very quiet. She almost never spoke unless someone asked her a question. Mom went out of her way to include Jones in the conversation, but her efforts always stalled on one-word answers. In time, we just let her sit quietly and stopped worrying about it.
That left Aggie. Aggie was two people in one. Around the family she was polite and, like Jones, almost never worked her way into the conversation. If she was asked a question, she would talk until she felt it was answered. When she was alone with me, she was a chatterbox. She talked about everything that entered her mind. Occasionally, I wanted her to be quiet for a change, but most of the time, I basked in the bubbling fountain of hope and joy and intelligence that rode on her stream of words. She tried to catch me daydreaming through her chatter with sudden silences followed by a pop quiz. She once told me that I made a grade 93 for the year. I guess that was pretty good. These days, I’m probably more of a “C” student.
Again according to Margaret, Aggie was fortunate that none of Eugene’s men had any particular taste for young girls, especially skinny little girls with no signs of development. Her biggest trauma was being witness to what they were doing to the other women, and the simple fact that she was imprisoned in a dark shed with no hope of escape. Mom’s theory was that Aggie would take a long time to trust any adult again, and it was good that I was her friend. I was happy to be near Aggie. Mom’s approval was just a bonus.
Our first real argument was over a cow. Aggie was just as busy as the rest of us, but she took on her own special project of making sure that every animal on the farm had a proper name. In the case of one Black Angus beef cow from Joe Miller’s place, she drew her line in the sand. She named the cow Stella, and when I cleverly mentioned that Stella would eventually end up as juicy steaks, the fight was on.
“We are not going to eat Stella!” Aggie shouted in my face.
“We will if we get hungry enough,” I replied, thinking I had logic on my side.
“So, if we get really hungry, we’re gonna eat Bear too?”
“Dog doesn’t taste good, my dad told me, so we’d have to be starving to death to eat Bear,” I replied. “I bet if we had a dog last March, he would have looked pretty tasty.”
Aggie’s face turned red. “If we’re gonna eat Bear, then we might as well start eating each other. We might as well turn cannibal!”
She had me on a technicality, sort of... “Well, we’re not going to eat Bear, but we might eat Stella because cows taste good.”
“What’s the difference? Bear’s an animal. Stella’s an animal. Let’s just eat them all!”
I backed down. “Listen, Aggie. We probably won’t have to eat them all. Maybe things will work out so we don’t have to eat all that many.”
“You’d be stupid to eat Stella!” Aggie said loudly.
“Why? Stella’s a cow.”
“Stella is a girl cow, and girl cows can make baby cows. It doesn’t matter how many we eat. We’ll need more cows.”
And there it was. Aggie had neatly outmaneuvered me, not with shrieking fuzzy girl mush, but with the cold, hard logic of the situation. I was beaten. “You’re right, Aggie. I hadn’t thought of that. We’d have to be desperate and stupid to eat Stella.”
“I know it,” Aggie said, folding her arms across her chest in defiance.
I gave in gracefully, and Aggie held her victory over my head, forming the pattern of a lifetime of arguments in which I would walk away defeated. At twelve years old, I couldn’t live with that. I looked around for a parting shot and found it. “Well, Stubby over there is a boy cow. We only need one or two of them. I think those Stubby burgers are going to taste dee-licious.” I drawled the word out and threw in a lip smack for extra measure.
Aggie whirled around and stalked away.
We met back up later like nothing had happened. We rocked on our swing, and she talked about
That left Aggie. Aggie was two people in one. Around the family she was polite and, like Jones, almost never worked her way into the conversation. If she was asked a question, she would talk until she felt it was answered. When she was alone with me, she was a chatterbox. She talked about everything that entered her mind. Occasionally, I wanted her to be quiet for a change, but most of the time, I basked in the bubbling fountain of hope and joy and intelligence that rode on her stream of words. She tried to catch me daydreaming through her chatter with sudden silences followed by a pop quiz. She once told me that I made a grade 93 for the year. I guess that was pretty good. These days, I’m probably more of a “C” student.
Again according to Margaret, Aggie was fortunate that none of Eugene’s men had any particular taste for young girls, especially skinny little girls with no signs of development. Her biggest trauma was being witness to what they were doing to the other women, and the simple fact that she was imprisoned in a dark shed with no hope of escape. Mom’s theory was that Aggie would take a long time to trust any adult again, and it was good that I was her friend. I was happy to be near Aggie. Mom’s approval was just a bonus.
Our first real argument was over a cow. Aggie was just as busy as the rest of us, but she took on her own special project of making sure that every animal on the farm had a proper name. In the case of one Black Angus beef cow from Joe Miller’s place, she drew her line in the sand. She named the cow Stella, and when I cleverly mentioned that Stella would eventually end up as juicy steaks, the fight was on.
“We are not going to eat Stella!” Aggie shouted in my face.
“We will if we get hungry enough,” I replied, thinking I had logic on my side.
“So, if we get really hungry, we’re gonna eat Bear too?”
“Dog doesn’t taste good, my dad told me, so we’d have to be starving to death to eat Bear,” I replied. “I bet if we had a dog last March, he would have looked pretty tasty.”
Aggie’s face turned red. “If we’re gonna eat Bear, then we might as well start eating each other. We might as well turn cannibal!”
She had me on a technicality, sort of... “Well, we’re not going to eat Bear, but we might eat Stella because cows taste good.”
“What’s the difference? Bear’s an animal. Stella’s an animal. Let’s just eat them all!”
I backed down. “Listen, Aggie. We probably won’t have to eat them all. Maybe things will work out so we don’t have to eat all that many.”
“You’d be stupid to eat Stella!” Aggie said loudly.
“Why? Stella’s a cow.”
“Stella is a girl cow, and girl cows can make baby cows. It doesn’t matter how many we eat. We’ll need more cows.”
And there it was. Aggie had neatly outmaneuvered me, not with shrieking fuzzy girl mush, but with the cold, hard logic of the situation. I was beaten. “You’re right, Aggie. I hadn’t thought of that. We’d have to be desperate and stupid to eat Stella.”
“I know it,” Aggie said, folding her arms across her chest in defiance.
I gave in gracefully, and Aggie held her victory over my head, forming the pattern of a lifetime of arguments in which I would walk away defeated. At twelve years old, I couldn’t live with that. I looked around for a parting shot and found it. “Well, Stubby over there is a boy cow. We only need one or two of them. I think those Stubby burgers are going to taste dee-licious.” I drawled the word out and threw in a lip smack for extra measure.
Aggie whirled around and stalked away.
We met back up later like nothing had happened. We rocked on our swing, and she talked about
Similar Books
