Wolfsong

  He rolled his eyes. “Get out of here. You have work to do.”

  I saluted him, which I knew he hated.

  And since I was in such a good mood, I pretended not to hear him when he muttered, “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

  Later I’d remember I forgot to tell him about the Bennetts.

  I WALKED home. The sunlight filtered through the trees, little shadows of leaves on my skin. I wondered how old the forest here was. I thought it ancient.

  Joe was waiting for me at the dirt road where he’d been the day before. His eyes were wide as he fidgeted. His hands were hidden behind his back. “I knew it was you!” he said. His voice was pitched high and triumphant. “I’m getting better at—” He cut himself off with a cough. “Uh. At. Doing stuff. Like… knowing… you are… there.”

  “That’s good,” I told him. “Getting better is always good.”

  His smile was dazzling. “I’m always getting better. I’ll be the leader, one day.”

  “Of what?”

  His eyes went wide again. “Oh crap.”

  “What?”

  “Uh. Presents!”

  I frowned. “Presents?”

  “Well, a present.”

  “For what?”

  “You?” He squinted at me. “You.” He blushed fiercely. It was splotchy and went up to his hairline. He looked at the ground. “For your birthday,” he mumbled.

  The guys had gotten me presents. My mom had. No one else ever really did. It was something friends did. Or family. “Oh,” I said. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Wow.”

  “Is that what you’re hiding?”

  He blushed harder and wouldn’t look at me. He nodded once.

  I could hear birds above us. They called out long and loud.

  I gave him the time he needed. It didn’t take long. I could see the resolve flood into him, steeling his shoulders. Holding his head high. Marching forward. I didn’t know what he’d be a leader of one day, but he would be good. I hoped he would remember to be kind.

  He held out his hand. He had a black box with a little blue ribbon wrapped around it.

  I was nervous for some reason. “I don’t have anything for you,” I said quietly.

  He shrugged. “It’s not my birthday.”

  “When is it?”

  “August. What are you even—geez. Take the box!”

  I did. It was heavier than I thought it would be. I put my work shirt over my shoulder and he stood close. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  I untied the ribbon and remembered a dress my mother had worn once on a picnic in the summer when I turned nine. It’d had little ribbons tied in bows along the edges and she had laughed as she handed me a sandwich and some potato salad. After, we lay on our backs and I pointed out shapes in clouds and she said, “Days like this are my favorite,” and I said, “Me too.” She never wore the dress again. I asked her about it one day. She said it’d accidentally gotten ripped. “He didn’t mean it,” she said. I’d felt a great and terrible rage then that I didn’t know what to do with. Eventually, it went away.

  And now this ribbon. I held it in my hand. It was warm.

  “Sometimes people are sad,” Joe said, leaning his forehead against my arm. A whine sounded like it came from the back of his throat. “And I don’t know how to make it go away. It’s all I ever wanted. To make it go away.”

  I opened the box. There was a black felt cloth carefully tucked and folded. It felt like a great secret lay hidden underneath and I wanted to know it more than anything else in my life.

  I unfolded the cloth and inside was a wolf made of stone.

  The detail felt miraculous on such a small and heavy thing. The bushy tail curled around the wolf as it sat on its haunches. The triangle ears that I thought should be twitching. The individual paws, sharp toenails and black pads. The tilt of the head, exposing the neck. Eyes closed, snout pointed up as the wolf howled a song I could hear in my head. The stone was dark and I briefly wondered what color it would be in real life. If it’d have white spots on its legs. If its ears would be black.

  The birds had stopped singing overhead and I wondered if it were possible for the world to hold its breath. I wondered at the weight of expectations.

  I wondered many things.

  I picked up the wolf. It fit perfectly in my hand.

  “Joe.” I sounded gruff.

  “Yeah?”

  “You… this is for me?”

  “Yeah?” Like it was a question. Then, more sure, “Yeah.”

  I was going to tell him it was too much. That he needed to take it back. That there was nothing I could ever give him that would be so beautiful because the only things I owned that were beautiful were not mine to give away. My mother. Gordo. Rico, Tanner, and Chris. They were the only things I had.

  But he was waiting for that. I could see it. He was waiting for me to say no. To give it back, to tell him I couldn’t accept it. His hands were twitching and his knees were shaking. He was pale and he gnawed on his lip. I didn’t know what else to say, so I said, “It’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. Thank you.”

  “Really?” he croaked.

  “Really.”

  And then he laughed. His head rocked back and he laughed and the birds came back and laughed right along with him.

  THAT DAY was the first time I went inside the house at the end of the lane. Joe took me by the hand and talked and talked and walked and walked. He didn’t even pause as we came up to my house. We passed it right on by without a single stutter to our steps.

  The moving trucks were gone from the front of the bigger house. The front door was open, and I could hear music coming from inside.

  I came to a stop as Joe tried to pull me up to the porch.

  “What are you doing?” Joe demanded in that way I already recognized.

  I didn’t quite know. It felt rude to just walk into someone’s house. I knew my manners. But even the bottoms of my feet were itching to take a step and another and another. I was often at war with myself over the little things. What was right and wrong. What was acceptable and what wasn’t. What my place was and if I belonged.

