of me and, leaning forward, lifted it with me.”
Emma and I looked at one another, question marks imprinted on our eyeballs.
“What did you … and Rod … do after the gym?” Emma asked as she hadn’t mentioned another post for post-gym activity.
“We went for a drink.”
“Where?” I asked. I was becoming fascinated by Hannah’s creative powers.
“Rod suggested the Ball & Chains ….”
“Wow,” Emma let out. “That’s the hottest place in town.”
Surprised, I stared at my employee. Emma looked older than her seventeen years; she must use a fake ID, I thought.
“Did Rod take you back to his place?” Emma asked.
“Emma!” Hannah looked shocked at the suggestion. “It was our first date. He dropped me off at my apartment … but we spoke later, before I went to bed.”
Now I was wondering what romantic novel my sister was reading.
“Okay, it’s time for Melvin to declare his faithfulness, and what I mean by that is he’s got to tell you that you’re the only one and break off with the other woman,” Emma told Hannah.
“I can’t tonight ….”
“Why?” Emma asked. “You’ve got to reel Melvin in while he’s on the hook.”
“Rod’s coming over tonight. I told him I’d cook dinner and he said he’d love to.”

I spent a restless night, thinking about Hannah and her Instagram boyfriend. While I never liked Melvin, at least he was a real person.
“Grilled salmon steaks,” Hannah told us the morning after her “date” with Rod.
“You grilled salmon steaks?” I said, incredulously. “Since when do you cook?”
“You know I don’t, so I called Rosie ….”
“Mom’s cook?” I asked.
“She walked me through it, even loaning me a Martha Stewart’s cookbook for the mustard sauce. Rod loved it; asked for seconds. I served it with Veuve Clicquot … that I borrowed from your wine cellar, Aaron.”
When Hannah left, as she told us she was meeting Rod for coffee at The Black Cap, I said to Emma,
“I’m beginning to believe my sister has entered a fantasy world.”
“She has, Aaron. That’s Instagram. She’s a fast learner, but isn’t it wonderful? I mean, look at her; a completely different person than the sister you introduced me to a few days ago.”
Emma went back to cleaning the horse stalls and I called my mother’s cook.
“Rosie, Hannah told me you gave her help to cook grilled salmon. I just wondered…”
“She called me while I was preparing your mother’s dinner and I told her exactly how to prepare the fish and how to grill it. I sent Albert over with all the ingredients, including two salmon steaks that I was going to cook tomorrow night. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. I was just checking because she’s never cooked in her life, that’s all.”

That night I had to take a sleeping pill. Had I created an even bigger problem than a non-conversant sister?

Over the week that followed, Emma gave Hannah new posts every day, but Hannah always seemed to be one step ahead of her. Melvin appeared to be panting after Hannah but my sister kept him somewhat at arm’s length, making one excuse after another as though she were avoiding him — at least, that’s what I thought. Then, Emma gave her the post that would be the coup de grace.
“Say that you’ve purchased the most divine negligee and that you can’t wait for Rod to
see you in it,” she instructed Hannah.
“I already have ….”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“I saw this fabulous ‘thing’ at Bergdorf’s — a deep rose-pink trimmed in Brussels lace
that didn’t leave much to anyone’s imagination — that I’ll put on tonight ….”
“Is Melvin sleeping over?” I asked.
“Melvin? Ever since we had coffee after he helped me clean up the broken orange juice
container in the supermarket, Rod’s been asking when he could stay over. I held out … until
tonight.”
Hannah left, to prepare. I pulled Emma aside as I needed to talk with her.
“Emma, to me, Hannah has mixed reality with her fantasies and now doesn’t know one from the other.”

“But that’s what Instagram is all about, Aaron. When we first talked about my helping
Hannah, I told you to think of Instagram as creative nonfiction.”
I couldn’t but dwell on what Hannah had told me — that she had invited Rod to spend the night — and what Emma said — that blending fantasy with reality is what makes Instagram so popular. I tossed and turned all night.
The next morning, I encountered one of Hannah’s neighbors who lives in the apartment
adjacent to my sister’s.
“Aaron, I just bumped into this 6-foot virile hunk with long dirty-blond hair wearing hip-hugging jeans and a tank top, leaving your sister’s apartment,” she winked. “Said his name was Rod.”

Paul looked at Kate with her hands on her hips as she glared at him. Her face was framed in her shoulder length brunette hair with bangs set just above her eyebrows. Paul was eight years old, and Kate was thirteen. She was wearing jeans and a green T-shirt. “You know why we hate you?” she said. “It’s because you are so different.” Paul nodded, David and Jonas were called willows by the other boys on the street and at school. Paul was sporty, fast and too smart for his own good. “You don’t even have any heart problems,” continued Kate. The rest had heart murmurs and other issues. “You know why you’re like that?” asked Kate. “It’s because you’re adopted. I think Mom just took you from somewhere.” Paul nodded again, as he had heard the story from their mother. “Mom and Dad just left and were away for a week and then they brought you back. Mom didn’t even get big before you came. She can’t ever say you were hers,” said Kate. She shook her head and walked away. Paul had heard the story about how they brought him home, but never heard how their mother wasn’t big, pregnant before.

Spring always comes late when you live at high altitude, like Paul’s childhood town, Hinton. Paul never liked the changing of seasons after the long winters. The warm west winds had come and gone during the long winter as Chinooks that made the snow wet and heavy. Building forts and sledding never grew boring for him. Paul hated the melting excrement that had to be avoided as he walked to the playground that was half a block from their house. There was mud everywhere, and the trip to playground was always a disappointment. The seesaws, the slide and swings were in the middle of icy ponds of muddy water edged by rotting snow. Just beyond the play area was the sledding hill that was half covered in mud and the same crystallized rotting snow that was everywhere.

