Song
That night, I wanted to sleep, but close to the house a bird was singing. Its single clear voice trailed through its repertoire. But it was still dark, still night, no matter how close the horizon might be to turning toward the sun, it wasn’t daybreak. I lay in bed and listened, and thought that either the bird or I might be disturbed. I got out of bed. In the backyard I followed the sound. It came from the fir tree, a perfect bird tree, feathery leaves layered in a dense cover. A bird-full tree, I knew, because constantly they flew in and out, chickadee, cardinal, titmouse, nuthatch, and finch. There the hidden bird belted, as if it thought everyone else must be too sleepy to care. A dog across the field barked, Shut up, shut up. The singer tried some scales and fit them into phrases. Was it confused? Had the world run a fever, and all things were hallucinating, the night and the dog, the bird and myself? I knew that a flashlight might end it, and went to find the flashlight. The eye of light hit repeating green points on the tree. The song stopped. I walked around the tree anyway, seeing only leaves and dried droppings like fake snow on the red-brown branches. The dog gone quiet. The singer done. Only a pinch of guilt in my gut for cutting off the notes, but it was night, and it was strange, and I couldn’t sleep for all that purposeful singing.
Susanna’s Game
Charlie positioned the foot of the tube so that the opening faced away from the house.
“You made that?” Teagan said, weighting down a pile of napkins on the outdoor table with a fork.
“Of course.”
“How did you know how to make it?”
“I kind of made it up,” Charlie said.
“So, it might set the house on fire?” Teagan crossed her arms.
“That’s why I point it this way.”
“So, it will just set the yard on fire. What is this for, again?” Teagan asked.
“It’s how we signal the start and end of our games,” Charlie said.
“And why do you need a bottle rocket to start your game?”
“It’s cool.”
“Dangerous,” Teagan said.
“Horses are dangerous,” Charlie said, scooting the launcher a little farther forward.
“You fire rockets into trees and shoot your friends with guns,” Teagan said.
“We don’t fire them into trees. We fire into fields of dry grass. And we shoot with paint.”
“It’s aiming and firing at people,” Teagan said.
“As long as it’s not at close range, it doesn’t hurt, much.”
Robert walked out onto the deck.
“I don’t believe that,” Teagan said.
“Don’t believe what? You don’t believe this will fire?” Robert said.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Teagan said.
Robert held the back of Teagan’s neck in his large hand. “Worried that we’ll blow up?”
“Yes.”
“Boom!” Robert shook her a little.
“Dad.”
Susanna walked out. She tucked her dark hair behind her ears and crossed her arms. “Okay. Let me see it once and never again.”
“Mom, I’m careful,” Charlie said.
“You better be,” Susanna said.
Charlie selected a long-stemmed bottle rocket from a plastic sleeve and inspected it as if looking for flaws. He fit the stem into the tube of the launcher. “Ready?”
“Fire away,” Robert said.
Charlie struck a match and the fuse smoked. He backed away. The rocket began a piercing whistle. Teagan covered her ears and backed into her father. There was a crackling, and then it went out.
“What happened?” Susanna said.
“Dud,” Charlie said, looking at the tube.
“Don’t go near it,” Susanna yelled, balling her hands into fists.
“It’s done,” Robert said.
“You don’t know that. It could blow up in your face,” Susanna said to him.
Charlie quickly pulled the rocket out of the tube and tossed it aside.
“Oh my god. Why do I let you do this?” Susanna said.
“Why do you?” Teagan said.
“Try again,” Robert said. “Second time’s a charm.”
Charlie loaded another rocket. This time the whistling and crackling ended in a sound like a gunshot and a trail of smoke that made an arc over the yard.
* * *
—
There was a hint of gunpowder in the air as they sat down outside to eat.
“Looks good,” Robert said, cutting into his steak.
The table was set with blue place mats and yellow plastic drinking glasses.
“Thanks, Mom,” Charlie said.
“Teagan helped,” Susanna said.
“I set the table.”
“Thanks for setting the table, Teagan,” Charlie said.
“You are welcome,” Teagan said.
“I’m just glad we all survived,” Susanna said, passing the basket of rolls.
“There was no danger,” Robert said, spreading butter on his steak.
“Horses aren’t exactly safe either, Mom,” Charlie said.
“Are too,” Teagan lied, starting to work on an ear of corn.
Robert took a swig from his beer. “Did I tell you about Try Again? My father had a horse that was really difficult to ride. It threw everyone, that’s why its name was Try Again.”
“That’s funny,” Charlie said.
“Your mother has even better stories,” Robert said.
“Better?” Charlie asked.
* * *
—
Susanna wiped her mouth and lined up her fork and knife beside her plate. “When I was a little girl, I would stay with my two cousins for part of the summer. They had a mean pony. It was tied to a stake in a field, because no one could catch it if it was loose.”
“That sounds unhappy,” Teagan said.
