Be Light Like a Bird Read online

  It was a magical place. I felt it right away. Fog steamed up from the water, and trunks of dead birch trees formed a half circle around the opposite shore. There was no human sound, just birdsongs and the swampy smell of wet earth. I sat down on a flat boulder in the reeds and listened to the birds.

  I didn’t know if I could bird-watch again — not without Dad. But then I saw a sparrow landing in a tree next to the boulder and let my eyes follow it. You have to concentrate to watch birds, but it’s fun to try and identify the kind of bird you’re looking at. Dad and I had always shared that fun.

  I waited for the cloud to smother me in the kind of pain that would tell me that I could never watch birds again. But it didn’t come. Instead, I registered the bird’s characteristics.

  “Look for size, color, song,” Dad used to say. “You’ll learn to tell them apart.”

  This one had a streaked body and a dark tail with white edges. I recognized it by its song: four notes — the last two higher — followed by a descending series of trills. Dad had said it sounded like, “Where-where-come-come-all-together-down-the-hill.”

  When I got home, I checked in my bird book. Vesper Sparrow: Often sings in the evening twilight.

  For the first time since Dad’s death, I opened my bird journal to note my sighting. Printed on the first page was a quote.

  “… be light like a bird, and not like a feather.”

  — Paul Valéry

  When Dad had given the journal to me, I’d asked him what that meant. He’d said, “It means you don’t want to just float around in life like a feather. You want to determine your own direction — fly and soar like a bird.”

  At the time, I’d thought Dad would help me find that direction. Now it made me sad to think of our conversation. I certainly didn’t feel like I was flying like a bird, full of intention and self-direction.

  I filled in the date, location, time, and weather. Below my notes, I tried to draw an outline of the sparrow. It looked like a crooked egg with a tail. I couldn’t even copy it from the book. I erased it, tried again, and then gave up. Dad had always been the better drawer. He’d told me I’d get better if I kept trying. I knew then that he would have wanted me to continue bird-watching.

  * * *

  The next time I went back to the pond, a crow once again sat on the stump. I took out my binoculars for a closer look. I saw the tiny white spot on its face and knew it was the same bird that had led me there before.

  I went back every day that week, bringing nuts with me for the crow. I threw them under the tree he usually perched on, but he didn’t touch them while I was there. He waited until I walked to the other side of the pond, and when I came back, the nuts were gone. I had no idea if the bird was a female or a male, but I called him Joseph, after St. Joseph of Cupertino — the patron saint of pilots.

  9

  As I entered Eats of Eden, Mr. Leroy, the owner of the health food store, greeted me with a cheerful, “Bon Jour. Comment ça va?”

  “Pas mal,” I answered, which means not bad.

  Mr. Leroy was French. That’s why his name was pronounced Lee-rwah. Most people said Lee-roi instead. But at least he had a good sense of humor about it. He’d told me when he hired me that he was glad that his name wasn’t Monsieur Bouchard, which would have sounded like “butchered” in America.

  Not much taller than me and a bit pudgy around his middle, Mr. Leroy wore his gray hair slicked back so you could see his widow’s peak. His dark blue eyes were hidden behind horn-rimmed Harry Potter glasses. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he sold used books.

  “Any deliveries?” I asked as I took off my jacket.

  “No,” he replied. “It’s been a quiet day.”

  So far it seemed like most days here were quiet. I’d asked Mr. Leroy if he needed help when I’d gone exploring the day after we arrived in Pyramid, and he’d hired me right away. After spring break was over I wouldn’t be able to come more than once a week, but judging from the low customer volume I’d observed, I assumed Mr. Leroy had other sources of income to stay afloat. I wondered if he only hired me for company. In any case, the money I would earn in the store would go right into our down payment fund.

  “Assam? Or Darjeeling?” Mr. Leroy asked. He was a tea fanatic — a connoisseur, as he called himself.

  “You choose,” I said, sitting down behind the counter to watch him fuss with the tea.

  “I circled a listing for you,” he said, motioning toward the newspaper on the counter. Mr. Leroy didn’t know about Dad. I’d only told him that I lived with my mother in an apartment and that I was hoping we would move into a small house soon.

  “Two bedrooms, one bath, large porch, located on Cedar Drive. Perfect starter home,” I read aloud.

  “Cedar Drive is a decent address,” Mr. Leroy said.

  “And it’s less than eighty thousand, which is our limit,” I said. “Can I take this page?”

  Mr. Leroy nodded, and I ripped out the page and stuffed it into my pocket. As he served our tea, I studied his hands. I assumed he wasn’t married since he didn’t wear a wedding ring and had never mentioned a woman in his life.

  “Have you ever been married, Mr. Leroy?” I asked after we’d finished our tea and were unpacking chia seed and quinoa boxes. He was standing on top of the ladder while I was handing him packets.

  “I have been,” he said.

  “And why are you not anymore?”

  “We got divorced,” he said. “Teresa and I were married for six years.” He placed the last package on the shelf and stepped down from the ladder. “And now do you want to know why we separated?”

  “I do.”

  “She fell in love with another man.”

  I frowned. “That must have hurt.”

