The Confusion of Laurel Graham

by Adrienne Kisner

  I’m not made of stone. I sat at the table and dug into a flaky, buttery pile of god’s gift to breakfast.

  Mom poured me a glass of milk from the fridge, sat back down, and took a deep breath. “Laurel, I owe you an apology.”

  I looked at her, my mouth full. This is not where I thought the conversation would start. Or end.

  “I had thought that you were coping with Grandma’s accident so well. And you were. You are. But I should have been paying more attention. I got caught up … I’m sorry.”

  I swallowed. I shoved more waffle into my face because I wanted to make sure she wasn’t about to burst into tears about Brad before I let her off the hook even a little bit.

  “I’m sorry about Gran’s house. I know it meant a lot to you.”

  I chewed.

  “I’m sorry about things moving so quickly with Brad. I’m just sorry.”

  I swallowed again.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said.

  “No. Kid, listen. That’s the big thing here. You did not hurt your grandmother. I mean, I grew up with the woman. No one could make her do something she did not want to do. She knew best. Come hell or high water, if she wanted to be looking for a bird on that road, then she was going to be on that road. You could have tried to physically haul her into the trunk and she would have fought you and won. I know it is hard not to wonder ‘what if.’ I do that all the time. But in this case, it was not you, okay? Please don’t blame yourself, honey. I certainly don’t. And Gran wouldn’t, either. In fact, she’d probably be pissed you were taking responsibility for her actions. God. That woman.” Mom gave a small, sad smile.

  “Yeah,” I said. Gran really could be such a pain sometimes.

  “You were on the news again last night,” Mom said.

  “I tried not to be,” I said.

  “You were in the background with all the other protestors. I looked at the reports you sent. I don’t really understand them. And I still think you have to know that this could affect my job.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “But,” Mom started, “I also get what all of you are saying. About finding another location for it. It does seem kind of dumb and shortsighted to build on a nature reserve. Surely they could fund a different site. I don’t know.” Mom shrugged to herself.

  “So you aren’t mad at me?” I said.

  “No, baby. How could I be mad at you? Well, I could maybe about the protests, because you remind me so damn much of your grandmother. I had to bail her out of jail last year when they wanted to tear down the old carriage house on Poplar Road. Some bats lived there or something.”

  “I didn’t know she got arrested for that.”

  “Oh yes. She wanted to tell you all about it, but I forbade it. Last thing I need is for you to get a record because of her.”

  “Bats eat mosquitos, who carry disease…”

  Mom put up her hands. “Yeah, yeah, I got it all from her. That thing was a condemned eyesore and the bats could live somewhere else. They fly, don’t they? Just pick up and move, bats,” she said.

  The city had torn down the carriage house. The bats moved to the gazebo at the far end of Jenkins Wood. Now was probably not the best time to bring that up.

  “I thought Gran had turned into a bird,” I said.

  “What?” said Mom.

  “Um. The new birdcall we heard. It seemed to multiply after Gran’s accident. I thought maybe she’d … you know what? It’s dumb.”

  “I don’t think it’s dumb. Who knows?”

  “I followed it. It turns out it’s just a blue jay. With a special Western PA accent.”

  Mom smiled. “Your grandmother loved blue jays,” she said. “They were one of her favorites.”

  I tilted my head in thought. “I don’t think she had a favorite. Besides, blue jays are the known jerks of the bird world.”

  Mom got up and went into the dining room. She slid open a drawer in the china closet. “Look,” she said.

  I took the picture she held out. It was Gran, my Pap Pap, and a little girl who must have been my mom. Pap held her, arms outstretched, pointed to the sky.

  “Look at the back,” Mom said.

  I turned it over. “To Ava, my little blue jay. Fly, little bird!” I read out loud.

  “That’s right.” Mom gazed at the picture. “She said jays are fierce. They are survivors. She gave me this picture after Pap Pap died.”

  We sat in silence for a little while.

  “I like that,” I said. “I never thought of them that way. She never said that to me.”