  I felt small. They were rich. The cars. The house. Even through the windows I could see nice things like dark leather couches and wooden furniture that had no scuffs or cracks. Everything was sweet and clean and so wonderful to look at. I was Oxnard Matheson. My fingernails were gritty and black. My clothes were streaked with grime. My boots were scuffed. I didn’t have much common sense, and if my daddy was to be believed, I didn’t have much in the way of anything else. My head didn’t know its way out of my heart and I was poor. We weren’t on-the-county poor, but it was close. I couldn’t bear the thought that this was charity.

  And I didn’t know them. The Bennetts. Mark was my friend, and maybe Joe too, but I didn’t know them at all.

  But then Joe said, “It’s okay, Ox,” and I said, “How did you know?”

  He said, “Because I wouldn’t have given my wolf to just anyone.” He blushed again and looked away.

  And I felt I’d missed something greater than his words.

  ELIZABETH WAS singing along with an old Dinah Shore song that spun on an ancient record player. It was scratchy and the song bumped and skipped, but she knew the exact places it did and would pick up the song right where it began again. “I don’t mind being lonely,” she sang in a breathy voice, “when my heart tells me you are lonely too.”

  My god, I ached.

  She moved about the kitchen, her summer dress spinning around her light and airy.

  The kitchen was lovely. All stone and dark wood. It’d been recently cleaned and everything shone as if brand new.

  I could hear the others moving around out in the backyard. They laughed and I felt almost at ease.

  Dinah Shore stopped being lonely and Elizabeth looked over at us. “Do you like that song?” she asked me.

  I nodded. “It hurts, but in a good way.”

&
nbsp; “It’s about staying behind,” she said. “When others go to war.”

  “Staying behind or getting left behind?” I asked, thinking of my father. Elizabeth and Joe stilled, their heads cocked at me almost in the same way.

  “Oh, Ox,” she said, and Joe took my hand back in his. “There’s a difference.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You’re staying for Sunday dinner,” she said. “It’s tradition.”

  I didn’t have many traditions. “I wouldn’t want to bother anyone.”

  She said, “I see you opened your gift,” like I hadn’t spoken at all.

  Joe grinned at her. “He loved it!”

  “I told you he would.” She looked back at me. “He was so worried.” Dinah Shore picked up again in the background as Elizabeth began to cut a cucumber into thin slices.

  Joe flushed. “No, I wasn’t.”

  Carter came in through the back door. “Yes, you were.” His voice went high and fluttery. “What if he hates it? What if it’s not cool enough? What if he thinks I’m a loser?”

  Joe scowled at him and I thought I heard a rumble come from deep inside him. “Shut up, Carter!”

  “Boys,” Elizabeth warned.

  Carter rolled his eyes. “Hey, Ox. Do you have an Xbox?”

  Joe laughed. “Ha! Rhymes. Ox and Xbox.” He let go of my hand and began to pull silverware from a drawer near the stove.

  I rubbed the hand against the back of my head. “Uh. No? I think I have a Sega.”

  “Dude. Retro.”

  I shrugged. “Don’t have much time for it.”

  “We’ll make time,” he said. He took plastic cups down from a cupboard. “I need to ask you about school, anyway. Kelly and I will be starting up with you next year.”

  “I wish I could go,” Joe grumbled darkly.

  “You know the rule,” Elizabeth said. “Homeschooled until you’re twelve. It’s only one more year, baby.”

  This did nothing to ease his mind. But I’d never been homeschooled before, and I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “Ox, invite your mother, would you?” Elizabeth asked as she spun back and forth between the countertops. Back and forth.

  “She’s at work,” I said, unsure of what I should be doing. They all moved like they’d lived here forever. I was the elephant in the room. Or the Ox. I wasn’t sure which.

  “Next time, then,” she said as if there would be a next time.

  “Because it’s tradition?”

  She smiled at me and I saw Joe in her. “Exactly. You catch on fast.”

  I was suddenly very aware of my appearance. “I’m not exactly dressed for this.” I brushed a hand through my hair and remember my fingers were dirty.

  She waved a hand at me. “We’re not formal, Ox.”

  “I’m dirty.”

  “Well-worn, more like. Take this out back, would you? Thomas and Mark will be glad to see you.” She handed me a bowl of fruit and I held it along with the box that carried the stone wolf. Joe tried to follow me out, but she stopped him. “You stay here with me for now. I need help. Ox, away with you.”

  “But, Mom—”

  I walked through the back door. A large table had been set up in the grass. It was covered in a red tablecloth held down by old books set on the corners. Kelly was unfolding chairs around the table. “All right, then?” he asked me as I set the fruit down.

  “Things happen… fast here,” I said.

  He laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.” And as if proving my point, “Dad wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh. About what?” I tried to think back if I’d done something wrong already. I couldn’t remember everything I’d said yesterday. It wasn’t much. Maybe that was the problem.

  “It’s okay, Ox. He’s not as scary as he looks.”

  “Liar.”

  “Well, yeah. But it’s good you know that already. It’ll make things easier.” He suddenly laughed, as if he’d heard something funny. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand at me.

