“Yeah,” she said, glancing at the tripod and at me. She gingerly ran down the boardwalk, trying not to make noise or move in a way to freak out the birds.
The buntings, for their part, ignored her. They seemed happy in each other’s company. I wondered if they would still be around so that we could count them in the official bird count. Would it be cheating to include them if it was only a week away? Probably.
A sharp cry echoed from behind me. I whirled around, my mystery bird the closest it had ever been.
“Gran, come on,” I said. “Is this about the house? I have zero control over that. Less than zero, even. I make seven dollars and a half pound of suet or soil an hour. I can’t buy off the city for your house.”
The bird called again.
I tried to follow it. It moved from canopy to near my head. I could hear the way in which his song grew long or soft, near or far. I followed it clear to the other side of the pond. No matter how hard I pressed the binos to my face, no feathers or beak or legs or even telltale movement came into focus. At one point, an eastern blue jay peeked around a tree I could have sworn held the exotic bird.
“Get out of the damn way,” I said.
The blue jay ignored me, as they tended to do, because they were pretty big dicks in the avian world.
Finally, after about ten minutes, I realized yet again that I wasn’t going to find the fucking bird. I sighed. I should get back to Risa and the buntings before she thought I had run off and stolen her binoculars. It was a shorter distance to just keep walking the rest of the way around the back to return to where I’d started.
A thought worried me as I saw a titmouse, a cardinal, two chickadees, six ducks, and a male swan. (Swans were dicks, too, and he chased the ducks.) Every time I saw Gran, she looked less and less like herself. Like her spirit, her Granness, was evaporating into the air around us. And I thought maybe that meant that she was possibly becoming more bird than human, because who really knew what happened as you died? I’d learned in physics that energy is neither created nor destroyed, so who says that your energy doesn’t join something else like another animal who could use it? The energy needed something to stay in, or it got wasted. You don’t want to leave the lights on when no one is home; it’s bad for the planet. Maybe Gran didn’t want to stay in a body that didn’t work anymore. Now that her house had sold, that was one less thing tethering her to the earth. So her energy had even less reason to stay put. I’d thought that telling her what our bird was would keep her here. Maybe it was the one last thing that would let her be truly free.
Because she’d know what she was to become.
I shook the thought from my head as I headed back to the beginning of the boardwalk. The buntings had moved closer to the edge, and the rule-breaking Birdie Bros stood off path snapping pictures of them.
“Excuse me,” I said. “You aren’t allowed to be over there. There’s poison ivy.” I pointed to the patch of three-leaved plants in which they were standing. “Though, it appears it’s too late for you.” I fought down a giggle. Serves them right.
“I think we know what poison ivy is,” the one said. His companion didn’t look so sure. He picked up his leg and shook it. Both wore only tennis shoes and ankle socks.
“Get back up here,” I said more forcefully. I startled the buntings, who flew up higher to avoid the human drama.
“Bitch, please,” the first one said. “You scared the birds.”
“Did you seriously just call me a bitch?” I said. Jerry had actually nicknamed the small section of wetlands they had chosen to go rogue in “death valley.” Because there was a distinct possibility the idiots had wandered through poison ivy and sumac and maybe even oak. Jerry never tried to get rid of it because it always came back, but also because the threat of it was enough to keep most reasonable people on the fucking path.
“Fine. Itch forever in hell. I don’t care.”
I left them, wishing I had my phone or camera to take their picture for Jerry’s wall of shame. I could have them banned from the Nature Center forever for this kind of rap, and the world would be better for it, because the Birdie Bros didn’t deserve close-ups of buntings.
I got back to Risa. “Hey, sorry, not trying to swipe…” But I stopped short when I noticed her bone-white face.
“How. Could. You?” she kind of choked out at me.
I realized then that Risa was standing over her fallen tripod, her camera still attached.
“Oh no! Did it hurt your camera?”
Risa’s jaw dropped. She stared at me.
“I’m sorry I left it. I followed my mystery bird. I heard it call around the pond, but all I saw was a jay. How the hell did it tip over? Surely there’s no way the wind did that?” Risa owned the same tripod I did, which I knew to be the sturdiest on the market.
“Don’t even try this,” she said. “You did it once and I fucking let you do it again. I can’t even believe how stupid I am.”
“What? Do what?”
“Ruin my setup! Last time you just fucked up my time-lapse of the hummingbirds. But this time you cracked my lens. It took me a year to save up for this one.” Risa balled and unballed her fists.
“Risa, I had nothing to do with this. I mean, I left it alone. That was my bad. But there was no one even here to mess with it. I swear!” I stared at her. “Wait, is this what you meant before when you said I ruined your shot?”
“Like I should believe you, I—”
“And hold up a fucking second,” I said. “How about you knocked over my time lapse of the sunrise over the pond. The hummingbirds like the corner that lights up in the morning. I wanted to catch them midflight against the pink sky.”
If I had gotten them mating, I swear I would have won Fauna forever. The judges love that smut.
“What are you even talking about?” she said.
“You were the last walk-around shift. I know you were, I checked the fucking schedule. My camera wasn’t visible. You’d have to know exactly where to look to find it. And all my pictures were jacked up because someone messed with it. And you were the only one who could have done it.” My heartbeat picked up with every decibel level.