  “It sure did,” he said.

  “How did you get over it?” I asked.

  “Time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Oh, it takes a while,” Mr. Leroy said. “And the healing doesn’t go in a straight line from feeling bad to feeling better. It’s more like a zigzag.” He drew an imaginary zigzag line in the air. “Some days you think you are better, and then, a few days later, you feel terrible again.”

  “Have you met another woman since your divorce?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I think that chapter in my life is closed.”

  I nodded. It sounded kind of sad. I didn’t want to pry anymore.

  Just then a young woman entered the store. While Mr. Leroy went up front to ring her up, I went back to the counter and skimmed the headlines in the paper. On page two, I found an article entitled “Planned Expansion of the Pyramid Landfill.” It read:

  … more space needed to accommodate higher waste volume… planned extension will incorporate the swamp area known as Pete’s Pond… an environmental impact study gave the green light… expected that the motion will have smooth sailing in the council… area is currently being surveyed in preparation for the fence installation…

  Mr. Leroy returned to the back of the store just as I was finishing the article.

  “Did you know they’re planning to destroy someplace called Pete’s Pond?” I said. “I think I’ve been there and watched birds. It’s beautiful. The paper says they’ve already started surveying the area before the township board has even voted on it.”

  He shook his head. “That’s no surprise to me.”

  “But how can they do that?”

  “The board is in the hands of a few influential locals who pretty much wheel and deal everything among themselves. The owner of the landfill is even one of the board’s trustees. Something like this is already a fait accompli.”

  There was my word of the day. When I’d first visited the store, I had asked Mr. Leroy to teach me a few French words, and he thought it would be good if I memorized a word a
day once I started working there. So I pulled out my notebook and handed it to him.

  Mr. Leroy wrote fait accompli in his lovely French cursive on one side of the page and handed it back to me. Next to it I noted the definition he gave me: Irreversible action that has happened before those affected know of its existence, or a done deal.

  * * *

  On my way home, I stopped at the pond. When I took my seat on the boulder, I saw a flock of female turkeys coming out of the underbrush. After a few steps, one of the hens stopped and looked around nervously while the others continued. I wondered if it was hard for a girl turkey to make friends or if it just came naturally to them to stick together. Maybe their gurgling sound was actually a turkey giggle, and while they made fun of one of the other hens, she only pretended to be laughing too.

  Suddenly, there was movement among the dead trees across the pond. A man in an orange safety vest bent over a telescope on a yellow tripod. Then branches snapped behind me. Another man in a similar vest stepped out from the bushes, holding a long pole painted in broad red-and-white stripes.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “We’re marking the borders to prepare it for clearing,” he explained.

  “Clearing?” I repeated.

  The man shrugged. “I guess they’ll cut everything down and drain the pond. As soon as we’re done, the bulldozers will come.”

  Just then a shrill cackle shot from the walkie-talkie in his vest pocket. “You’re off, Bob,” a distorted voice squeaked through the small black box. “You need to move about three meters to your right.”

  The surveyor held the walkie-talkie close to his mouth to answer. “Sorry, Landon. I’m moving right now.” He turned to me. “I’ve got to get back to work. Nice meeting you.”

  “Bye.” I nodded, watching the man disappear from view.

  Cleared by bulldozers? I thought. I imagined men cutting down trees, the sound of their chainsaws driving away the birds, destroying my place.

  I stood up to leave. I was done with birding for today, too upset to stay.

  10

  I would be the new girl in school again. The week of spring break had ended in Pyramid, and I had joined Chippewa County Middle School, a flat brown building on the outskirts of Sault Ste. Marie. On my way to school the first day I realized that if this was the place I wanted us to stay, I would have to fit in somehow.

  I got lucky.

  The first day, I sat next to Carrie, one of the popular girls in school, and let her copy the answers to the math worksheet. I knew this was my chance. I wouldn’t be a loner if I could hang out with Carrie. Her paying attention to me was like an oversized thousand-watt stadium light had suddenly focused on me. In her spotlight, I almost felt like I gave off light myself.

  But to attract Carrie’s light, I had to get to school early so she could copy my homework. Only a week after my first day, as I pushed my way through the stampede of students, craning my head to scan the hall for Carrie’s beautiful hair, I saw her standing by the vending machine, talking to a girl I didn’t recognize.

  “Meet Victoria,” Carrie said when I approached. “She’ll be in our class. It’s her first day.”

  Victoria had an angel face framed by the kind of golden curls I’d always wanted. My hair, on the other hand, was thin, cropped short, and the color of whole wheat bread.

  “This is Wren!” Carrie added.

  A sting. She hadn’t said, “my friend Wren.”

  “Victoria just moved here from Ann Arbor,” Carrie explained. And there was more. “Victoria’s mom is a yoga instructor. My mom already met her. She wants to take her class at the community college!”

  “Maybe your mom would also like to sign up,” Victoria said to me.

  I shook my head. “My mother works different shifts, and they change all the time.” Lack of time wasn’t the only reason Ma wouldn’t sign up for a yoga class, but I didn’t want to tell them that we also didn’t have money to spend on yoga classes. I took my math notebook out of my backpack and handed it to Carrie.

