Stork

by Wendy Delsol

  Pedro sighed. “Looks like he’s a no-show. Let’s get going.” As we were only five, I sat in the backseat with Tina and Matthew, while Penny sat up front with Pedro. It was awkward. It had become a sort of double date and I felt about as wanted as a big fat jellyfish between the swimming cones. We were just pulling out of the parking lot when I caught sight of Jack’s old junker barreling at us from the opposite direction.

  “I think that’s him coming,” I said, trying, and failing, to keep an even keel to my voice. If I’d sounded any more gleeful, I’d have needed choral robes.

  Pedro made a U-turn, and Jack parked his car alongside ours. He climbed out from under the steering wheel, walked to the back of the Suburban, and stowed his gear. He then vaulted himself, quite effortlessly, into the third row of seats. Pedro pushed some sort of button that closed the hatch automatically. I was frozen in my seat. Would it look funny if I, too, scrambled into the back?

  “So Kat, you gonna make me sit back here all by myself?”

  My stomach did a jackknife. Just the sound of his voice, kind of breathy from rushing, but also playful, had every inch of my body trilling.

  “Are you going to ask nicely?” I had to at least try to act cool.

  “Will you please sit back here with me?”

  Now I had to crawl into the back and not look like a complete spaz, in stiff boots that had about as much give as granite. I managed to land on my butt, hard, but at least I ended up on the seat and not the floor.

  “Dude, you seriously need to get a cell phone,” Pedro said.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack replied.

  He looked straight at me, and I could tell that this was intended for my benefit more than anyone else’s. His right hand stretched out and then balled into a fist, like he wanted to touch me as he said it. Of course, he didn’t dare. Given the bizarre and chilly outcome the last two times we’d made contact, who knew what could happen? I was pretty sure Pedro’s mom didn’t have insurance for a freak pelting of hail and ice.

  “My dad wouldn’t let me leave until I’d finished my chores for the day. I’ve been up since four.”

  No one dared get on his case after that. I hadn’t even made my bed before rushing out the door, never mind the pile of clothes I’d left on the floor of my closet.

  In the front of the car, they began a conversation about the band that played at the Asking Fire. Jack and I were quiet, though there was an intensity between us that screamed volumes. It was driving me flippin’ crazy. I was on fire. Every neuron in my body was crackling. I wondered how no one else could hear it.

  “Have you been up here before?” I asked finally.

  “Once. A long time ago.”

  “Is it a long hike?”

  He looked down at my boots. “Are those as new as they look?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head.

  “They’re Timberlands,” I said defensively. My grams in Santa Monica had bought them for me when she’d heard we were moving to what she called “north of nowhere.” Nobody shopped like my grams. Born and raised in Paris, she claimed couture was in her blood. Her favorite thing, besides shopping for herself, was shopping for me.

  “But have you worn them before?”

  “No.”

  Again the head shake. I looked down at his boots, the leather of which had probably been tanned about the same time as Moses’s sandals. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or if he was genuinely concerned, nor which I’d have preferred. I decided to change the subject.

  “What’s the weather forecast for today?” I asked.

  Something passed over his brow, like the start of a joke or remark, but then he just kind of shrugged.

  Tina overheard my question. “I think it’s supposed to stay fairly mild. Of course, we are hiking up to a higher elevation. I hope everyone brought layers.”

  Jack was in a T-shirt, as usual. “Is that all you’re wearing?” I asked.

  He looked straight ahead, but, again, I sensed some internal struggle on his part. “I don’t feel the cold,” he said matter-of-factly.

  For the last portion of the drive, I stared out the window. I’d never seen so many trees. They bordered the highway, some encroaching within feet of the blacktop. Their leafy heights swayed in the wind, and birds — so many I grew dizzy watching — soared in and out of this lush canopy. We even passed a small herd of deer, ten or twelve together; they loped gazelle-like between a thicket of tree trunks. Finally, Pedro pulled into the parking lot of the state park. There were only a few cars. It was seemingly more of a summer destination. We piled out and grabbed our gear. The air was already cool, and I was glad to have heeded the advice about layers. I wore a long-sleeved Under Armour T-shirt, Eddie Bauer knit blouse and had the hunter-green sweater tied at my waist and a North Face parka balled into my backpack. Were the next ice age to suddenly hit the area, I’d probably survive.

