Three Things I Know Are True
Page 15
of Jonah’s shirt.
Good job, Music Man,
I tell him.
My Presents
This is from me and Sara.
She helped me pick it out,
Rainie says.
Rainie gives me a card
and a small package
the size of my hand,
covered in purple cloth
and tied with what looks like
bailing twine
but I’m guessing must be
hemp
or dried vines.
Underneath the cloth
is a white box,
the kind jewelry comes in.
Inside the box
is a stone
on a chain.
It is deep purple,
gray, and blue green,
depending on how I
turn it.
There are also flashes
of red and silver.
It reminds me of the river
at night
when the moon
shines on it.
It’s an iolite sunstone,
Rainie says.
Here, read the card.
I had forgotten
to open the card first,
the way Mom made
Jonah and me do
at our birthday parties
when we were little.
The card says:
“Dear Liv,
The iolite sunstone is a
‘stone of the heart,’ associated with courage,
great compassion, and bigheartedness.
I think this describes you perfectly.
Sara says it’s also thought of as a compass,
meant to guide you on spiritual journeys.
Always your best friend,
Rainie”
Mom was right
about opening the cards first.
I put the necklace on,
and when we hug,
Rainie’s stone of courage
and my stone of the heart
touch.
Mom’s present to me
is a new sheet set
for my bed.
The receipt is taped to it,
Mom points out,
in case you want to return it.
Why would I want to return it?
I say.
It’s perfect.
Piper and Justine
got me a gift certificate
to a hair salon in town,
and a bag of hair clips
and headbands.
Since you’re into
changing up your hair
these days,
Justine explains.
Vivian gives me
Superwoman pajamas.
Phoebe gives me fuzzy socks
she knit herself.
Johnny and the other nurses
give me a plastic toy car
with doors that open.
Inside there’s a voucher
for the cost of the driver’s ed
class at school.
I’m really surprised
at this gift.
I hold the toy car
and the voucher
and thank them
over and over.
They knew Mom couldn’t afford
the class,
but they thought
it was important enough
that I be able to drive away from
DEAD END one day.
Birchell gives me a bouquet
of red roses in a vase.
Thank you, I say,
smelling their sweetness.
No one ever gave me
flowers before.
Dr. Kate’s gift is at the
bottom of the pile.
The long cardboard box
is not wrapped
or in a gift bag.
There’s no ribbon
or card.
When I open it,
there isn’t a pendant
or a pair of fuzzy socks.
There’s a stethoscope.
The room gets quiet
for a moment,
when I lift it out of its box.
Dr. Kate doesn’t seem to care
what anyone thinks about a
stethoscope as a Sweet Sixteen gift.
She speaks to me, ignoring the rest
of the room.
If you’re going to be a doctor
one day,
this will be one of your most
essential tools,
besides your mind and your heart
and your hands.
I put the stethoscope
in my ears,
the way the nurses do.
I like how the earpieces
muffle the noise around me,
and I like how heavy
the metal circle on the end
feels in my hand.
When you use a stethoscope,
your ears and your hands
work together.
I put the metal circle
over my heart.
My own heartbeat,
which I’ve never heard before
is loud
in my ears.
THUMP THUMP THUMP
THUMP THUMP THUMP
My sixteenth birthday party
and Jonah’s eighteenth
continues around me,
and I wonder if this is how
a heart sounds
when it’s full.
After the Party
When everyone leaves,
the house is the same—
the bathroom sink drips,
there are water stains
on the ceiling,
the wallpaper
curls at the edges.
It’s the same,
but it feels brighter.
It’s not just all the
balloons and wrapping paper,
and the leftover food—
cupcakes and olives,
salami and chips—
in the middle of the table.
It’s something else—
something that didn’t leave
when the guests did.
Mom tells Johnny
to go home
instead of working his night shift
with Jonah,
because he’s been awake all day
at the party.
What about Jonah’s presents?
I say,
sounding like one of Hunter’s sisters.
We’ll save them for when he wakes up,
Mom says.
Do you need any help with Jonah
before I go out?
I ask Mom.
No. Where are you going?
Mom asks.
Down to the river,
I answer,
but I’ll have my phone
with me.
Say hi to the river
from me,
Mom says.
Clay
First I see a red pickup truck
parked in the gravel parking place
near the eddy.
Clay is there,
lying faceup on the dock.
I can’t tell if he’s asleep,
or if he’s studying the
cloudless sky.
There’s no breeze out, and
the river looks absolutely still.
I talked to a very old guy
on a tractor this morning.
He said you had
the day off.
He sounded like he’s never
had a day off
ever.
Clay sits up and
looks at me.
That might be true,
he says.
So do you like working
with organic cows?
I ask him.
I do,
Clay says,
They’re real creatures
of habit.
> You have to milk them
the same time,
morning and night.
They really have their
own personalities.
There’s one cow
that always tries to kick me.
It’s my birthday,
I tell Clay.
I know,
Clay says.
I got you something, but
it’s not here.
I have to take you to see it.
I follow Clay
up DEAD END,
around to the back
of our house.
You’re taking me to
my own backyard?
I ask.
Then I notice something
different about it.
There’s a neat pile of brush
on the ground.
Someone has reclaimed
the overgrown path
down to the steps
that lead
to the river.
I look at Clay.
You did this?
Yes.
Wow! Thank you. That’s a nice present.
We haven’t been able to get down there
in years.
Dad always meant to do it.
You’re welcome,
Clay says,
I checked and the steps are still good.
But that’s not your present.
Your present is down there.
Clay points down the steep bank
toward the river.
What could be down there?
I wonder.
Did Clay do all this work
cutting the brush
just to hide my gift
down there?
