REN
* * * * * *
2004
WINTER CAME AND went.
The sun warmed frozen land and sprouted new growth.
The trees rustled in the warm breeze and beckoned me back into their depths, yet whenever I looked at Della, I didn’t have the heart to grab our already packed backpack and leave.
She’d sprouted over the past few winters from curious baby to independent person, and I didn’t want to deprive her of the chance to grow up in a place where a roof meant stability and walls offered solid sanctuary.
She had free roam of the house—safe from drowning in rivers or being mauled by wildlife. I didn’t need to watch her endlessly and enjoyed the freedom that gave me in return.
The veggies I planted in spring gave us enough variety to our diet that with regular hunting and a little patience, we didn’t need to risk ourselves by heading into towns and stealing.
Realistically, it would be stupid to leave.
For over three years, no one had bothered us. No one noticed or cared.
We were as invisible as we’d ever been, and I was determined to give Della a home…if only for a little while.
Our first summer at Polcart Farm, I’d focused on better equipping the house for the next winter. I’d repaired the leaks in the roof; I’d salvaged old drapes from a local dumpster and hauled things back that made a house a home.
A table and chairs.
China plates instead of plastic.
A few discarded toys with tangled-haired dolls and missing-piece puzzles.
And, one night, when I cut through the back streets of the town after sizing up how easy a local corner store would be to break into if we ever needed emergency supplies, I stumbled upon a TV.
The screen was cracked in one corner and the picture jiggled in the other, but when I first plugged it in, using sun and wind as our power source, and Della snuggled up next to me with joy spread all over her face, it was worth the back-breaking trek back home.
When winter hit the second time, we were more prepared with rations and warmth, but boredom was a problem neither of us knew how to face. I’d already spent the time creating flowing water thanks to redirecting well water with the aid of a stock pump. I’d plugged holes in walls and cleaned dirty appliances.
The house was well cared for and didn’t require much more.
I wished it did—if only to keep my brain from going stir crazy.
I wanted the chores of staying alive, of travelling, of learning a new place and circumstance. And if I couldn’t have that, I wanted farm animals to tend, upkeep to dally with, and general busyness that kept my mind from the past and firmly focused in the now.
As fields were slowly deleted with more and more snow, Della became naughty, exploring areas she shouldn’t, disobeying me, arguing with me, generally being a brat I wished I could toss out onto the frozen deck and teach her a lesson.
When she screamed in frustration because my lack of teaching failed her communication skills, I screamed right back. When she threw a corn on the cob at my face when I ordered her to finish every bite, I made her eat every kernel off the floor.
There were many things I permitted and indulged because she was my everything. My best friend, my little sister, my penance in real life. But if she ever wasted food…that was when my temper wouldn’t be mollified.
We might have it easy now. She might have had it easy in the farmhouse while I wasted away in the barn. But there was no separation between her and me now. We were stuck with each other, and soon, when the seasons thawed and Della was bigger, stronger, faster, we would leave this place.
This wasn’t a permanent solution.
And she had to know the value of things.
A TV wasn’t something to be protected because it was worthless away from electrical sockets and satellites. A mattress wasn’t special because it could never come with us when we ran.
But food? That was infinitely precious.
Our tent? That was priceless.
She might be young, but she was never too young to learn those lessons, and I gave her no leeway when it came to learning them.
She could cry all she wanted. She could hate me for days. We could fight until I stalked from the house and slept in the barn, but she would never win with me.
I was older.
I was in charge.
But I was also aware I was everything she had and wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything.
Once the fire in her baby blue eyes simmered and the rage in my blood cooled, we’d awkwardly sit on our hay bale couches and slowly trade stiffness for solidarity.
She’d inch closer toward me with her ribbon trailing after her, and I’d open my arm for her to wedge tightly against me.
And there we’d sit, our apologies silent but completely heart-felt and true. I knew it was wrong to find such comfort in the sharp relief and drowning affection that came after an ugly fight, but I’d never had the aftermath before.