  “Wren is really good at math,” Carrie explained.

  An awkward silence followed as Victoria and I both watched Carrie scribble my answers in her notebook. When she was done, Victoria pointed to a photo of a dumb boy band that was glued to Carrie’s notebook cover.

  “I love the Silver Pears!” She practically screamed the word love, nodding frantically, her golden curls bouncing on her shoulders.

  I looked for dandruff, but there was nothing. If something were to fall out of Victoria’s hair, it would probably be gold dust. I could already feel my light dimming.

  * * *

  The Carrie-Victoria lovefest continued.

  Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Anderson was also delighted to meet Victoria. “Who’d like to be the new girl’s buddy?” she asked.

  Carrie beamed. “I’m happy to show her around!”

  Another sting. Just a week ago, when I’d been the new girl, Carrie hadn’t volunteered to be my guide. She’d only warmed to me after I’d helped her with a math test.

  When we entered social studies class Mrs. Peters had changed the seating arrangement. The desks in our classroom were now arranged in groups of four, and she had placed name cards on each table. Carrie and I would sit with a quiet, nerdy boy named Theo. One desk in our group was empty, and I knew what was coming.

  Mrs. Peters pointed to the empty chair opposite Carrie. “Perfect. Victoria can join your group.”

  A minute later Theo entered the classroom, looking like he had stepped out of an old black-and-white movie. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and corduroy pants, and his hair was parted straight and slicked back from his forehead in a roll. The rectangular black frames of his glasses seemed too big for his face. I’d once seen a boy in an old milk advertisement with hair like that, and I could have sworn he and Theo were wearing the same shirt.

  Theo took his seat at our table. Victoria turned to Carrie, mouthing the word nerd to confirm her first impression. Carrie rolled her eyes in agreement.

  “Good morning, boys and girls!” Mrs. Peters said. She was ready to begin the day with a civics unit. “Who remembers the definition of a controversy?”

  Theo’s hand shot up. “A controversy is a dispute or disagreement between sides holding opposite views,” he said in his earnest voice.

  I sighed. What a toxic thing to say! In the group behind me, Tim and Callum groaned softly.

  “Very good, Theo,” Mrs. Peters said. “Controversial public policy issues are often framed by should questions. Such as, ‘Should we share the water of the Great Lakes with desert states?’ Or, ‘Should we lower the voting age?’”

  Callum whispered, “Should Theo get a new haircut?” The kids in his group chuckled. I could see in Theo’s eyes that he’d heard Callum’s remark.

  “Our next assignment will be a partner project,” Mrs. Peters continued. “Each group will choose one controversial issue, find out the facts, as well as the pros and cons, and then argue for one side or the other.”

  Everyone in the class quickly sought to make eye contact with their preferred partner. I looked over to Carrie, but her eyes were locked onto Victoria’s.

  “I will assign the partners,” Mrs. Peters said as she handed out the papers.

  Last week partners had been assigned randomly, with the help of the sticks of doom — Popsicle sticks that had our names written on them in black marker. Mrs. Peters would close her eyes and pull out two sticks, then read the names aloud, and that was that. It seemed fair to me. At least chance determined whom you had to work with. But this time Mrs. Peters announced that we’d be working with someone at our table. As she went around the room assigning team partners, I held my breath and squeezed my thumbs inside my fists, hoping for a miracle.

  “Carrie, why don’t you work with Victoria?” Mrs. Peters said when she go
t to our table. “And Theo can work with Wren.”

  I looked down to the stone-gray linoleum tiles, hiding my disappointment. Carrie and Victoria would bond over their work while I had to spend time with Theo the nerd. The light Carrie had shone on me went from dim to extinguished.

  When I looked back up, my eyes met Theo’s. He looked at me apologetically, as if it were his fault that I’d ended up with him. I glared at him. I wanted him to feel bad, too.

  On the board, Mrs. Peters made a list of possible report topics:

  Should power be generated from coal or nuclear energy?

  Should Michigan share the water of the Great Lakes with other states?

  Should voting be mandatory? Who cares?

  Carrie and Victoria picked their topic right away, eager to work together.

  Theo turned to me. “Which one do you want to do?”

  I shrugged, thinking, I don’t want to work on any of them with you.

  Mrs. Peters was standing next to our desks. “How about, ‘Should seat belts be mandatory on school buses?’” she suggested in a cheerful voice.

  “I don’t take the school bus. I ride my bike to school,” I said.

  “Me too,” Theo agreed with a nod.

  “There are also local topics,” Mrs. Peters said. “I read in the paper that the township plans to expand the landfill.”

  “They’ve already started to survey the area,” I blurted out. “I saw it. It’s so sad!”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it,” Carrie piped up. “My dad runs the landfill. They just need more space.”

  I frowned. Why did I not know that about her?

  “Who cares about that swamp anyway?” Carrie added.

  “Pete’s Pond is not just a swamp,” I said quietly. In my mind I added, There’s actually a wetland surrounding the pond with very exciting birdlife.

  “Sounds like this is already controversial here in our classroom,” Mrs. Peters said with an encouraging smile. “Theo, what do you think?”