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Walk Two Moons

Gramps says that I am a country girl at heart, and that is true. I have lived most of my thirteen years in Bybanks, Kentucky, which is not much more than a caboodle of houses roosting in a green spot alongside the Ohio River. Just over a year ago, my father plucked me up like a weed and took me and all our belongings (no, that is not true – he did not bring the chestnut tree or the willow or the maple or the hayloft or the swimming hole or any of those things which belong to me) and we drove three hundred miles straight north and stopped in front of a house in Euclid, Ohio.

‘Where are the trees?’ I said. ‘This is where we’re going to live?’

‘No,’ my father said. ‘This is Margaret’s house.’

The front door of the house opened, and Margaret, the lady with the wild red hair, stood there. I looked up and down the street. The buildings were all jammed together like a row of birdhouses In front of each one was a tiny square of grass, and in front of that was a long, long cement sidewalk running alongside the cement road.

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