  “Well. She wanted you to appreciate as many birds as humanly possible. Or not bias you or something. She was a little ridiculous with the birds.”

  “Is Brad out of the picture?” I said suddenly. Mom still appeared to be wearing a diamond on her left hand.

  She took a bite of her own waffle and chewed slowly. “No. He’s not,” she said finally. “I know our relationship has seemed kind of fast. But he’s a good one, sweetheart. He really is.”

  “Do you have to get married, like, tomorrow, though? Can’t you wait a while?”

  She pushed her food around on her plate. “He and I talked about that. I guess there isn’t a big rush. It might be better for you … You’ll probably be going away next year anyway, honey. You’ll be gone and I’ll be here alone.”

  I wanted to tell her that filling up the lonely places in your brain with a rando dude wasn’t a good coping mechanism. I only knew this because I’d seen her try so many times before.

  Instead, out loud, I said, “Maybe just get to know him a little better, okay?”

  Mom nodded. “He will probably be moving in in a month or two, though.”

  “Mom, really? We were just making progress here,” I said.

  “Laurel, this is for me. And I think for you. We’ll take some time. But I have to balance my needs with yours.”

  This was a spectacularly bad idea. But she was right. I would be leaving soon. If I wasn’t going to before, I sure would be now. Mom was just a lot to take without Gran’s help. And at least she wasn’t kicking me out for Granocide or something.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Mom watched me. “Really?” she said.

  “Sure, Mom.” Inwardly I sighed. Maybe she’d never get it. But at least she was acknowledging I might have feelings.

  Mom grinned. “I knew you’d come around.” She got up and walked to my side of the table and put her arms around me.

  I hugged her back, even though I hadn’t come around. But it was better for Mom’s sake that she believed that.

  After I then let Mom talk about Brad for another half an hour, I rode over to the hospital to visit Gran.

  “You got arrested over the bats,” I said to her. “You should have told me. That would have given me life.”

  I swear her mouth twitched into a smile for a second.

  “We had a protest march and birds participated,” I told her. “Oh! Actually, I bet they have the paper in the family lounge. I’ll be right back. I’m going to get it.” I left Gran and went out into the hallway. Sure enough, a few Shunksville Gazettes sat in a neat pile in a corner. I walked back to Gran’s room with one.

  “Oh, Jerry is on the first page, Gran.” I held the paper up. I read the article. “Holy crap, there’s another meeting today?” I said. “Gran, get this. ‘At least a hundred and fifty angry constituents showed up Wednesday to protest the proposed destruction of a beloved Shunksville park. Despite compelling arguments from city planners, the council was hesitant to vote to move forward with the merger. Representatives from each current district were on hand. The meeting adjourned with a split vote. Deputy Mayor Michael Ross recused himself from the vote, after members of the council suggested he might have conflicts of interest with stakeholders in several key city contracts. The special school board meeting was rescheduled for July fifteenth.’ What the actual fuck, Gran?”

  Her monitor beeped in reply.

  “Gran, I
love you, but I gotta go. I think this might be a good thing.” I kissed her goodbye.

  I was already behind the times when I arrived at the Nature Center.

  “Can we get people together again so fast?” said Jerry.

  “I think people might already be intending to show up. School board meetings are supposed to be open to the public. It’s summer, but you saw what happened last night,” said Louise.

  “We’re going!” sang Karen.

  “We are, too,” said her Birdscout friend Fred.

  Risa came over to me and tugged my arm. We walked over to hide behind Elder Oak. He stood blessedly protestor free.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.” I slid my arms around her waist. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “No, don’t be. I was just worried.”

  “Yeah. I was … I’m sorry for that. Making you worry. I talked with my mom this morning. Oddly enough, she kinda made me feel better.”

  “Oh?”

  “Maybe Gran could be a blue jay.” I shrugged. “With a new call.”

  “The mystery isn’t exactly solved, you know. Maybe there’s more to it.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “I mean, what bird was that jay imitating in the first place? No one could place it.”

