Howe - What the Living Do

Hangers Hideout the boys called it, an undeveloped plot, a pit overgrown with weeds, some old furniture thrown down there, and some metal hangers clinking in the trees like wind chimes. Hes running away from home because our father wants to cut his hair. And in two more days our father will convince me to go to himyou know where he isand talk to him: No reprisals. He promised. A small parade of kids in feet pajamas will accompany me, their voices like the first peepers in spring. And my brother will walk ahead of us home, and my father will shave his head bald, and my brother will not speak to anyone the next month, not a word, not pass the milk, nothing.

What happened in our house taught my brothers how to leave, how to walk down a sidewalk without looking back. I was the girl. What happened taught me to follow him, whoever he was, calling and calling his name.

His nine sisters and brothers goneeven Gramps, who lived with them, gone somewherethe backyard empty, the big house quiet. A gang of boys. They pulled the heavy garage doors down, and tied us to them with clothesline, and Donny got the deers leg severed from the buck his dad had killed the year before, dried up and still fur-covered, and sort of poked it at us, dancing around the blacktop in his sneakers, laughing. Then somebody took it from Donny and did it. And then somebody else, and somebody after him. And then Donny pulled up Mary Lous dress and held it up, and she began to cry, and I became a boy again, and shouted Stop, and they wouldnt.

And then a girl-boy, calling out to Charlie, my best friends brother, who wouldnt look Charlie! to my brothers friend who knew me Stop them. And he wouldnt. And then more softly, and looking directly at him, I said, Charlie. And he said Stop. And they said What? And he said Stop it. And they did, quickly untying the ropes, weirdly quiet, Mary Lou still weeping.

And Charlie? Already gone.