As Paul watched, his older brother, David, walk up to the swings in the middle of the deepest pond in the playground and climbed on. He was fifteen years old. Paul knew better than to say anything as David splashed through the water, drenching his winter coat, and filling his boots with the muddy water. David gazed at the sky vacantly.

Paul knew better than to say, you shouldn’t do that, or you’re going to get in trouble when you go home wet. At best David would repeat, as he did constantly, I’m your elder, you’re not even one of us, you’re adopted. Paul would watch, like he always did until David broke the rhythm of what he was doing, because he was too cold, or he forgot why he was doing it, or he would become aware of what he was doing it didn’t like it.

Drenched, turning white from the cold David slipped off the swing and stared at Paul.

“Why didn’t you come and swing?” David asked.

“I didn’t feel like it,” Paul replied, not wanting to provoke a more vigorous response.

David stared vacantly at Paul, shrugged, and stared at the pond, as if he just noticed it was there. David trudges to where Paul was standing.

“Let’s go to the sledding hill,” David said. Paul nodded and followed with relief as he chose to walk up the alley to the top of the hill, instead of straight through the pond at the base of the hill.

“They say I have Artism,” David said. “I have special needs.”

“What’s that?” Paul asked, unsure of what David may do or say next.

“It’s like being an artist,” he said in his expressionless tone.

“But you don’t do anything artistic,” replied Paul.

“It’s not that kind of art,” David continued, as he attempted to speak with a self-righteousness, as he had heard his mother used. “It’s like the crazy artist types-like poets. They write what no one reads, and if you read them, you can’t figure it out; it’s just crazy art. They do crazy art. Crazy art, crazy art.”

“How did they figure out you’re a poet?” Paul asked.

“They did this weird test,” replied David.

“What kind of test?”

“They made you look at strange faces, these strange faces and you tell them what’s going on.”

“So how did you pass that test?” Paul asked. David straightened his posture but continued with the same distant look.

“I couldn’t say what those people were doing, I wasn’t there when they took the picture, so how was I supposed to know?” asked David.

“Do you have to write poems now?” asked Paul.

“As long as I don’t write any poems, I’ll be all right” replied David.

“Did they tell you that?”

“I told some other guys in class, and they told me about the crazy artists, and Artism,” replied David.

The word Artism was like the word they used to describe the middle brother, Jonas as well. There was a story he told about being a poet, but they had threatened to take him away if he continued to write poems. Paul had heard Edna his adoptive mother telling him he must be careful about what he did, especially at school. Paul must never use the word they said to him, Autism, and if he was ever asked, he must tell others that he had a learning disability, but Paul was different than his brothers he wasn’t related to. There was confusion in everything they knew as the oldest, Julie was in high school, but she had a temper that would explode without warning. She had that same vacant look, which was only replaced at times with laughter or anger. There was, like her two brothers, no warning of what would happen next. Everything was literal and factual in her world.

When the two arrived at the top of the sledding hill, they could see all the lost mitts, scarves, and toques that were freed from the winter hiding places by the melting snow. David sat at the top of the hill as he would have sat on his toboggan in winter. Would he attempt to slide down the hill, through the mud and ice that remained?

“The hill’s too messy to sled,” he said.

“It’s getting a bit too dark to sled right now,” Paul said.

David stood up and stared down at his wet pants and coat. “It’s getting cold out again,” he said and turned toward home. Paul watched as Edna appeared at the door and looked at David with disgust and resignation.

*  *  *  *

Edna was absent, first with trips to the town hospital, and later to Edmonton. She would have a series of surgeries over the years due to her arthritis. Edna had always complained about her arthritis, her hips, knees and back were always in pain, and she used 222, an effective pain killer that often left her looking tired and more distant. She had been using the pain killer for years and because they were harmless, she thought, she used them through all her pregnancies. With her pain killers Edna would not notice arguments between Julie, Kate, David and Jonas and they would last long enough to erupt into scuffles. She would finally intervene, sending them in different directions.

In summer there would be rain falling from the clear sky; caused by a heat inversion warm wet air was caught above cold air from the mountain slopes. With out clouds or warning rain fell. Paul was taught about why this happened at school. He thought the way the icy cold rain fell from the clear was like what happened in the family: unexpected, sudden, and cruel.

Chores were to be carried out by the oldest, Julie, David with help from Kate. For their extra work, they would receive allowances. But it took little time before Julie and David were directing Kate, Jonas, and Paul to complete the housework, it was their job to make sure that things were done, not necessarily do it themselves, as this would be against the natural order of things. Kate worked quickly and without complaint, as she knew that there was always a time, when the task she was directed to do was done, and she could slip out the door and avoid hours of work dictated as soon as one set of work was done.

Jonas, under threat of punishment from the older ones would work continuously as well at times complaining bitterly, and at times fighting with David who would be supervising his work and doing little else. Paul followed Kate’s example and volunteered to do work that would not be where Jonas was to complete his chores. Paul would be assigned clean up of the backyard, carrying pails of trash to a burning barrel, moving rocks away from the side of the garden to the back alley. Once the task was done, Paul was gone.

Of course, when the allowance was paid out to Julie and David, that was the way it was to be. It was utterly unacceptable to have Kate, Jonas, or Paul receive the money, as the work was to be done by Julie and David, and when the chores were clearly complete, it was in fact those two who must have done it.