  I laughed. “I guess we’ll have to keep looking. I might be stuck in a bird quest forever. I understand if you get sick of it.”

  “Nah,” said Risa. “Never. As Brian Michael Warbley says, ‘Embrace the mystery around you as much as you can.’ I don’t mind if you have to go after new calls. I’ll wait for you.”

  I blinked. “What did you say?”

  “I’m patient. I can share you with the birds. I’ll wait for you.”

  I smiled. “Thanks,” I said.

  FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY

  JULY 15

  Mom had not approved of the idea of me going to another protest. Her colleagues were still texting her about me. And weird stuff showed up daily in the mailbox, or tied to rocks thrown onto the porch. She wasn’t happy with me, and neither was Brad. He thought I should leave “the hard stuff” to “the grown-ups” because Mom and I “had enough going on.”

  But like I was going to listen to Brad.

  This time no one dressed as a bird (except Karen). We opted to let a few parents go into the meeting so that everyone didn’t get kicked out. Louise and Richard did bring birdseed again.

  I looked up to the azure dome above me. Gran’s blue jay called and called.

  “I hear all of the jays making that sound now that I know who they are,” I said.

  “Me too,” she said. “Funny how that works.”

  “Yeah.”

  An hour stretched into two. Risa and I walked around town taking pictures. I got a good one of a purple finch near the park fountain and Risa got a Cooper’s hawk hanging out on the awning of the hardware store.

  The sun had begun to sink below the horizon when people finally started streaming out of city hall.

  “What’s the word?” Louise said to Karen’s moms. Karen lay asleep in one’s arms.

  “Well, the proposal isn’t dead. Sarig Pond and Jenkins Wood are still the prime site for the merged schools in Shunksville, and Shunksville is still the main town contender. But”—she paused—“there was a lot of debate about the merits of merging at all. There seems to be something—what’s the word Richard uses?—hinky about the surveys and proposed cost and a lot of things. They’ve pushed the vote until October. Work for the new schools wouldn’t start until next spring. So, we haven’t exactly saved the nature reserve just yet. But we have bought some time.”

  “That’s what we needed,” said Richard.

  “We can plan a lot of bird-ins before then,” said Louise.

  Risa looked at me. “This is good,” she said.

  “It is,” I said. It wasn’t perfect. Gran’s house still belonged to the city, which meant that plans could still very well move forward. But this meant it was slower, maybe less likely to happen.

  For now, that was enough.

  “Well, crew, we’ll see you tomorrow at story time,” said Karen’s mom. “This one needs to go to bed.” She nuzzled Karen’s head with her chin.

  “Night,” we said.

  “Walk you home?” said Risa.

  “Bet we could get some good sunset shots by the river,” I said. “Fauna entries due in a couple of weeks. I say we get as many as we can.”

  Risa and I walked our bikes to the little outlook by the river. The mountains rose green and brown above us as the sky darkened all into night.

  “What is that?” I said, squinting at the sky. “Is that a contrail from a plane?”

  “No. Those are white and look like clouds. That’s … green?”

  “It’s bright green. Oh my god, maybe it’s some kind of chemical? What if…”

  “Okay, conspiracy theorist, don’t go all whackadoo there. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” said Risa.

  We watched as the wave of green thickened and seemed to dance across the sky. Pink joined in, cascading across the curve of the sky.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “I think that’s the aurora borealis.”

  “Seriously? Here?”

  “It can travel. I mean … I think it’s pretty rare, but it can be visible this far south,” I said.

  “Can we go somewhere with less light?” Risa said.

  “I’d say the pond, but there are too many trees. But we can go to Gran’s yard. Since no one lives around there…”

  We hopped on our bikes. Risa had her headlamp and blinkers, so she led. We got to Gran’s yard and dropped our bikes on the walkway. It was only a little darker there, but it was enough.

  “Wow,” said Risa. She got out her camera and started shooting.

  The thought crossed my mind that I should, too. But I couldn’t. Pink and green and then purple pirouetted and played right there in the Shunksville dusk and I just wanted to drink it in.