“It was unhappy, and it hated to be ridden, but, of course, we rode it anyway. It would try to bite us when we saddled it. It would try to stomp on our feet. To get onto the saddle, we’d have to distract it so one of us could climb up. It would try its best to bite us and kick some of us, and then someone would run in and climb on. Once you succeeded in getting on, the pony would run along the fence line and try to scrape you off, or it would run under a tree, and if you didn’t duck, then you risked getting knocked in the head by a branch. Every summer we would ride that pony. It was the best entertainment we had.”
Teagan smiled into her plate. She had never imagined her mother being so determined and unafraid of getting hurt. “What’s another story?” Teagan asked.
“Another story?” Susanna said.
“Tell them about Chase,” Robert said.
“Oh, yes. Chase. When I was older, my father took in a crazy ex-racehorse. He was a little bit dangerous, but I loved him, and, if he didn’t love me, at least he thought I was interesting, because we used to play a game. We played it day after day. It was such a dumb game. I would perch on the top rail of the fence and pretend I just wanted to feed him a carrot, and he would come over, pretending he was just going to eat a carrot, and when he was close enough, I’d leap onto his back, and he’d go galloping and bucking into the field, and I’d hold on as long as I could.”
“What happened then?” Teagan asked.
“I always fell off, in the end.”
* * *
—
Teagan sat on the top railing of the fence and held out the carrot. Just a little closer and she could make it onto Zephyr’s back. She wondered, as the horse seemed to hesitate, then stepped forward, did he already guess the game?
Barn Cats
Charlie suggested shooting them, but there was a problem about the legality of it. Poison was difficult, because something else might be killed
by mistake. Trapping meant purchasing a trap, setting it, and checking it. A predator was needed. Something that would go after them. Everyone was sick of them. Sick of hearing them scratching in the rafters, sick of the poop on everything in the barn. And they were breeding. Barker was no help. As much as he liked moles and groundhogs, he was not interested in pigeons.
“Cats,” Susanna said.
“Cats kill rats,” Robert said.
“We have pigeons, Dad,” Teagan said.
“You mean get cats? And keep them?” Charlie asked, helping himself to another slice of pizza. Robert steadied the flat cardboard box on the table and took a swig of beer. Teagan excused herself to fill her water glass.
“Teagan, grab me another beer,” Robert said.
“This green bottle?” Teagan called back.
“Yes,” Robert said.
“Mom, you want one?” Teagan called.
“No, thank you,” Susanna said.
“Charlie?” Teagan said.
“No, thanks,” Charlie said.
“You can have a beer if you want,” Robert said.
“He can have a taste,” Susanna said.
“That’s okay,” Charlie said.
“You can have one. Want one?” Robert said.
“No.”
“I do,” Teagan said, giving over the bottle.
“You won’t like it,” Robert said.
“I might,” Teagan said, sitting down. Robert held the cold bottle to her. She took it and glanced at her mother. Susanna picked up her pizza and bit into it. Teagan took a sip and handed the bottle back.
“What do you think?” Robert asked.
“I don’t like it,” Teagan said.
Robert laughed.
“Are we really getting cats?” Charlie asked.
“Sure,” Robert said.
“They would have to be barn cats,” Susanna said.
“Why wouldn’t we keep them in the house?” Teagan said.
“Teagan, you already have a goose,” Charlie said.
“I don’t want cats to eat Newfound Goose,” Teagan said.
“You just said you wanted them in the house.”
“They can live in the barn,” Teagan said.
Robert set down his beer. “Newfound Goose is going to a new home,” he said, looking at his daughter.
Teagan sipped her water. She didn’t agree with him.
“Where?” Charlie looked at his sister.
“I haven’t heard this,” Susanna said.
“Teagan and I have come to a decision. Teagan?”
“Newfound Goose is going to the wildlife center,” she said and sipped her water.
Susanna slid a hand on the table toward Teagan but didn’t touch her. “Is that okay?”
Teagan wanted to think that her mother could change things. “It’s better,” she said and shook her head unconsciously, brushing her hair from her face.
“Good girl,” Robert said.
Teagan gave a quick smile and then her eyes clouded up.
“Honey,” Susanna said.
Charlie laid a hand on her back.
Teagan smeared a palm across her eye. “It’s just a stupid bird!” she said, pushing back her chair and walking into the kitchen. She hadn’t picked up her glass or paper plate, and stood in front of the sink with nothing in her hands. She poured a glass of milk and walked back to the table.
“I’ll have a glass of milk,” Charlie said.
She went back for another. “We should get cats,” she said, sitting down.
* * *
—
Susanna backed the car away, waving a hand out of the window. Charlie had already gone in. Teagan pulled the door open and walked into the white room with a linoleum floor. It smelled strongly of disinfectant. On the wall hung colorful dog leashes and pet collars. Under them were cardboard cat carriers, the handles peaked like a row of tiny houses. Displayed on a table was a cage holding skinny orange and white kittens. They were curled on a fluffy blanket. Teagan peered down at them.
