It was an evening with no power—a fireplace fire, oil lamps, a candle on the table.
Nickel wrote in his notebook.
The room was warm, but Flora sat with a blanket around her shoulders. She had a faraway look.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked her.
“My youth,” she said.
Nickel grinned.
“Like now?” he asked.
Flora shook her head.
“I feel different.”
“You are different,” I said. “You’ve been brave. You wrote a note and left it for your mother. You kept us in good food for nearly five days.”
I thought of Sylvan’s students, romping through life like puppies—young people trying to write their way into adulthood.
“Do you remember when I was born?” Flora asked Nickel.
“I do. I wanted a guinea pig.”
“Do you remember when you were young?” Flora asked me.
“I’m not sure my memories are like yours. I remember Sylvan most because he gave me words for my memories. Before that I remember moments, but I had no words for them.”
Flora lifted her shoulders and sighed.
“I think I feel different because I have worries. I never had worries before now.”
“What are you worried about?” asked Nickel.
“Not what. Who,” said Flora.
“Who?” I asked.
Flora stared at me.
“You,” she said.
Nickel looked up from his writing, waiting to hear what I’d say.
I worried about me, too. But I didn’t want to tell them that.
“I have Ellie,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
Ellie visits us every day. Sometimes she brings food for dinner.
For a while Sylvan seems better. He writes every day. He reads to me every day.
When Sylvan forgets to take his medicine, I shake the bottles in my mouth so he remembers.
The poets arrive for a class, and the boy who tried to write Ox-Cart Man in his own words reads a poem Sylvan loves. It’s called “The Crazy Cows of Spring.”
THE COWS ARE CRAZY WITH SPRING,
BREAKING THROUGH THE FENCE
GALLOPING TO TOWN
LEAVING THEIR COW PIES
BEHIND.
Flora and Nickel seemed comforted by the idea of Ellie taking care of me every day.
“She can’t get here because of the storm,” I told them. “But she knows that I can get in the house and find my open bag of dog food in the bottom pantry bin.” I paused. “Sylvan taught me that.”
It was bedtime, and we laid down blankets and pillows on the red rug.
“And when you’re back home, Ellie will drive me to visit you. In her little red car.”
“Let’s have a party tomorrow to celebrate,” said Flora. “I found a can of frosting in the pantry.”
A party.
We turned off the oil lamps and blew out the candle. We could hear ice pellets hitting the windows and roof.
The three of us slept in a heap in front of the fire.
All night.
Together.