The Trouble with Goats and Sheep

by Joanna Cannon

I knew them all. I had watched for so long from the margin of their lives, their faces were as familiar as my own. I looked over for a thread of acknowledgment, but there was none. Even when I willed it with my eyes. Even when I slowed my steps to almost nothing. Tilly walked ahead, and I grew the distance between us, as stares filled with opinion reflected back at me. I couldn’t find anything to do with my arms, and so I folded them around my waist and tried to make my sandals sound more rebellious. Tilly waited for me around the corner. “What shall we do now?” she said. “Dunno.” “Shall we go to your house?” “S’pose.” “Why are you talking like that?” I unfolded my arms. “I don’t know.” She smiled, and I smiled back, even though the smiling felt unquiet. I took the sou’wester from her head and put it on my own. Her laughter was instant, and she reached for it back. “Some people just can’t wear hats, Gracie,” she said. “It should stay where it belongs.” My arm linked through hers and we walked towards home. Past matched lawns and carbon-papered lives, and rows of terraced houses, which handcuffed families together through chance and coincidence. I tried to make it enough.