Things I Can't Forget by Miranda Kenneally Read Free Book Online Page B

everything I can about the outdoors so I can one-up him, like Matt just did.
    “Regardless of whether there are snakes in the lake,” Megan says, “you can’t react like that in front of children, Kate. It’s unprofessional and it will scare the kids.”
    I look around at the other counselors and nod. Parker raises her eyebrows at me.
    I turn to gaze across the lake at the deep green woods. When I was younger, I learned about how Henry David Thoreau went out into the wilderness and lived by himself at Walden Pond for a long time and wrote his magnum opus. I’m not saying I want to go write a magnum opus or anything, but I’d love to have a tiny cabin to myself in the mountains, where I could paint landscapes until my hand falls off and not be around people like Monkey Megan and Eric “I refuse to play the animal introduction game” and Alligator Andrea, who probably is an alligator disguised as a sorority girl.
    Parker appears beside me and whispers, “I would’ve screamed if I saw a snake too. And I want to be a vet!”
    I slip my thumbs into my belt loops. “I’m, uh…can we talk about last night?”
    Megan blows her whistle and beckons for us to follow her back up the trail, and Parker walks off with Will without responding to me.
    “I can’t believe you killed a poor snake!” Parker snaps at Matt, passing by him.
    “It was swimming near a group of eight-year-old campers who were canoeing. What was I supposed to do?” Matt replies, drying his face with a towel. He waits for me to catch up. “You okay?”
    “I never want to see a snake again.”
    “Me neither.” He jerks his head toward Parker. “For multiple reasons.”
    I laugh. “Thanks for swimming out to save me.”
    He looks over at my face. “You saved me once too.”

sketch #340
    what happened seven years ago
    At twilight, I rock back and forth on Cardinal’s porch swing. I use a piece of charcoal to sketch, making sure to keep my hands away from my face and clothes, so black dust doesn’t get everywhere.
    I draw thirteen-year-old Matt with glasses and a bit of acne on his face.
    I hate it when Christians don’t act Christian-like. The boys in our group had been teasing him for writing music and lyrics.
    “Only girls do shit like that,” a boy had said to Matt, making him turn redder than a strawberry. He clutched the neck of his guitar, glancing at me. Most of the other kids looked away, but I held his stare and tried to show him he wasn’t alone.
    I got the impression this wasn’t the only time he’d been bullied. He never smiled and hardly ever spoke.
    But now, as a guy about to be a junior in college, he seems sure of himself. He’s grown into his skin.
    I draw a picture of eleven-year-old me pulling Emily over to Matt.
    “Can we hear one of your songs?” I asked him.
    He smiled and began to strum his guitar while watching my eyes.
    By Wednesday night, he’d written a new one. Something about comparing a girl’s beauty to that of a redbird.
    “Vibrant, free, elegant, and lovely.” ☺
    When he sang it for me, I kept my head down and buried my clasped hands between my thighs. The song ended, and he reached out a hand, grabbed my shoulder, and squeezed.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    I never knew what he was thanking me for, but I said you’re welcome and the next night he gave me my first kiss.
    This afternoon, when I asked how I saved him, he didn’t answer.
    I touch my lips, probably getting charcoal on them. How did I save him?
    I use my red coloring pencil to fill in an outline of a redbird.

his snores are louder than a bulldozer
    sunday, june 3 ~ week 1 of 7
    “This is inhumane.”
    Parker is upset about creek stomping.
    Once a week, we’ll take campers down to Cumberland Creek, where we’ll wade around and catch crayfish. Some crayfish are the size of a quarter. Some are the size of a brick.
    “We should just let the kids walk through the creek and splash around,” Parker complains to Megan. “We don’t have