Fiction | March 01, 2003

This story is not currently available online.

Robby Travers, a boy of fourteen, took off his T-shirt and sneakers and stuck his toe in the pond at his grandparents’ farm.  It was morning, and the sun was warm, but the shade of the willow tree and the water were cool.  Robby hugged himself and hunched his shoulders–a reflex to cover his chest, which dipped in the middle like someone had taken an ice-cream scoop to it.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.