Flock Erin K

Macalester College DigitalCommons@Macalester College English Honors Projects English Department Spring 5-2014 Flock Erin K. Schulz Macalester College, [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.macalester.edu/english_honors Part of the English Language and Literature Commons Recommended Citation Schulz, Erin K., "Flock" (2014). English Honors Projects. Paper 31. http://digitalcommons.macalester.edu/english_honors/31 This Honors Project - Open Access is brought to you for free and open access by the English Department at DigitalCommons@Macalester College. It has been accepted for inclusion in English Honors Projects by an authorized administrator of DigitalCommons@Macalester College. For more information, please contact [email protected]. Schulz Third Draft 1 Chapter 1 On Wednesday, the sheep escaped again. I was half-wearing my nice school shoes that are a little scruffy but overall intact when Dad shouted that the sheep were out. I kicked off the shoes and pulled on my barn boots, which are no good for school because they’re crusted over with years' worth of mud and sheep shit. I ran out on the porch and jumped over the bit where the stairs are broken. Fifty-six sheep stood in our back yard, and every one of them looked up at me with the same blank eyes. Sheep are about as dumb as any creature on earth. I love my flock, but facts are facts. When they get out in the world it’s not like they’ve got a plan. They don’t huddle before hand and say, “Hey, you know that green pasture over on the north side? I’ll distract the farmer and you run around him that way.” Nope, they all trot around together without a thought to what they want. I guess I startled them when I landed in the yard, because Missy let out a bleat and started hoofing it down the driveway. The rest of the sheep followed after her, the way sheep do. Dad sidled down hill towards their pasture and tried to coax them back where they’re supposed to be. I stood still at the bottom of the porch for a moment and listened to his voice. He dropped it way down, like it came from inside the earth instead of his vocal chords, and he bellowed, "Come on, come on." Not in two clipped words, not the way teachers say it when they want me to hurry and get the answer. “Coooomeooooon.” It sounds like I think a foghorn would sound, except foghorns warn you away and Dad is calling the sheep back. Most often they obey Dad but take their sweet time about it. When the sheep get out I run fast to the bottom of the driveway and cut them off so they don’t end up trotting down the gravel road on their stick legs. But I gotta do it without spooking them into running away faster. My barn boots clomp-clomp-clomped on the hard packed dirt. Today was just an off kind of day, and the sheep heard me coming. Dumb Noel, who managed to bully his way into the lead, like usual, looked at me in a real spiteful way and broke into a run. The other sheep figured that if Dumb Noel ran, their must be some reason to run. I stopped running, cause sheep may not look like they’re built for speed, but I’ve never found much use trying to outrun four-legged creatures. Dumb Noel isn’t all bad. We called the last ram Mean Murphy. He was a nightmare. At least with Dumb Noel, Dad doesn’t feel too nervous about having me and him run free in the same pasture. He could be real stubborn, though, and he was set on getting a mouthful of almost- bloomed tulips from the neighbors’ garden. "Dumb Noel," I called. "Come back here." Dumb Noel turned around and looked at me. He didn’t even bother to baa because he figured the look he gave me said it all. It’s true. He has kind of a surly face. If you can imagine a sheep with a sneer, then you’ve got Dumb Noel. Fine, if he didn’t want to reason with me, I wouldn’t waste my time. I closed my eyes and focused on the pasture where the sheep belonged. And then I sparked the sheep magic awake. I looked down at my hands. They started out a soft pink, then grew warmer and leaned toward the yellow of the early-morning sun. I held a hand out toward the sheep and hummed, “Come on, come on.” Dumb Noel’s eyes shifted from left to right. He shifted his rump around so he could look at me face-to-face. “Come on, Dumb Noel, you belong in the barnyard. Leave the Lafayette’s tulips alone, and I’ll give you pellets tonight.” Dumb Noel cocked his head. “Okay. Tomorrow night, too.” Schulz Third Draft 2 He took a step towards me, and the ewes gathered around him shifted and bumped into each other’s padded sides. “Come on, Dumb Noel. Come back, Glinda.” It took plenty time to coax the sheep back into their own field, even using magic. When even Limpy Lady came home, wagging her tail behind her, I swung the gate shut and looked at Dad. A thunderstorm gathered between his eyebrows and his chin, and I took a deep breath before I asked, “How’d they get out?” "The damn gate was wide open." This was the second time in a month we'd found the gate open, and another time we found part of the fence clipped clean off. We hadn't seen anybody poking around. I had my suspicions. “Dad?” "You’re already late for school. Get in the truck, Gracie." I obeyed without speaking up about my boots being wrong and the fact that my jeans were mud halfway to my knees now. Dad gunned the truck and we shot down the driveway. I pushed the button the dash to start the country radio station. I waited for the thunderstorm on Dad’s face to break apart and for him to sing along. The sun would break into his voice first, and then his eyes, and in the end it would erase his frown. But the music didn’t work this time. Even when I sang, Dad just brewed over there in the driver’s seat. I stopped singing and watched him again until he felt my eyes and looked over at me. He put his hand on my knee and tried to will away the lines on his forehead. It didn’t work. Dad always says I look like my mom, but even Dumb Noel could tell you I take after my dad’s side. Brown hair, squished down nose, and skin that is slowly turning out like a baseball mitt from spending all my time outside. If there’s anything about me like my mom, it’s that I’m so small. Dad’s basketball-star tall, and I can’t even reach the top shelf in my locker. Everyone in my social studies class turned around to look at me when I walked in. Bailey Alders sat near the back, and she put on a real show, choking and plugging her nose. I glared at her. I didn’t smell like the inside of a classroom, but I didn’t smell like a port-a-potty either. “Miss Corbin. Nice of you to join us.” I guess Mr. Paul put up with me being late from time to time, but he’s my first teacher of the day. I can’t always be get to school when it starts. I got a real short temper when it comes to teachers using their so-nice-of-you-to-join-us voice on me. “Mrs. Lowe’s office. Now.” I left the classroom quick. Bailey’s gag started to spread, and I didn’t need to stay there any longer. But sending me to the guidance counselor was a low blow, and wouldn’t teach me any history. I stood in the doorway of the counselors office for five minutes before she sniffed, then looked up and saw me. The new GC had glasses that slipped down her nose and shoes with heels. She looked nicer than the old GC, but nice only went so far. I walked in before she could say anything and slumped in the seat across from her. She started off talking about how she had been real excited to meet me for some time, because she was new and wanted to make friends at our school. "You better talk with somebody else. I’m not going to help you make any friends." Schulz Third Draft 3 Facts are facts, but she made a pouty face like I wasn't being fair and changed the subject to me being late. I explained about having to take care of the sheep, but it wasn't like I expected her to understand. Her clothes told me she was city and couldn't birth a lamb if her life depended on it. “Gracie, I understand you care about your farm. But school is more important right now. You need to focus on succeeding here. Your grades don’t show me that you understand that.” I did a thing with my jaw where I relax all my muscles so that it just hangs there, and I look especially stupid. “If you need extra help with your schoolwork, Grace, we can match you up with a high school tutor.” “I don’t need a tutor.

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