faint as a child?â
âAre you okay, Annie? Have you been passing out?â
âJust a few times lately. No big deal, I just wanted to know if you remember me doing this.â
âActually, when you were really little, I mean quite small, up to my knees, Iâm not sure what age that was, you used to hold your breath until you passed out. It used to scare the hell out of us. It was either a matter of will, being stubborn over something, like Brussels sprouts, or it was a nervous thing, like during scary movies.â
âI totally forgot about that.â
âWell, you were pretty young. Are you okay? Youâre not taking drugs, are you?â
âDad!â
âSo when am I going to see you? We could go to the movies, or book huntingâyou could come stay for the weekend.â
âOkay, Dad, when I get back from Quebec. See ya.â
âTake care.â
I felt a little melancholy after that call. I loved my parents, I donât know why I didnât make the effort more to see them. Since theyâd split up, only a few years ago, everything was so strained.
But the holding-breath thing resonated. A memory came back of my older brother making fun, counting down as my four-year-old self puffed out my cheeks, ready to hold my breath for Canada over I donât know what tantrum. âYouâre going blue, no PURPLE! TEN, TWELVE  . . .â He missed a number and I opened my mouth to tell him so. He won.
Isobel often commented on my sighs. I forgot to breathe sometimes, so I had to catch up with huge big gasps.
I vowed to breathe better.
âHoly shit!â
âWhatâs going on?â said Isobel, waking up.
âThereâs rocks and hills, trees and bumps and water. Itâs not flat. Not flat! Are we dreaming?â
âIncroyable!â
âItâs weird though, isnât it . . . You canât see for miles anymore. I kinda miss the horizon.â
Isobel looked at the map. âThis must be the Canadian Shield!â
âIâve heard of that.â We drove on, mouths open, taking it all in. All the variations of landscape weâd been deprived of having grown up as prairie girls. I liked it, despite having the sensation of being under a smaller sky than I was used to, I liked the hills, the valleys, the rock, the views of higgledy-piggledy bogs and lakes. It seemed more alive, more engaged than the big empty.
By nighttime, weâd forgotten all about the flatness that had been with us for days on end and in fact for our whole lives. We were in a whole new province, a big one: Ontario. We found a beautiful campground near Kenora along the shores of the Lakes of the Woods and unpacked the car. It was so great to be near water and trees with the dusty prairies long behind us. Under the Mexican blanket in the backseat was Finnâs guitar. I was amazed heâd left it. Around the campfire later that evening, Isobel admitted that it was kind of sad without him and his floppy eagerness. She said he was like a golden retriever. I went to the car barefoot, crunching on pine needles, sap, and dirt. I got his guitar, thinking it would somehow invoke him. We could prop it up on the picnic bench and pretend he was there. Isobel unzipped it from its case. It had a big black mark on its blond wood.
It was a scribble. To AnnieâHey Nice Name! kisses, Ani DiFranco. Finn had gotten his guitar signed to give to me. I was beyond touched. It was undoubtedly the biggest gift I had ever received. My own guitar! It had never occurred to me that it was something I could have.
Iâm not sure how Isobel felt though.
She just sort of looked at it and looked at me. I couldnât read her face in the dark with the slim light from the crescent moon above and the fire crackling on its last red embers.
side a, track 6
âYou are a china shop and I am a bull
You are good food and I am fullâ
âYou Had
Debbie Viguié
Dana Mentink
Kathi S. Barton
Sonnet O'Dell
Francis Levy
Katherine Hayton
Kent Flannery, Joyce Marcus
Jes Battis
Caitlin Kittredge
Chris Priestley