prudent
to have O
on hand.
Mom agrees.
What can she say?
There is enough O
in the air for her,
for me,
for the nurses,
for everyone we know
except Jonah.
I never really thought
about the fact
that invisible O,
something we can’t see,
can’t hold in our hands,
is keeping us all alive.
River Rats
That’s what
people called
the log drivers like my
grandfather.
I look at the water
and wonder if rats can swim.
Before I start to ask Clay
Three things about rats,
he says,
Tell me three things
you know are true.
This is harder than you think.
I’ve learned
it’s hard to really know
another person.
You can’t know
the future.
Even the things you see
every day
change.
First Finger.
I know that hands
can speak.
Second Finger.
I know that Jonah
is in there.
Third Finger.
I know I’d rather be here
at the river
with you
than anywhere else.
Then I get up
and leave
before I’ve asked
what Gwen wants to know
because I’ve already said too much.
Rainie
The Kennebec Herald
is supposed to be
delivered to our house
every day.
Darn it,
Mom says,
someone took the newspaper
again.
Who bothers to go to the trouble
of taking
someone else’s paper?
I don’t say
I do.
Today there was another
letter to the editor
in the newspaper.
“People blame gun owners for
gun accidents. In my opinion,
that is faulty reasoning. Everyone is
sorry that Jonah Carrier was hurt,
but maybe if his parents had taught
him how to handle a gun and taught
him how to check if a gun was loaded,
in my opinion, this tragedy could have
been avoided.”
Today is another day
I stuff the newspaper
in my backpack,
and toss it out
at school.
Rainie is at our door
on Saturday morning.
She wants to go
shop(lift)ing.
Piper and Justine
won’t go again
after the last time.
Rainie doesn’t come in
farther than the
mudroom.
She’s not the only one.
Everyone says
they don’t want to
disturb us.
They look away when they
see Jonah’s nurses
or hear the sounds
Suck-It-Up makes.
When we say
Come in
they shake their heads
like we can’t really mean it.
Rainie wants to go to
the Thriftee Thrift Shop.
We walk down
past the river
into town.
The Thriftee Thrift Shop
(it used to be a pet shop
or a bottle redemption center,
I can’t remember which)
smells like wet laundry
that sat in the washing machine
too long.
The front window
is already decorated for spring
with baskets and plastic grass
and a Hula-Hoop—all for sale.
There’s a display
of jewelry
in the glass front case.
Rainie asks to see the
tray of earrings,
then the tray of rings,
then the tray of necklaces,
then the tray of rings again.
When I hear Rainie ask
for the tray of rings
again, and say,
I’ll take this one,
I know it’s coming—
Rainie’s own personal
Buy One
Get One Free
deal.
I look for something
for Jonah
for his birthday.
He has enough
blankets,
doesn’t really wear out
his clothes,
can’t use the baseball mitt
or the chin-up bar.
I see an old harmonica
on a shelf,
and pick it up.
Ugh,
Rainie says,
who knows what kind of germs
are in that thing.
She sounds like Piper,
who thinks the superbug
could be hiding anywhere.
No, I’m serious,
you really plan on
putting your mouth on that?
Despite what Rainie says,
I pay the two dollars
plus tax for the harmonica.
Let’s stop by the river,
I suggest,
and Rainie says okay.
She’s happy now
with her special deal.
She shows me the little ring
with the green stone
that fits on her pinky,
but I can tell she is thinking about the
get-one-free.
We lie facedown
on the dock
and splash our hands
in the water
like when we were little.
The trees on the edge of the bank
seem to hold on to the river
with just their bare roots.
Remember when we’d all
come down here—
you and me, and Jonah and Clay,
and play that game?
The Three Things game?
I remember,
I say.
I’m grateful
to Rainie
that she says his name—
Jonah.
That she never stopped
saying his name.
Rainie takes a necklace
out of her pocket.
It has a silver half-moon pendant.
She dips it in the water
lifts it out
dips it in
lifts it out
then lets it go.
I don’t know if
that’s a good thing
or not.
Locker
I thought my hands
had learned their lesson
at school,
but there is something
they just have to do.
Open my locker.
Slam it closed.
Open my locker.
Slam it closed.
Open my locker.
Slam it closed.
It is my locker.
School is over
and the hallway
is empty.
Open my locker.
Slam it closed.
Open my locker.
Slam it closed.
I can’t believe
I never figured
this out before—
how good it feels
to
Open my locker.
Slam it closed.
Something about
metal banging metal,
how it echoes
down the long hallway
of lockers,
makes me happy.
I am slamming
until I am
interrupted.
Mr. Fortunato reaches out
and holds my locker door
before I can slam it again.
Are you having a problem
shutting your locker, Liv?
If you are,
I don’t think
this is the best way
to handle it.
It’s okay now.
I fixed it.
See?
Mr. Fortunato lets go of the door
and I very, very gently close it
and walk away.
Lip
While we waited
in the bad-news lounge,