I walk down the steep wooden steps,
holding the railing,
until I’m on the bottom step.
Tied to the trunk
of an overhanging tree
and floating in the water
is a canoe.
Inside the canoe
there are paddles
and a life jacket.
On the side of the canoe,
in blue letters,
is one word—
LIV.
That’s my present?
That’s for me?
I turn around to ask Clay.
He comes down and stands
next to me
on the last step.
Yes, I hope you like it,
’cause I can’t return it.
I don’t just like it,
I LOVE it.
Clay smiles
and I see the space
between his front teeth.
When I asked,
you said that more than anything,
you wanted to go down
the middle of the river
like a beaver.
Now you can go down the river
anytime you want.
I put my arms around Clay.
He has a different smell.
Not Bugz Away chemicals
anymore.
Maybe the smell is organic cows
or maybe I’m smelling
the real Clay.
He puts his arms around me,
and kisses my hair,
then kisses my lips.
I don’t need my Dr. Liv
stethoscope
to know what my heart
feels.
Liv, Liv,
Clays says,
and I hear the words
LIVE LIVE.
I reach for the rope
to move the canoe
toward us.
Let’s go, Clay.
Let’s go before it gets dark,
I say.
Let’s go be beavers
on the river.
Magic Lotion
When I get back home,
my arms ache, and
my body feels like it’s still
moving down the river.
Mom is curled up
sleeping
in Jonah’s bed,
and Jonah is wide awake
in his chair beside her.
It’s like he’s watching
over her.
I wheel Jonah into the kitchen
and close the doors
to the living room
so Mom can keep sleeping.
Food Truck comes along,
serving seltzer again.
I take Phoebe’s magic lotion
with me.
That’s what the nurses
call Phoebe’s bottle of
moisturizer.
At first they thought
it was a coincidence—
the evenings Phoebe
massaged the lotion
on Jonah’s hands, feet,
legs, back, face
before bed,
he slept all night.
Those nights,
there were no
loud cries
for help
waking me.
We still call it
magic lotion,
even though we know
the magic is in the touch.
Another thing I’ve learned—
touch makes you feel
you’re not alone.
I put lotion on
Jonah’s arms and hands,
rubbing it in small circles
the way Phoebe does.
Jonah turns his head
to look behind him,
and there’s a question-mark look
on his face.
Are you looking for Mom?
She fell asleep on your bed.
I thought we’d let her sleep
a little, and kick her out
when you’re ready for bed.
Jonah’s eyes still search
the room.
Oh, you’re looking for Johnny
or Phoebe.
Mom told Johnny to go home.
He was here all day
at the party.
It’s a no-nurse night,
just the three of us.
I take off Jonah’s sneakers
and socks, and rub lotion on
his feet, doing each toe
separately.
I wonder if it reminds Jonah
of when he used to stand on
the ground—
the feel of something solid
against the bottom of his feet.
Jonah’s eyes move,
to the front door,
to the stairs,
to the windows,
back and forth
over and over,
over and over.
I finally get it.
You’re looking for Clay?
I ask Jonah.
You’re wondering why
he didn’t make it
to the party?
His eyes stop darting around
and settle on me.
Clay’s working at Brann’s Dairy Farm
in south Maddigan,
and he doesn’t get much time off.
But maybe he can come another day.
I can’t tell
if this is what Jonah
wanted to know,
needed to know,
or if he’s thinking
about all the other friends
who stopped coming
a long time ago,
but when I’m done talking,
Jonah closes his eyes.
Is he imagining
what it’s like
to work on a farm?
I finish with Phoebe’s magic lotion—
massaging the knots
out of his calves
with my thumbs.
Then I wake Mom
and together
we get Jonah,
already asleep,
back to bed.
Audrey
Piper texts me,
“Audrey is in the hospital
>
with asthma.
Caroline and Mariah
really miss her.”
I learn that Sweet Sunflower
is named Audrey,
Little Lima Bean is Caroline
and Pretty Parsley
is Mariah.
Sweet Sunflower’s whistling,
which sounded like a rusty music box
caught in her throat,
was asthma.
Even Sara,
with her extrasensory powers,
felt a shift in energy, but she
didn’t see this coming.
I know how that is—
how the worst thing
is right where you
least expect it to be—
in your lungs,
in your chest,
in the attic
of the house
right across the street.
Liv
The Wednesday after the party
is Jonah’s real birthday.
It’s also spring break
from school.
The sun is bright
when I go down the steps
in the backyard.
When I see LIV
floating by the shore,
it feels like my birthday
all over again.
I wear my life jacket
because I promised Clay
I would.
Being on the river
is nothing like
looking at it
from land.
The wind blows in my face
on the way downstream,
and rocks the canoe.
The end of my paddle
is long and flat
and I smack it
against the water,
the way beavers
slap their tails
when they’re startled.
I stop paddling
to watch a hawk
overhead,
and steer over to the riverbank
to touch a water lily.
The best part of
being on the river
is that there’s nothing
that needs to be done
except staying afloat.
I can paddle
or not.
I can let the river
take me where it will,
or I can move forward
so fast
I forget
where I started from.
What Form?
When she gets back from work,
Mom tells me
what Birchell said—
the judge’s decision
could come any day now.
In the meantime,
we are still waiting—
waiting to lose,
waiting to win—
and I can’t imagine
how either of those
will feel.
I wonder:
If the judge decided
to let us vote
on the verdict,
me, Mom,
Clay’s father, Gwen, Clay—
who would win?
Me and Mom
would vote for the money
for Jonah,
and Clay’s father would vote
against.
Probably Gwen would vote
against, too,
even though she crossed the line.
That would make Clay
the tie breaker.