“You are blaming me for that?”
“Of course I am. And you are blaming me for this shit? What makes you think I would risk ruining your fucking lens? I know how expensive this shit is. And I bet Jerry gave you birdseed instead of money, too. I know you can’t just buy it. I don’t fuck with people’s equipment!”
Risa paused. She looked down at her poor camera. She clearly had been blaming me for her Fauna loss as long as I’d been blaming her. This was ugly, because it’d taken me months to even speak to her last year. My picture concept had been one of my more brilliant ideas (if it had worked). Mom wouldn’t let me go out by myself to sunrise at the pond or get up that early herself, and Gran had convinced me to try time lapse for the sake of learning technique. But someone messed with my timer, and I knew it wasn’t my mistake because I checked it at least a dozen times before leaving it there. I’d gotten nothing. The second and third times I tried, someone knocked my camera down, just like here.
“If it wasn’t you,” she said, clearly trying not to start screaming at me, “then who was it?”
“I was wondering the same thing about you.”
We stood there, looking at her tripod. There had been no one else nearby. Then or now. Unless some dick swan had …
“Wait,” I said. “The Birdie Bros.”
“What about them?”
“There were two of them. Off path. I saw them before I saw you earlier. And I saw them shooting the buntings when I came back around.”
Risa sucked in her cheeks. “If someone was going to do something dickish, it would likely be dicks.”
“Is the camera itself okay? Do you think it caught anything?”
“I don’t know. I was too pissed off about the lens to check. The battery was almost dead, so I doubt it.”
Risa unscrewed the dia
l on her tripod and wiggled the camera free. She swapped out the battery with a new one. I walked over to her and stood behind her shoulder.
“I guess I left it on. I got one of the buntings.” She smiled in spite of herself.
“Oh, look at them,” I said. “It’s crystal clear. Jealous!” I grinned.
“And here are … huh. What are they?”
“They look like skin. Fingers, maybe?”
That didn’t clear my name, as I had fingers with which to screw with a camera.
“And one with black. With part of a white shape. And a half of a gold star or something. It looks kind of familiar, but…”
“That’s because it’s the Steelers logo,” I said. “Look at it!”
Risa turned her camera. “You are right. I don’t suppose one of the guys you saw was wearing one?”
“I don’t know. But I bet you money they are still off path where I last left them.”
They weren’t. Instead, we found them defiling the good name of the home team right in front of the Nature Center.
Risa took a picture of them before she even said anything.
“For the wall of shame,” she said to me.
“You boys are going to pay for my fucking lens,” she yelled at them. Then she yelled at them a lot more.
Several summer-unterm, unschooler mothers pulled their kids away in horror.
The Birdie Bros tried to run away, but Jerry had come out to see what was going on and made them stay until Risa explained the yelling and the banned-at-the-Nature-Center language. He made them call their parents, which was pretty much the best part of my day.
I waited for Risa outside of the Nature Center. She walked out carrying her camera and tripod, looking pleased.
“These are yours,” I said, holding out her binoculars.
“Oh, I’d forgotten about them!” she said.
“I figured. Everything cool?”
“Yeah. Jerry was so pissed about the boys tramping on plants that he didn’t even write me up. Both dude bros’ moms were pissssssssed. One has the same camera and she told him to give me his lens. It’s not the same kind, but I’m pretty sure this one is better? At least for long-range shots. It’s still a win.”
“Good lord. Never a dull day at the pond!” I said.
“Seriously.” She paused for a second. “Hey. Sorry I yelled at you. Stuff at home is weird. This was just one more thing that sucked. And I’d always thought it was you who … um…”
“Tried to ruin your Fauna entry?”
“Yup,” she said.
“It wasn’t.” Man, Sophie was going to eat up this development like chocolate cake.
“I believe you. It was probably the Birdie Bros, since messing with equipment to win seems to be their MO. And they were stupid enough to be caught on camera this time.”
“Agreed. I’m sorry I thought it was you. I probably should have just asked,” I said.
I looked up at Risa. She hauled all her stuff a little closer to me. “Friends?” she asked. She stuck out her hand.
“Birds of a feather,” I said, taking hold of her hand.
She grinned. “See you later.”
“Later,” I said.
I watched her move to her bike and neatly pack everything in her basket. She waved and set off for home. I could still feel her fingers on my wrist. I felt like that spider from Karen’s favorite nature storybook.
It had been a fucking, fucking busy day.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
JUNE 13
Life was more pleasant, but much stranger, now that Risa and I no longer blamed each other for Fauna failure, as well as now held a common, renewed cause to resent the Birdie Bros. Our morning bird walk canceled, we’d been scooped by text alerts of a Ross’s goose sighting (confirmed) on the other side of town. Part of me was pissed I was missing a fucking Ross’s goose and another part of me knew I could probably go look, too, but I’d miss time alone with Risa, which I found I now craved.
Risa also made no moves to go see the goose.
So, instead of walking the woods and pond, Risa watched me trace an outline of Sarig Pond and Jenkins Wood on a sheet of butcher-block paper I had taped over the art table. I needed a visual representation of where I heard the calls.