  Again, I looked at Jack’s light apparel. “Is that seriously all you have to wear?” I asked. My paranoia of the cold, was, I discovered, transferable: frigiphobia by proxy.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said.

  “It’s the bears you should worry about,” Pedro cut in. “I hope you brought your bear repellent.”

  “My bear repellent?” He had to be kidding.

  “He’s joking,” Penny said.

  “Are there really bears?” I asked.

  “Black bears,” Jack said. “Not grizzlies, and not the brown bear you have in California.”

  “Kinder, gentler bears,” Pedro said with a laugh. “Even the wildlife around here is Minnesota-nice.”

  “You really don’t need to worry,” Matthew said. “We come up here hunting every year and never had a problem. They’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”

  I did not like the idea of there being any bears in the vicinity, and I made no allowances between brown or black. I cast a wary eye all around me, and only settled when it seemed I was the only one with pre-hike jitters. I reminded myself, quite logically, that the Pacific Ocean — in which I willingly swam and surfed — was full of sharks, yet there I stood, all limbs accounted for.

  Several trails were marked on a large map, which was posted outside the small ranger station. It seemed we were taking the longest and most circuitous route; our trek would take us up the western side of Fletcher Lake, along a northern ridgeline separating it from Weaver Lake, and back down the east side, crossing a small river.

  We started hiking, skirting meadowlands for the first ten or fifteen minutes. The dirt path was wide and hard-packed, a good sign as far as I was concerned. Many had gone before us, and returned, presumably. We walked two by two, in the newly formed couples’ groupings. Tina and Matthew took the lead, both long-limbed, though hers was the more athletic of the two builds, his teetering to a gangly or spindly classification. Penny and Pedro followed second. The four of them chatted easily. Jack and I, pulling up the rear, were quiet, which, at that moment, I preferred. I was drinking in the surroundings: air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers, and greens in every lush shade imaginable, offset by the autumnal flashes of red and yellow. I couldn’t imagine a smell more invigorating than the wafts of earthy pine carried along the cool currents of air. OK, so Minnesota had its perks.

  The trail then became rockier with trees, mostly evergreens, lining the path. And ever so gradually we started to ascend. If the air was this cool at nearly midday, I would certainly need my parka later.

  Once again I looked at Jack. We were keeping up a fairly brisk pace, but still, I wondered about his lack of warm clothing. He was definitely in good shape, owing to football practices, I imagined. Though I supposed farm chores alone would be a workout. My thighs and butt were starting to sing a little. I regretted not having a fall sport and made a mental note to look into both volleyball and track for the winter and spring. At least my boots weren’t giving me any problems.

  The others were still talking in muted voices. An occasional giggle
from Penny floated back, and it filled the air with so much light and joy, I couldn’t help but think that she had no regrets about the pairings. It did make me wonder why Jack and I were so stubborn in our silence. I was normally a filler, someone who instinctually grouted the social cracks. A dozen little starts of conversation came to mind: books, music, travel, movies. Still I resisted, enjoying the tension heightened by our lack of communication. I wondered if he was always this way. Or was it something I brought out in him, as he did in me?

  We were soon enveloped in thick trees and the path became narrow, forcing us to continue single file. Jack simply urged me into the second-to-last spot with a sweep of his arm, and then took the back of the line. I noticed that Pedro helped Penny over a few treacherous rocks that blocked the path. I could sense how close Jack got to me at these impasses, and I could hear his labored breathing, but he didn’t offer me his hand. And then suddenly, around a bend in the path, we came to a small clearing and the lake. It was smoky gray, with a rocky shoreline and bordered by thick trees all around.