  They were grilling, Mark and Thomas. I wanted desperately to go stand by them. Shoot the shit. Talk like I belonged. I gathered up my courage.

  Only to have Mark turn and walk toward me. “We’ll talk later,” Mark said, squeezing my shoulder before I could say anything. He left me with Thomas. Thomas had at least three inches on me and maybe forty pounds in his chest and arms and legs. I was bigger than most, even at sixteen. But Thomas was bigger still.

  He eyed the box in my hand. “Joe tied the ribbon himself,” he said. “Wouldn’t let anyone else help.”

  Honesty, maybe. “I almost told him I couldn’t take it.”

  An eyebrow rose. “Why is that?”

  “It seems… precious.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why would he give it to me?”

  Maddeningly, “Why not?”

  “I don’t have precious things.”

  “I understand you live with your mother.”

  “Yes.” And then I knew what he meant. “Oh.”

  “We’re all allowed to have certain things that are just ours.” He motioned for Kelly to come to the grill. “Walk with me, Ox.”

  I followed him. He led me away from the house. Into the trees. A man I only met the day before. And yet I felt no hesitation. I told myself it was because I was starved for the attention and nothing more.

  “We used to live here,” he said. “Before you. Carter was only two when we left. It wasn’t meant to be for as long as it was. That’s what is so funny about life. And so scary. It gets in the way and then one day, you open your eyes and a decade has passed. Even more.” He reached out and brushed his hands along score marks in the trunk of a tree. His fingers almost fit it perfectly and I wondered what could have caused such scrapes. It looked like claw marks.

  “Why did you leave?” I asked, though it was not my place.

  “Duty called. Responsibilities that couldn’t be ignored, no matter how hard we tried. My family has lived in these woods for a very long time.”

  “It must be good to be home.”

  “It is,” he said. “Mark kept an eye out every now and then, but it wasn’t the same as touching the trees myself. He’s quite taken with you, you know.”

  “Mark?”

  “Sure. Him too. You think you hide, Ox, but you give so much away. The expressions on your face. The breaths you take. Your heartbeat.”

  “I try not to.”

  “I know, but I can’t figure out why. Why do you hide?”

  Because it was easier. Because I’d done it for as long as I could remember. Because it was safer than being out in the sun and letting people in. It was better to hide and wonder than reveal and know the truth.

  I could have said that. I think I had the capacity and I could have found the words. They would have come out in a stutter. Halted and choked and bitter. But I could have forced them out.

  Instead, I said nothing.

  Thomas smiled quietly at me. He closed his eyes and turned his face up toward the sun. “It’s different here than anywhere else,” he said, inhaling deeply.

  “Mark said that when we met. About the smells of home.”

  “Did he? In the diner.”

  “He told you?”

  Thomas smiled. It was nice, but showed too many teeth. “He did. He seemed to think you were a kindred spirit. And then what you did with Joe.”

  I was alarmed. I took a step back. “What did I do? Is he okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Ox.” His voice was deep. Deeper than before, and when his hands came down on my shoulders, it felt like a command, and I relaxed even before I knew it was happening. The tension left like it had never been there at all and I tilted my head back slightly, like I was exposing my neck. Even Thomas seemed surprised. “What is your last name?” he asked.

  “Matheson.” There was an undercurrent of panic, but his voice w
as still deep and his hand still on my shoulders and the panic wouldn’t bubble toward the surface.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Then each word came, deliberate and careful. “Yesterday, when Joe found you. Who spoke first?”

  “He did. He asked if I smelled something.” I wanted to take the stone wolf out of the box and look at it again.

  Thomas stepped back, dropping his hands. He shook his head. There was a small smile on his face that looked almost like wonder. “Mark said you were different. In a good way.”

  “I’m not anyone,” I said.

  “Ox, before yesterday, we hadn’t heard Joe speak in fifteen months.”

  The trees and the birds and the sun all fell away and I was cold. “Why?”

  Thomas smiled sadly. “Because of life and all its horrors. The world can be a terrible place.”

  IT CAN be. The world. Terrible and chaotic and wonderful.

  People could be cruel.

  I heard it when people called me names behind my back.

  I heard it when they said the same things to my face.

  I heard it in the sound the door made when my father left.

  I heard it in the crack of my mother’s voice.

  Thomas didn’t tell me why Joe stopped talking. I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my place.

  People could be cruel.

  They could be beautiful, but they could be cruel too.

  It’s like something so lovely can’t just be lovely. It also has to be harsh and corroding. It’s a complexity I didn’t understand.

  I didn’t see the cruelty when I sat down at their table the first time. Mark sat to my left, Joe to my right. The food was dished but nobody lifted a fork or spoon so I didn’t either. All eyes were on Thomas, who sat at the head of the table. The breeze was warm. He smiled at each of us and took a bite.

  The rest of us followed.

  I kept the box with the wolf of stone in my lap.

  And Joe. Joe just said things like I like it when things blow up in movies like boom and stuff and What do you think happens when you fart on the moon? and One time, I ate fourteen tacos because Carter dared me to and I couldn’t move for two whole days.

  He said: