The front door of the farm house swings open and A. runs out. I follow her, screaming my pleads in her direction. She stops on the edge of our mother’s porch to face me. She is frustrated. We both are at this point. She yells back but I am not listening. I watch her eyes, hands, and feet. A. steps off of the porch, hands articulating words that I scream my responses to, feet taking wide steps to the corn field, her eyes leave mine completely. I follow her.