  “Wow. Beautiful,” Tina said.

  We all agreed and paused to enjoy our first glimpse of Fletcher Lake. Penny reminded us to drink water. I perched on a large rock and pulled a bottle of Evian from my backpack. Jack looked long and hard at my choice of water, and I waited for him to make some comment. I was sure he’d have something to say about water coming all the way from Europe. Evian tasted better. That was fact. My friend Mindy did a science fair project in eighth grade. It won the taste test hands down. So what if tap tested the same for purity? Jack shrugged, pulled a large, refillable metal bottle from his backpack, and drank. It had been decided we’d eat lunch once we reached the observation tower, which, by Pedro’s accounts, was only another twenty minutes up the path, but we’d all certainly made quick work of our breakfasts. Jack pulled a bag of apples from his pack and tossed each of us a shiny red ball. I wasn’t sure if it was the apple or the source, but it was delicious, and a different variety from the pippins Afi stocked.

  I looked over the lake. Something large and graceful soared into my field of vision. Even stories high above our heads, the size and power of the bird was impressive. As a newly discovered member of a Stork Society, a real bird society — not some binocular-sporting, Audubon-card-carrying bird watcher — I felt a connection to the majestic creature.

  “That’s a bald eagle,” Pedro said.

  It ducked and dodged above us in a show of speed and agility.

  “Wow,” I said. “It’s so graceful.”

  We sat in silence for many minutes watching the impromptu air show until the bird dipped his wings and soared, effortlessly, out of view.

  Matthew looked out at the lake. “Who’s up for that cold plunge?”

  “Not me,” Tina said.

  “I dare you,” Pedro said.

  “I will if you will,” Matthew replied. He looked at Jack. “How about it, Jack?”

  “No.” Jack’s response was so abrupt, I was startled. Everything about him seemed suddenly tense and even angry, though at what I couldn’t imagine.

  Tina gave Matthew a nudge in the side, and he returned the prompt with a sheepish shrug. “I forgot,” he whispered to Tina. I was seriously confused.

  Just then a wind shear blasted us from above. It was cold and menacing, and I quickly untied the sweater from around my waist and pulled it over my head. The wind’s timing couldn’t have been any worse; an odd chill had already settled around our little group.

  “Let’s keep walking,” Pedro said. I could tell he was trying to defuse the situation, but everybody got quiet and even the air seemed pressurized as we gathered our things and set back along the path. Even my boots stiffened to the mood. From behind, I watched Penny’s white running shoes bend pliantly over rocks and roots and whatever else lay in our path. Sneakers, especially white sneakers, and jeans was a look I abhorred. Athletic footwear should pair with athletic apparel, period. But at this juncture, and as much as I hated to admit it, I envied Penny. My boots had about as much give as the Grinch, and I had definitely started to limp.

  Much to my chafed ankles’ relief, we finally made it to the observation tower. As the area was accessible only to hikers, not much had been done to develop the site. There were a few scattered picnic tables, a small wooden building housing restrooms, a large outdoor map-board, and the wooden platform observational tower itself. It was a wonder that such a gem was so off the beaten track. In California, there’d be a restaurant, gift shop, and scenic tram up to the area, and, needless to say, an admission. I had to admit that the view was already worth the hike. And we hadn’t even climbed the platform yet.

  By unanimous vote, we decided to eat first. Penny and Tina unpacked a selection of sandwiches, Pedro threw out two large bags of chips, Matthew produced a container of homemade chocolate chip cookies, and Jack dumped another six apples onto the pile. We sat at one of the picnic tables, closest to the tower, chatting casually.

  “What was your school in California like?” Tina asked.

  “The biggest difference would probably be the campus,” I said. “Year-round outdoor lunch seating, open-air corridors; even our lockers were outside.”

  “How far to the beach?” Matthew asked.

  “Five minutes,” I said.

  “Nice,” Pedro said.

  I lifted my eyes up to our beautiful surroundings. “This is nice, too.”