“Cartography. Bold. Ancient, yet new,” said Risa.
“Mmm,” I mumbled. I was pretty sure she was making fun of my art skills, which were sadly lacking. I should have convinced Sophie to do this as a camp project instead.
“Is there a particular reason you are doing this?”
“There’s still a bird out there with my name on it,” I said. I didn’t have the energy to make up something creative to keep her from bothering me. I could just curl up and sleep, right there on the table, actually. All of my spare time had been consumed with Gran. I barely shut my eyes and terrible dreams about her being hit by a car barreled through my brain.
“Tattooed on its butt, or something?”
“My grandmother’s bird. The one the other day at city hall. I think it’s her messenger. Or maybe just her. I don’t know. We heard the new call right before her accident. Now it’s all over. There are more of them, and I can’t see them or find them. I think it’s her.”
I could feel Risa’s eyes on me. I met her gaze, waiting for the sarcastic reply.
“Ah” was all she said.
“You thought it might be tufted,” I said. “But how could it be? Wouldn’t I have figured out who Gran was sending by now if it was? You know?”
I could tell Risa considered this. “Where all did you hear it, again?”
I drew an “x” in all the different locations and pointed. “There. I’m kind of on a deadline here.” My nose started to burn involuntarily. I’d used the word “dead.”
Risa nodded.
“Aren’t you going to make fun of me or something?” I said. “Because I said something weird?”
“Why would I do that?” she said.
“Oh,” I said. “I mean, it seems like a reasonable response.”
Risa shrugged. “Nah. It’s cool. Though. Question…” She paused. “That you don’t have to answer. But … why do you think your gran is in a bird?”
“She reacts whenever I talk about the mystery bird. More than any other time. Mom and two nurses and a neurologist said that it’s just reflexes or whatever. But I swear, she only does it at certain times. And there is this new bird. It’s too weird not to be connected to something. Don’t you think?”
“The doctors said so, too? That it’s probably not her paying attention to you?” Risa scrunched up her face.
“I mean. Yeah.”
“I’ve seen shows like this. People are kinda trapped and no one knows they can hear and feel stuff around them. But they can. So why not your grandmother? And why not birds? It doesn’t hurt to try to solve the mystery for her.”
I smiled at Risa. Amid the suckiness, the girl got me.
I noticed then that Risa’s gray “I stop for water fowl” hoodie really brought out her eyes.
Maybe I could be a fashion photographer instead. Gray hoodies suddenly seemed pretty inspiring.
Risa cleared her throat. I realized I’d been staring at her way too long.
“I like your sweatshirt,” I said. Oh my god, Laurel, get it together. This was about Gran.
“Thanks.” She full-on blushed.
“Sure,” I said, turning back to my map. I suddenly decided that I should note specific bird positions to remember what my mystery bird wasn’t.
And also to maybe stop noticing Risa’s fetchingly ripped jeans.
Looking at the map, I noticed that the bird seemed to like the entrance of the sanctuary.
“I am going over to the iron gate,” I told Risa.
She nodded and, to my surprise, followed me out of the Nature Center.
“A little help, please,” I whispered to the universe.
Chirp, chirp, question mark? No. Exclamation point?
Thank you, u
niverse!
“There you are,” I said to the branches above me. “Come down here, won’t you?”
It answered from several trees away.
“Of course not,” I sighed. I looked up and waited. Nothing.
“It’s an elusive little fucker, isn’t it?” said Risa.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked. She usually had the day off.
“Um. Nothing?”
“Would you watch birds with me? I need to find her. It. You know.” I looked up at the sky. “You could shoot for Fauna at the same time.”
“Of course,” she said. She walked up to my side and looked up at the sky as well. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and only the recognizable calls we heard every day echoed through the wood.
Usually when the Gran bird slipped away, I felt a hole filled with guilt slosh around. But with Risa there, looking up, the empty places echoed with a more hopeful song.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
JUNE 14
At five in the morning, I shivered by the nature sanctuary gate, and watched Risa stroll up the path carrying a travel mug in each hand.
“Coffee?” she said. She thrust one of the mugs into my mittens.
“Um. Sure,” I said. I didn’t really like coffee. It tasted like burning. But it was nice of her to bring it. I tried a sip. This was some fancy kind. Hazelnut and vanilla or something.
I sipped some more. I wrinkled my nose.
“Not a fan?” said Risa.
“It was a nice thought?” I said.
Risa laughed. “Understood. I live and die by coffee. Early birders get the early birds and all.”
“I think my body produces its own caffeine,” I said.
“This would not shock me to learn,” said Risa.
Just then, a flutter-swish worried the leaves above our heads and my call sounded.
Risa got out her phone. “I have a new bird identification app. There’s still cars nearby, so you get more noise pollution here than you would think. So, it’s not running at one hundred percent. But it’s something.”
We sat on a bench, still and silent. The bird called out, as if telling us it knew we were still there. Risa held up a finger to her lips and then raised her phone toward the brightening sky. The bird called again and again.
The Confusion of Laurel Graham Page 13
