by Betty Culley
is pretending
to be responsible.
I reach out and touch
a piece of his hair.
It feels dry and warm
in my hand.
It doesn’t feel like
a science experiment.
O Man
In the stupidest mistake
ever,
the Oxygen Services Home Delivery truck
turns into
Number 24
instead of
Number 23.
Gwen comes out
(in her bathrobe)
frantically waving
the truck
away.
Does she think
O
is contagious?
The man who carries
the O machine
into the house
asks us where we want to put it.
It comes with twenty feet of
tubing
and makes a rumbling noise
and a hissing sound
when it’s turned on.
It’s like a magic trick—
the O machine
pulls O
out of the air
and sends it through
the plastic tubing
right to Jonah.
The man also brings
green metal canisters of O.
These are portable—
good for short trips
or outings, he says.
Like Jonah would be packing
a lunch
of O
for on-the-go.
When you use O,
you need another machine.
I call it Fire Alarm.
It screeches when Jonah’s O
is low.
Bad timing.
Mom comes home
when the O man
is still here.
What’s all this?
Mom stares at the O machine
like it’s a piece of furniture
that was delivered
by mistake.
Her finger is rubbing
a tooth again, and
an ugg ugg sound
comes out of her mouth.
The O man looks
startled.
It’s your oxygen
concentrator, ma’am.
Hmm, Mom says,
and turns her back on it,
the way she did
when her parents
came to visit.
I’d hear her tell Dad,
I’m not gonna ask them to leave,
but I don’t have to like
them being here.
White Noise
The school counselor
invites me in
again,
to review the results
of my audiology screening.
There is a little machine
on his desk,
smaller than the O machine,
and quieter,
making a whooshing noise.
What’s that machine called?
We have a machine at home
that sounds
a little like that,
but louder,
I tell him.
The counselor squints
at the machine.
This?
It’s just a white noise machine.
White noise?
I never imagined noise
as a color.
For privacy, Liv.
Anyway, your results
showed excellent hearing abilities.
Yes, the woman told me.
I hear as good as a bat
or a dog or something,
some animal.
So what is next?
Colleges do care about
sophomore-year grades.
It’s not like there’s money
for college.
And I’ve been thinking,
I’d like to do something
different—
something
with my hands.
I tap the top
of the counselor’s
wooden desk.
The counselor looks down
at my hands.
For a counselor,
he is slow to understand.
Then he does.
YES YES, HANDS-ON,
the counselor says
really loud,
like he’s figured me out.
I check
to see if the
white noise machine
gets louder
when he shouts.
It doesn’t.
I can look into that.
See if there are any spaces
available
in our tech programs.
Do you have a
personal preference, Liv?
Automotive technology
Welding
Electrical
Construction
Culinary arts
The programs are geared
toward work in those fields.
And of course there is not
just hands-on training,
but also an academic component.
I tap the desk again.
If I knew Morse code,
I could tap out
my answers,
help him understand.
Hmm.
Automotive, maybe.
I am pretty good with
machines.
And just to prove it,
I reach out and turn off
the white noise machine.
Rooms
After the accident,
after Jonah came home,
we all switched rooms.
Jonah’s room off the kitchen
is tiny.
Dad said it was
a pantry
or summer kitchen
or woodshed—
something
old-timey
that got turned into a bedroom.
Jonah’s room was too small
for the nurses
and machines,
so he got the living room.
Mom and Dad’s room
upstairs
is the big one
facing the street
and Clay’s house.
Mom wouldn’t sleep
in that room
anymore,
so she took mine,
in the back of the house,
the one that looks out
over the river.
You can see the train tracks
that run along the river,
though no trains
run there anymore,
and you can see
the sky over the river,
and when the leaves fall
in winter,
you can see the river.
In our backyard
there are wooden steps
going down
the steep bank
to the river,
but the path to them
is all overgrown now.
I’m glad Mom
has the river
instead of Number 24.
I have Jonah’s little room
downstairs.
When the nurses need me,
I don’t have far to go.
Daredevil
After the accident
everyone had the same question.
Did Jonah do it on purpose?
They said to Mom,
Can you tell me about your son
and why this might have happened?
At first I thought
Mom wouldn’t answer,
but then she did.
Because he’s a teenage boy.
Because he didn’t think first.
He never had time for thinking,
even as a baby.
Not when he tipped himself
out of his crib
headfirst.
Ran
straight into the swings
at the playground.
Tried to jump out of shopping carts.
Cut his head open
sledding into a tree.
I didn’t mention
the other things—
the ones Mom
doesn’t know about:
Walking the metal railing
of the train bridge
over the Kennebec.
Falling through
thin ice
in spring.
So impatient
to start his big life,
to make people laugh,
to see what would happen.
Doing anything
for a dare.
So afraid
he’d be stuck
in Maddigan, Maine,
for the rest
of his life.
No
Mom could teach
the school counselor
how to say NO
with one word.
Liv, he says,
I’m afraid those involved
raised concerns
about the vocational programs
we discussed.
It was mentioned
that a certain degree
of attention
is needed
to ensure safety.
Unfortunately,
the consensus
was that it is not
a good fit
right now.
Mom would have just said
NO.
I feel a little sorry
for the counselor.
He doesn’t
look me in the eyes.