  Here in the comfort of the group, I finally felt like I fit. We talked about the dance coming up next weekend. I debated internally whether Jack would confirm our date or break it, the latter seeming more likely at this point. He had hardly spoken during lunch, and I wondered what was going on. As I looked, again, to gauge his mood, I found him returning my stare with a funny expression on his face. Had I been ogling him that openly? And for how long? For some time was the unfortunate reply to my internal question. I hadn’t a clue what anyone else had eaten, yet I could inventory — and probably calculate a fairly accurate calorie count — of Jack’s lunch consumption: three sandwiches (two turkey, and one tuna), four handfuls of Fritos, three cookies, and one apple. How embarrassing. No wonder the guy had stopped talking to me. He was most likely thinking I’d go Fatal Attraction on him.

  I looked away, probably guiltily, up toward the tower. A young couple had been on the platform when we arrived. Our decision to eat first probably had as much to do with giving them their privacy as with our own ravenous appetites. I watched as he pulled her into a hug from behind, protectively, and they took in the scenery from the same vantage point. Something caught in my throat as I spied on their intimacy. It seemed so natural, and painless.

  “Did you guys hear about Wade and Monique?” Tina asked.

  I went absolutely still.

  “She turned him down for the dance,” Tina continued. “He was flirting with someone else.”

  I bent down to retie my bootlaces.

  “Give it till Monday,” Pedro said. “They’ll be back together.”

  “Except he called her some pretty nasty names,” Penny said. “Said it loud enough for half the student body to hear.”

  “It’s like the Lindy Vanmeer saga all over again,” Tina said.

  Again, out of nowhere, an arctic gust descended on our group, sending leaves scattering and blowing tendrils of hair into my eyes. Our trash went flying; Tina and Matthew jumped to collect our airborne empties. When the gale finally settled, I noticed that Jack had walked a few paces away.

  “What is with this weather?” Penny shook a leaf from the hem of her pants. “Tina and I are going to check the maps. You wanna come?” She pointed to the large freestanding map-board posted in front of the restrooms.

  “No,” I said. “I’m more interested in climbing the tower.”

  Tina and Penny set off. Pedro and Matthew were scouring the area for walking sticks, which they’d at first teasingly called “bear sticks,” seemingly for my benefit. And Jack was still off on his own. Good. I was looking forward
to a few moments alone with my thoughts and a bird’s-eye view of such natural beauty.

  I ascended the stairs to the tower. It looked like an oversize and elevated lifeguard station. It was even painted the same familiar shade of light blue. Two stories, and two turns of rickety wooden stairs, led me up to a square open-air deck with a wooden half wall spanning its perimeter. The couple had departed, so I had the place to myself. Besides a vista onto the lapping waters of two steely-blue lakes, a dense forest of trees stretched endlessly in all directions. I marveled at the amount of open land. In LA every square inch of ground is developed into tidy, compact bundles. Even the open spaces are spare and trim. The neighborhood playground, where I’d spent hour after hour with my longtime nanny, Rosa, was called the Marine Parkette, park presumably too ambitious a term.

  The call of a bird drew my attention to the west. The bald eagle had returned. I held my breath, amazed at the vantage point the observation tower provided. He circled two times, edging closer with each pass. His snowy white head was such a stunning contrast to the earthen brown of his body, and his wingspan was immense. The pull of his wings sounded like the wind-borne flap of a large flag. He settled onto the bough of a towering pine, not thirty feet from the railing of the platform where I stood.

  “Friend of yours?” Jack asked.

  I nearly jumped out of my boots, cursed things.

  “We just met. And I’m not so sure friend would be the right word. I think he’s eyeing me for lunch.”

  Jack laughed. “Nah. He wouldn’t want to have to chew through all those layers of clothes, not to mention those boots.”

  I looked down at the damn things. As forgiving as concrete. My ankles were not looking forward to the balance of our hike.

  “Take them off,” Jack said.