late october in the wilderness I know the smell of pine loam moldering in the fall. Watch a coyote hunt a house cat in the Chinese cemetery. Native rainbow trout shake their heads at a 1⁄8 Rooster Tail spinner at midday, swallow it come evening. I know that Rowan loves JT, even after he beat her. the wanderer Rowan smells like water. I told her that once. I said, "You smell like an eddy." I was thinking of the North Fork of the Clearwater. The backcountry runs, rocks and pools, clean enough to see the trout cut to shadow. Rowan was drinking a Monster in front of the Mini-Mart. She said, "A what?" She'd sliced the knees out of her jeans, scissored them way back to the side, and I kept looking at all that exposed skin. I said, "Like an eddy on the river, when you wade in. You know?" "When I wade in?" "To fish," I said. She tilted her head, and the hair she'd pulled up bobbed to the left. "So I smell like a fish?" "No," I said, "not like a fish. You smell like an eddy." She smiled, already shaking her head, laughing at me. I said, "Messing with me, huh?" It was last school year. I was a freshman then, a year younger than her. I'd gotten more work in the cemetery and I imagined that I'd take her out, do something nice for her. Rowan was with JT but I tried to ignore that. Rowan finished her Monster and threw the empty down on the cement. "I'll see you around?" she said, and made a fish motion with her hand. Excerpted from Too Shattered for Mending by Peter Brown Hoffmeister All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
