Over his shoulder,
I see Gwen
in the window of Number 24.
Mom alert, I say,
Gwen’s watching us.
Same over here,
he says,
and when I turn my head
Mom is there
in the front window
of Number 23.
I wave to Mom,
then wave to Gwen,
get into the red truck,
and pull the door closed.
When the truck pulls out,
all that is left for the moms
to see
is each other.
Sorry it took me so long.
I had to help finish the milking.
Mr. Brann told me
about Jonah.
I put my hand out the window
and try to feel Jonah’s soul
in the wind.
How fast do souls travel?
Do they start out slow,
then pick up speed
when they get near the end
of their journey?
I have something to show you
at the farm,
Clay says,
something Mr. Brann thinks you’d like to see.
I Meet an Organic Baby Cow
The “something” is a baby organic cow,
lying on straw in a pen in the barn.
Its head and body are splotched black and white,
its ears are black and its nose is pink.
It’s so cute!
I gush.
And it’s true.
Its legs are tucked
underneath itself,
and it watches me with its
big dark eyes.
The very old man looks at the baby cow
like it never occurred to him
that it could be
cute.
She’s a week old tomorrow,
weighs just about seventy pounds,
and drinks two quarts of milk
twice a day.
I can’t help it—
the laughter makes its way
out of my mouth.
Mr. Brann has just played
Three Things with us,
and he doesn’t even know it.
Clay is smiling
and holds up three fingers.
The very old farmer
seems pleased with himself
that he’s made me happy
with his facts about the calf.
And for a second,
I feel Jonah in the barn with us,
flashing past,
like a bright comet heading out of the
solar system.
Does she have a name?
I ask the farmer.
A name?
He repeats my question.
Not that I know of.
The corners of his mouth turn up
just a little,
and I realize he’s making a joke,
and I laugh again.
Trailer
Clay takes me to see
where he is living.
The boys at school
are right,
that it’s a trailer
behind the barn.
I’ve never been in
such a very old trailer.
It’s rounded at the ends
where the wall and ceiling meet,
and everything in the kitchen
is miniature—
a tiny sink next to a tiny stove—
and the windows are so high
I can’t see out of them
unless I jump.
There’s a little wooden table
with two chairs,
almost big enough for two people
to eat at.
Half the table is covered with books.
I read the titles:
Organic Dairy Production
Grass-Fed Cattle
Essential Guide to Calving
It looks to me like Clay
is also doing his own
independent study project.
Where do you sleep?
I ask him.
Clay points to a long, brown-colored couch.
There’s a bedroom down the hall,
but it doesn’t heat very well,
so I sleep here.
It’s pretty comfortable.
Clay opens a tiny refrigerator.
Would you like something to drink?
I have milk and orange juice.
Is the milk from the organic cows?
Yes, it is.
Then I’ll have some.
Clay pours milk from a big glass jar
into a mug and hands it to me.
The milk is thick and creamy,
and it doesn’t taste like any milk
I’ve had before.
I drink it slowly and
watch Clay walk around
the dollhouse trailer.
He looks different.
His face and the back of his neck
are sunburned.
He is looking more like a farmer
than a bug killer.
Clay comes and sits on the couch
next to me,
and takes my hand.
He brings it to his mouth
and kisses it.
I lean against him.
Do you want to talk about Jonah?
he asks me.
No, not now,
I say.
So we don’t.
Moo
I want to say goodbye
to the baby organic cow
before Clay takes me back,
so we stop to see her
in the barn.
This time she’s standing up
and comes over to the fence—
close enough that I can pet
the white part of her forehead
between her ears.
Her baby cow skin
feels both tough and soft.
Then she goes over to the corner
of the pen and drinks water
from a black rubber bucket.
I don’t ask Clay why
she isn’t with her mother,
or why her mother
isn’t with her.
I don’t really want to know.
I just like watching
water drip from her mouth
when she lifts her face up
from the bucket.
I look back at her
with my human eyes
that are next to each other
rather than on either side
of my head.
MOOOOO. MOOOOOOO,
she cries.
It’s true, I learn—
cows, even baby organic cows,
really do say moo.
I don’t ask him to,
but Clay drives very slowly
along the turns of the river,
back to DEAD END.
Look in the glove compartment,
he says.
I open the glove compartment,
and there’s a cell phone.
Is that yours?
I ask.
Yes, I forgot your number,
so enter it if you want.
And put mine in your phone.
Why now?
I ask him.
I guess it was time,
he says.
I think of joking with him,
saying “welcome to the
twenty-first century”
or “do you still know
how to use one?”
but I don’t.
Instead, I put my name
in his contacts,
all in capitals
LIV
like the letters on my canoe.
When we pull up in front of
Number 23,
there are no cans
on the lawn,
and all the medical equipment
is gone.
The strange thing
about Number 24
is that nothing has changed
since we left—
the Bugz Away van hasn’t moved
from the spot it was in,
Gwen’s car is in the same place,
and the lights are still on
in the house.
Clay’s parents have to have seen
the black hearse
that came for Jonah,
and maybe they’re afraid of what Mom
will throw
if they step outside.
I can see Clay, like Gwen,
trying to decide