“May I help you?” the woman at the desk asked. She was an obese woman with short oily dark hair. Patches of skin on her neck flushed red and she wore a purple T-shirt with a cartoon image of a dog, cat, bird, and rabbit standing on the large block letters of ASPCA. Teagan liked the T-shirt and wondered how she could get one.
“I’m here to look at the cats.”
“You want to hold a kitten?”
“No, thanks. I’m looking for the grown ones.”
“Through there are the dogs. Next door is cats.”
“Thank you,” Teagan said. She walked through the door. The smell in the room was densely of dog and disinfectant. The kennels were cement and each had a black rubber flap that led outside. Two or three dogs were in each narrow kennel. A dog started barking and then they all did. The sound was deafening. She opened the door to the cat room and found Charlie.
“Look,” he said, standing in front of a barred cage. “Look at its ear.”
Teagan saw a small tabby cat. One ear was cleanly in half, as if it had been cut with scissors. They wandered down the rows, looking at cats who mostly blinked at them from the backs of cages. Charlie pointed out some choices. She vetoed one that was extremely friendly.
“We want something that doesn’t care about people.”
A girl a little older than Teagan walked in, wearing an aqua blue ASPCA T-shirt. “Y’all have any questions?”
“We’re looking for barn cats,” Charlie said.
“What do you have on death row?” Teagan said.
The girl looked at her. “Take a look in here.” She led them into a closet-size room. On one wall was a double row of cages. “These are the ones less likely to be adopted.”
It was quiet in the room. Some dull faces looked through the white bars.
“Are these sick?” Charlie asked.
“No, they’re either old or look kind of rough.”
“Teagan,” Charlie said.
Teagan looked in at a brown-and-white cat. His ears were withered and folded down. He was wheezing and making a wet rattling sound as he breathed. His eyes were squinted almost closed. His head rested on his paws and he was huge, filling up the small cage.
“Why is he making that noise?” Charlie asked.
“URI. Upper respiratory infection. They get colds. It goes away,” she said.
Teagan couldn’t wait to hold the giant cat in her arms.
* * *
—
“Did you get some good ones?” Susanna asked.
They stood by the counter with two cardboard cat carriers. From one came a muted scraping sound and from the other a soft wheezing.
“We got real winners,” Charlie said.
Susanna looked at him.
“They’re perfect barn cats,” Teagan said.
Susanna clicked a pen to fill out the adoption forms.
“All righty,” the purple-T-shirted, obese woman said, tapping buttons on a calculator. “That’s fifteen times two cat carriers, and total is one hundred and eighty.”
Susanna put down her pen. “How much are the cats?”
“Seventy-five,” the woman said.
“Per cat?”
“Seventy-five per cat. That covers the cost of vaccinations and other care,” the woman said, her chin wobbling.
“These are lucky cats,” Susanna said, writing the check.
“Do you want to make a donation along with your adoption?” the woman added, her chubby finger poised above the calculator.
Susanna stared at her, then said, “Five dollars,” and flipped to a blank check.
Cat and Cat
Susanna was appalled at what came out of the cat carriers. The big brown-and-white cat wheezed a
nd snuffled. The shy tabby with half an ear stared untrustingly from a corner of the tack room. Teagan defended them, repeating that they were perfect barn cats. Susanna said she was taking both cats to the vet. When the big cat sneezed, he sprayed droplets. His long back dipped down so he carried his hind end close to the ground. Susanna thought it could be an old injury. The tabby had a stunted look. She was unusually short from head to tail. Both cats were shut in the tack room for a week. The idea was that when they were let out, they would stick around. Teagan set down new blue food and water bowls. The big cat had a tiny meow that did not match his size. He ate immediately. Susanna tried to pet the tabby, but each time she approached, the little cat slunk away to a corner.
“She slinks away from me,” Susanna complained.
“Slinky,” Charlie suggested.
“Slinky,” Teagan agreed.
“That’s a terrible name,” Susanna said, “but it suits her.”
* * *
—
In the morning, Teagan went down to feed the animals and found Slinky by herself. She looked around, but there wasn’t anywhere a large cat could hide. From the saddles to the ceiling was blank wall. Slinky cautiously approached her food bowl. “Slinky, where’s your friend?” Teagan said. She looked up the wall. Along the ceiling was a gap. Shutting Slinky in the room, Teagan climbed to the hayloft and pulled the string attached to a bulb. The warm air was stifling. She didn’t think the cat could be up there, but she heard a high-pitched mew behind her. She turned around. The big cat was on a hay bale, his squinted eyes and withered ears. He let her carry him down the ladder one-handed, the cat’s long body slung against her leg. She shut him in the tack room.
Horse Page 3