That’s okay, I say,
I’ve got some
independent projects
that are taking up
a lot of my time
these days, anyway.
This cheers him up.
Oh, really.
What kind of projects?
Well,
for one,
I am studying the
Kennebec River,
and then
there is party planning
for Jonah’s birthday.
The counselor looks
down at his desk again.
I see.
I see.
Logs
If Dad were here,
he’d like my
Kennebec River
independent study.
I would ask him
about the logs
on the bottom
of the river.
If they’ve been
lying in river water
all this time,
why aren’t they rotted?
Is it something
about the water
that does that?
It’s like the logs
are in a time machine
down there.
When they’re brought
to the surface,
the whole world
has changed.
The Nurses Talk about Me
From Jonah’s little pantry room
off the kitchen,
I hear the nurses talking.
It is dark out
when Johnny comes
and Vivian gets ready to go.
I always leave my door
open a little.
I like how the light
from the kitchen
shines into the room.
Johnny and Vivian
talk about Jonah—
his numbers, his machines,
his sounds.
Then I hear my own name—
Liv . . . way too much . . .
responsibility . . .
what kind of a life?
what kind of mother?
hey, I think it’s her birthday
the same week . . .
let’s do it up right . . .
The small animal
inside me
I didn’t know
was there,
is there.
Wanting
Wanting
Wanting
I stop myself
from calling out—
Hey guys,
just because I wear
Hello Kitty pajamas
doesn’t mean
I want a Hello Kitty–
themed birthday.
Ditto for
unicorns.
I like cake
but honestly,
I’d rather
cupcakes.
Some people think
trick candles
are fun—
but not me.
I think now I understand
how Rainie feels
when she wants
something.
Vivian leaves
and the house
is quiet,
except for Jonah’s
machines.
I know
it’s just a birthday
and I’m not a kid
anymore.
But I’m glad
I heard them,
so I can practice
my surprised face
for Jonah’s party.
Crossing the Line
A deal is a deal
and I made a promise
to Gwen.
And she made a promise
to me.
I wait on the line
for her.
Good thing it’s a
DEAD END,
or I’d be
run over
by now.
Gwen limps to the line
on crutches.
There is an Ace bandage
around one foot.
Sorry,
I tripped on the stairs
and turned my ankle.
I don’t know
what she’s sorry for—
for being late to the line
for tripping
for hurting her ankle.
But I do like hearing the word
Sorry
come out of her mouth.
Your gun is in
the gun safe.
Your husband
is keeping it
safe.
Because of the sleeping pills
you take.
Clay told you that?
Gwen takes a step forward—
forgetting the line
forgetting the crutches
forgetting her hurt ankle.
She sways,
like she is about to topple,
and I grab her
in my arms.
Even though she is shorter
than me,
she is heavier than she looks.
Her face is on my shoulder,
her arms are around me,
her voice is in my ear.
Clay doesn’t have it.
He doesn’t have it.
He doesn’t have it.
This feels like a
hug.
Mom is not a
hugger,
and Jonah can’t
hug back.
Gwen steadies herself.
I hand her the crutches
that fell.
You wanted to know
where the gun was.
Now you know.
And don’t forget
our deal.
I look down at the road.
I realize this time
we both crossed the line.
Fudge
I wait
for the
FOR SALE
sign
on Clay’s lawn.
No sign
appears.
No moving van
comes and
loads the
Halloween decorations
from the attic,
the Bugz Away
jackets,
the GUN SAFE
and drives off
DEAD
END.
I would miss Clay,
but we’d always have
the river.
Then I see Gwen
on the line.
Only one crutch
this time,
something shiny
in her other hand.
When I get closer,
I see that the shine
is made of
aluminum foil.
The thing that’s
the strangest—
Gwen is smiling.
A real smile.
An almost hopeful smile.
Clay has the same space
between his top front teeth.
I didn’t forget the deal,
Gwen whispers
into the air
between us.
I tried,
I really did,
Clay even took my side,
but my husband won’t do it.
I want to say
that the deal was
LEAVING,
not
TRYING TO LEAVE.
Gwen’s eyes
are wet now.
Clay talked to me.
He said he was
proud of me.
I made you this.
Gwen holds out
the shiny aluminum package.
It’s a perfect square.
In geometry
that means all sides
are equal.
Definitely not true.
Another thing they
don’t teach
in geometry—
Even when you can’t see
any sides,
there are sides.
I take the square package
from her.
Fudge,
Gwen says.
Fudge?
I ask.
Yes, chocolate marshmallow fudge.
I made it.
For you.
You made it.
Thank you,
I say.
You’re welcome.
Let me know how you like it.
I don’t know why
we are repeating
everything we say
to each other.
It seems like
we both need to be
very clear
about what is happening.
Gwen made fudge.
She made it for me.
She gave it to me.
I took it.
We both know
FUDGE is not
moving away.
But it’s the best
Gwen can do.
Beavers
If I could be one animal,
it would be a
beaver.
I’ve seen them
on the river.
I’ve seen the lodges
they make,
that look like
big upside-down nests
made of branches.
I like the way
they use their
teeth and paws—
to chew things down
in one place,
and build them up
in another.
I decide they
can be part of my
independent project.
The next time
we are at the river,
I speak before Clay
has a chance.
Ask me to tell you
three things about beavers.
Tell me
three things about beavers,
