Shivaree

of humanity. I have to care about par- time, know that I am being cared about ticular people, in a particular place and in the same way. time. I can do that here, and, at the same Shivaree I don't know how they came together, perhaps a hayride, or a simple kiss in a post office game, a community recreation, maybe walking around the house at night, in the real quiet, won on the spin of a bottle. No doubt, they had been given ways to explore their first enticements, a public obligation, until they pleaded for more, and he bought a ring. I do know their wedding was a perversion. They may as well have been in stocks, their mating a public spectacle, hosted by their neighbors. While they lay scared and white, huddled in sheets and shame, they heard their names, rolled out on wash tub drums, played on ridged boards, beat on barrels. Until the young man ran to hide. Pushing cornstalks aside, he ran as scared as a rabbit chased by the hounds. You were still laughing when you came home. Your eyes pulsing from the heat of the run. From hearing you tell, it was hard to remember that it was our friend, Johnny, they were after. I shivered as I first wrapped myself in blankets, but couldn't stop the shaking. What I don't understand . . . my dearest brother . . . who sits by me now in the night, and holds my hands in his own, while I fight back this deep fear that has grown . . . is why you were there. -Mary Ann Barnett 50 ...