I’d had the shouting, the screaming, the striking, the kicking, but I’d never been held afterward or kissed on the cheek by an adoring little girl.
Just like we could cause each other’s grief, we had the power to raise the stars. When Della was happy, I was happy. Her smile was infectious. Her eagerness to learn an absolute gift when I was desperate to teach.
To teach the opposite of what I’d been taught.
But I was also keenly aware that what I had to teach was extremely limited.
One dark winter’s night, Della flicked through the TV stations at warp speed. We didn’t get many channels due to bad reception, but sometimes, the weather allowed a snippet of movies and cooking shows, and now, a kid’s channel.
She squealed and bowled toward me where I sat on the couch carving a stick into a lynchpin to be used as a new hinge in the gate I’d repurposed to keep critters out of our veggie patch. My knife scraped and shavings littered the floor.
Quickly, I palmed the sharp blade so she wouldn’t impale herself as she bounced into my lap. I laughed and looked up at the bright TV where fake puppets and badly drawn cartoons wriggled around like idiots.
“Ren, look!” She waggled her ribbon-clutching fist at the TV. “Toons!”
“Cartoons.” I pushed her gently off my lap so she sat beside me on the couch. It wasn’t that I didn’t like being touched; I just became overwhelmed whenever she did. It’d gotten to the point where I was afraid that one day, I wouldn’t be able to breathe unless she touched me all the time.
She was my one weakness, and I was determined to stay immune to her for her own protection.
The TV squawked some stupid song, parading out knives and forks and bowls and fruit, flashing letters on the screen and screaming the name along with it.
Della jiggled to the song, repeating household items.
I returned to my carving, keeping one eye on her and one eye on whittling.
Time ticked on, and we fell into a comfortable rhythm; that was until Della exploded from the couch and ran to skid to her butt in front of the TV. Her little eyes danced over the brightness, her fingers drawing in the air the letter on the screen.
“A is for apple. A is for ape. A is for a great big albatross. Can you say albatross?” The cartoon puppet blinked as if we were a bunch of morons who couldn’t say A.
I rolled my eyes, then froze solid as Della yelled, “Albwatloss.” Turning to face me, she pointed excitedly at the screen. “Ren! A. It’s A for appwle.” She stood and traced the letter on the screen, then twirled around with her blonde ringlets bouncing and her blue ribbon twirling.
My heart stopped with how perfect she was. How smart. How kind. How brave. I’d never look at the colour blue again without thinking of her. I’d never hold another ribbon again without wanting to hold her.
Up until that moment, I’d kept a hardness inside me.
I’d treated her dearly, but I’d kept a piece of myself tucked away. But there, as she repeated the alphabet and started to excel me in every way, she nicked the fortress around my stupid heart, and I had no choice but to give it to her.
She was my Della, my ribbon, and I couldn’t stop myself as I placed the knife back into its holder in my boot, crawled across the floor, and sat beside her.
She beamed and pointed at the letter S on the screen.
The one of four I knew thanks to Mclary and his compass lesson.
I repeated along with her and the stupid cartoons. “S is for snake. S is for snow. S is for a bright yellow sun!”
We lost track of time as we soaked up the knowledge gifted by ugly puppets. I didn’t cringe at the childish songs. I didn’t roll my eyes at the baby talk. I put aside my ego and imprinted every letter into my brain.
I did it for me but mainly I did it for her.
Because eventually, I would need to be more than the illiterate boy who’d carried her away in a backpack. I’d have to be a role model, counsellor, and friend. And I was determined to be a friend who could read and write.
As the night wore on and my eyes scratched and head throbbed, I glanced at Della, who’d turned drowsy and soft.
Normally, she was the one who instigated affection.
But that night, I was the one who dragged her droopy, sleepy body close and kissed her cheek. I nuzzled her sweet-smelling hair and murmured, “You’re the one teaching me now, Della Ribbon. Please don’t ever stop.”