  “I’m glad I got to see this with you,” Risa whispered. She let her camera dangle around her neck. She reached out and took my hand. I turned to her and took her face in my other hand. I kissed her with everything I had.

  “Me too,” I said.

  As the northern lights kept washing across our field of view, I heard it. A sweet, melancholy cry from a blue jay nearby. On Gran’s roof, probably. A few moments later, it called from a tree across the alley. Then farther away still.

  I’d figured out the mystery song. We’d uncovered the fierce, beautiful survivor of a bird that sang it. Common but still remarkable, like so many things in nature. Gran really had always been like a blue jay, the more I thought about it. Even if she wasn’t really embodied in one, I could feel her there, at her house at the edge of the woods and pond, showing me the aurora, just like she said she would.

  “Thank you for waiting for me,” I whispered.

  One more distant jay song faded away and I knew, then, that I had lost a piece of myself. I held Risa close.

  Under that same sky, I knew that I had gained something, too.

  FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY

  JULY 19

  The hospital had called a few hours after they’d postponed the vote, not long after I’d kissed Risa goodnight. As the aurora continued to scorch the sky with waves of the brightest emerald and kelly and pine, Mom and I sat next to Gran as her heart slowed to nothing. They’d turned the monitors off, so there was no dramatic screeching flat line or alarms or anything. Just calm.

  Mom dabbed her eyes with tissues and I held Gran’s hand, knowing it would be the last time I would feel the wrinkled palms in mine. They were warmer than I’d remembered from all my recent visits, which was odd for the end of life, wasn’t it? Wasn’t death cold? It seemed like she was rebelling against convention until the very last second.

  So like Gran.

  We held her funeral next to Elder Oak, her favorite tree. It was super illegal to bury her there, or even scatter ash
es. But her body visited there one last time, before it moved to its own stone angel guard in Grandview. We picked a spot near a massive sycamore that attracted warblers and chickadees and juncos (and thus birders). Nearly fifty people watched as her casket lowered neatly into the ground. Looking into the canopy above, I imagined all of the people who would be stomping on her eternal resting place. Fussing with their camera equipment. Coming to admire the view and the countless migrating species that loved the elevation. Like she and I had done so many times before.

  I knew she’d love that.

  Afterward I went back to Elder Oak and sat with Risa and Sophie, who’d come back from camp for Gran’s memorial.

  “Laurel, I have to tell you something,” said Sophie.

  “Oh?” I said. None of us had talked much the whole day.

  “Yeah, I saw a cool bird at the funeral. And I thought it was probably inappropriate, but it was your gran and all. And both of you quoted that Warbley guy. ‘It’s never a bad time to a bird,’ you know?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “So here.” She thrust her phone at me. There, on the screen, was a perfectly clear shot of a blue jay peeking out from its nest, looking pretty pissed off so many predators were hanging out near its home. “I liked how blue he was.”

  “That’s a great shot, Soph. Pretty soon you’ll be a Warbley devotee.”

  “No. Never. But…” She paused. “I am beginning to see what all of you see in them.”

  Risa and I laughed. It felt good. It trickled down into the space vacated by all of the horrible feelings I’d had about Gran’s accident. Some lingered, and they bubbled up seemingly every few hours. But I decided not to try to squash them down anymore. I found that letting them float to the surface and actually feeling them worked a lot better than trying to pretend they didn’t exist. Sometimes, stupid feelings felt like Squirrel Fire™ to the eyes, but it still didn’t burn as long as it did if you let them fester. Sometimes, you had to wait to will a good day into existence. Or maybe just sit with a day that sucks.

  But today, even though Gran was gone, Sophie was on her way to becoming a birder. Because of a jay, no less.

  Sophie gave me a hug and left to meet her dad to drive back to camp. I took Risa’s hand as we silently took the long route through the woods, and then around the pond for good measure. Bats flapped merrily above us, life tumbling forward without Gran.