Hairwolf

Stef pulls into her driveway and parks in front of a two-story garage attached to a single- family house. The upper portion of the garage has been converted into a studio apartment. A

curtain is nudged aside, revealing an adult male cat. It’s a Maine Coon, waiting to be catered to. Stef waves hello. He paws the window, meowing behind the glass.

The residence sits on a vast spread of farmland off of a quiet road. Kid’s toys, a tricycle, Big-Wheel, and a batting cage dot the yard. She crosses to the dual mailboxes sitting on the post and retrieves the mail. She then approaches a side door attached to the garage and enters.

Moments later, she emerges into her kitchen on the second floor, greeting her kitty.

“Moby. How are you, my sweetie? Did you miss mommy?” He meows back at her. She crosses through her living room and up to the bay window which looks out to the fields across the street. This is Brewster, NY. Just far enough away from everything to be an inconvenient treasure.

Her apartment looks like a display cubby at an antique mall. It’s made up of flea-market- treasures and tag-sale finds but these items aren’t just eye candy; they’re put to use.

Antique lanterns reveal smoke soot on the glass from frequent use. Wooden milk crates serve as end-tables and light-stands. Vintage medal tackle boxes lay opened, revealing sewing kits, feathers, sinew, beads, assorted leather, rawhide, and red wool. Weeds, she calls plants, hang in pots from the wall. Rocks piled in a bowl wait to be studied under a vintage microscope nearby.

Several hiking sticks lean against the wall on display and ready to go. One stick in particular is set aside. It has a bittersweet vine wrapped around it, twisting the wood into a cork-screw spiral. The

bark is shaved clean on both stick and vine. A single hawk feather is tied near the top with a patch

of red wool wrapped around the quill. This is to keep away evil spirits according to Native

teachings. The entire stick has been sanded down to a fine sheen rendering it

too pretty for anything other than wall art.

Next to her stick is an old shaving bowl. In it is a wood-handled carpet cutting tool, a knife, a roll of sinew and an assortment of hawk and turkey feathers. In the corner, next to an antique butter churn, sits the same photo of her and Lillian. A U.S. Topographical map rests on the coffee table in front of her couch with a pile of opened bills waiting to be dealt with.

She grabs the bills and starts adding the numbers up in her head. She’s more interested in getting a rough number than an accurate one. The combined total looks overwhelming.

She strikes the keys to her computer, waking it from its sleep. As the screen lights up an article comes up. It’s probably the last thing she was looking at before leaving. It’s about a group of Maine poachers causing havoc amongst the bear population. They’re skinning them and leaving the meat along the roadside. Stef clicks on the link and drags it to her desk top for later viewing. Her account pops up. She reels in close to the screen and then drops back into the seat, defeated.

“How did that happen? Every damn month. Oh, the trap door,” she says regarding Moby. “Moby. I’m gonna have to start charging you rent.”

Moby meows in response. He’s a welcomed distraction. She scoops him up, “I’m sorry, Mobes. Come here pretty kitty. I need a hug.” After a second with him in her arms, she pauses, considering him. “You did? You’re supposed to go all the way through. It’s a door,” she says, as if

he were actually listening to her. He looks at her and then the trap door located in the kitchen. She coaxes him on with, “Let me show you.” She carries him through the kitchen door out to the back

deck. She points to the trap-door. “See? There’s a little bend in the door. That’s to keep other

animals out. That’s where you got stuck.”

She returns to the kitchen, setting him down. “Well. You gonna try it? It’s too small for me.” He’s reluctant. “Moby, I spent a lot of money on that door so you could have your freedom.

I don’t like it but that’s what you wanted. And that door is the only way this can work. Now give it a shot.”

Stef is waiting on him as if she actually believes he understands. Most kitties at this point would simply walk away. But Mobes appears to understand and considers the trap door.

He crosses to it and pushes through the first trap door. He’s cautious and hurries through. Stef looks out the glass to see if he made it out. He did. Stef smiles, watching him proudly. Mobe returns to the kitchen and looks up at her.

“See how easy that was? I told you, you’re safe here. Now go out and play. Mommy has bills to try and not pay.”

He goes through the trap door once again and continues down the back steps to the yard.

Stef crosses back to her computer and stares at the numbers in her account. It’s discouraging for sure but the bottom line is there’s nothing she can do about it at this moment.

A short time later Stef exits her apartment with an over-night bag. She finds Moby sitting on the hood of her truck. She leans in and gives him a kiss. He meows.

“Watch the fort. And remember, big birds.”

Moby looks up at the sky as she enters the truck. He meows again but this one is different. She knows this meow. It’s kitty talk for stay and play with me. But she can’t. She has to pay the bills. He doesn’t understand that. To him, she’s always leaving. Always pulling away. It’s constant abandonment. She knows a little something about that . . .

...She’s eleven-years-old.

She’s eleven years old. Standing in front of her foster-dad’s car, watching numbly as he backs

out of the driveway. She’s barefoot, wearing only a sundress in the lite rain. She’s cold and shivering but doesn’t care about that. She doesn’t seem to care about anything at this moment,

other than why he’s leaving.

He stops and looks at her. There’s confusion in his expression. He’s deeply troubled over

something, watching her from behind the windshield. He stops and pulls back into the driveway and parks suddenly causing his suitcases to drop onto the rear floor. He rolls down his window. Stef takes a hopeful step forward. Maybe he’s not going. Maybe he’ll stay. Maybe.

He sticks his head out the window, “Stefanie, honey, get out of the rain. Get inside.” She sinks in more disappointment. This makes no sense to her. If he truly cared he wouldn’t be leaving.

He watches as the rain pelts her hair and travels down her arm to her semi-curled fingers. From there the water drips into the puddle below. She’s numb. Not so much from the cold, but what’s happening and why he’s leaving. She doesn’t understand any of this.

A woman exits the house behind Stefanie carrying a briefcase. Her arms are covered in bruises and fresh band-aids. She stops alongside Stefanie and tosses the briefcase into the driveway.

He exits the car, “get her inside before she catches cold,” he says. He collects the briefcase and regards them both. There’s nothing from either of them and obviously nothing here for him. He looks apologetically at Stefanie. “Stefanie, please.”

The woman places her arm around Steffy with no intention of taking her inside.

Finally, in frustration, the man returns to the car and departs without a second glance.

The woman pulls Stef into her side and kisses her forehead. She returns to the house, leaving

Stef alone with whatever thoughts she may be having. Stef stares at the empty driveway.

Her attention is taken to a bird, shaking the water from its feathers. It’s dripping wet and alone. Similar to what she’s feeling. But he can fly away and does. And it’s on to the next thing. Stef watches. She shakes the wet off of herself and jumps hard into the puddle in anger. She takes a handful of mud and throws it to the street. She then drops into a seated position in the puddle, defeated. Her step-mom returns with an umbrella and looks down at Stef. She takes a seat next to Stef in the puddle and puts the umbrella down. Stef leans into her, resting her exhausted head. Her eyes land on the bruises and bandages on her mom’s arm. The rain turns to showers and there they sit.

. . .And there they sit.

Stef, looking out across her hood at Moby, exits to him. He walks up to meet her. She leans in and kisses him, “I’ll be back in two days, Mobes. I promise. I’ll never abandon you.” Moby casually jumps off of the hood and sits on the lawn. Stef feels a little better.