Cecilia Baader

What beast was it, then?

It almost moved too quickly, but she knocked the crumpled paper out of the way just in time. Go away, she said, kicking enough dust in its face to obscure its vision while she picked up the wad and smoothed it out. She pulled her wallet from her purse and tucked the paper inside. The duck came at her feet but again she was able to avoid it. Before it could come at her a third time, she stood. Its angry squawk followed her down the pathway.

Screw your courage to the sticking place.

Some sound woke her. She squinted at the clock and closed her eyes. She probably would have fallen asleep once more except she heard it again, sort of a flapping sound. She rolled from beneath the covers and crept, naked, into the other room.

Standing off at an angle, she watched it right itself and fly directly at the closed window. It was a bird: black, with a curved beak that seemed nearly as long as its body. She couldn't understand how it got in, she always kept her doors and windows closed. She heard a bang and screamed as the bird careened right back at her. She slammed into the bedroom, breathing heavily as she leaned against the door.

Then she heard a clacking. As it neared the bedroom, she thought how the closet opened on both sides. The bedroom side didn't have a door, and she couldn't remember if she'd closed the door on the other side.

The bird burst into the bedroom and flew directly at her head. She yelled and raced back into the front room. She rushed over and closed the closet door. It would have been easier if the bird hadn't been in the bedroom. All her clothes were in there. Also, the window in the front was sticky and she didn't know how to fix it. She grabbed a towel out of the bathroom and wrapped it around her so she could work on the window. She had to fight to get it open.

After she'd forced it as wide as it would go, she put the towel on top of her head. Then she grabbed the yardstick since she couldn't find the broom.

When she stepped into the bedroom, the bird was perched over the valance, watching her. The sun glinted off its wings, bringing out an iridescent aquamarine that she would have thought beautiful if she hadn't been so scared.

She waved the yardstick and it flew straight at her, knocking the towel from her head. She yelled and waved the yardstick again, and it shot across the length of both rooms directly into the glass pane of the upper window. Stunned, it fell to the sill, feeling the breeze for a long minute before understanding.

She placed her hand low on her belly and watched it fly away.

Out, out damn spot.

She caught the clown sneaking a smoke behind the fieldhouse.

Some role model you are, buddy.

He took a long drag. Clowns aren't role models.

Sure they are. Kids look up to you.

That's because I'm so tall. He took a final drag and put it out on his floppy shoe. She noticed a ring of red around the butt he flicked away.

You're just a laugh a minute.

He untied the bunch of balloons he'd secured to a garbage can and looked at her. Listen, lady. Why don't you take your red army tactics to the other end of the park and leave me the hell alone?

All I'm saying is you never know whose illusions you're going to blow.

What, yours?

Of course not mine.

You sure?

She huffed. Everybody's a comedian these days. Can't even take a walk in the park without bumping into a smoking clown.

He laughed and tied his bunch of balloons to the garbage can again. Reaching in his deep clown pocket, he drew out one of those long skinny balloons. He blew it up in about two breaths and tied off the end. Then he twisted it into a swan-shaped hat and stuck it on her head.

There you go, kid.

She yanked the swan from her head and studied it, then dropped it on the sidewalk and ground it under her heel. The pop echoed throughout the park like a gunshot. She turned and walked away.

Don't leave that, the birds'll get it.

I'm real worried.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen

When she was young, she made her sister trade bedrooms with her. Nobody could understand it. Her bedroom was larger and had the bigger closet. Her sister hadn't argued. She was no dummy. She just packed up her stuff and moved across the hallway. A few weeks passed and her sister began telling stories of the sweet owl who called to her and sometimes flapped its wings.

The night was silent from her new room.

Is this a dagger which I see before me?

Hey lady, the kid said again. You gonna answer me?

She refocused on him. Huh?

He heaved a sigh. I said, are you going to eat the rest of that? He pointed to the unfinished box of popcorn at her feet.

No. She picked up the box and offered it to him. She'd only bought it for something to do while she waited. You want it?

Sure. He immediately dumped the contents into a plastic grocery bag. Then he placed the bag on the ground and smashed the contents under his feet.

What are you doing?

He was concentrating on his task. Oh. I'm making a bomb.

Out of popcorn?

He glanced up. It's the best.

Right. Because when I want to make a bomb, the first thing I do is find a box of popcorn.

He laughed. Sure. See, first you get a good plastic bag, no holes in it. Then you fill it with some kind of old food and you smash it up real good. He stepped off the bag, picked it up, and looked inside.

Where does the bomb part fit in?

Pond water.

What? A laugh escaped her. She hadn't laughed in about a thousand years.

I'm going down to the pond, and I'm going to scoop up some water and some goopy green stuff and mix it with the popcorn. And then tie off the bag. Tight. With a great big air bubble, so it'll break nice and easy.

And then?

Then I wait until my sister comes home. His shaggy hair fell over his eyes and he pushed it back with a grubby hand. Thanks, lady. It's really hard to get popcorn out of hair.

She wondered if she should stop him. It was a cool autumn day; that poor little girl wasn't going to appreciate getting wet. Right. And this is good because?

Because, he paused. Because it's fun? his eyebrows rose.

She studied him for a moment longer, watching him shift from foot to foot. Good luck, buddy. I hope you don't get in trouble, she said finally, pulling her legs up onto the bench and hugging them to her body.

He started toward the pond. It'll be worth it.

Bye, she called as he meandered away. Midway down the path, he came across a couple of ducks and chased them out of sight.

Yet here's a spot.

They made fun of her because she wouldn't go up on the bluff with them. It's too close to the sky, she told them.

Even he laughed a little. They were all going to go up there on Saturday night to build a fire and drink a little. She should come. She never came and people were beginning to say she was snobby.

So she went. One of his friends was an Indian, a real one, and he sat around the fire telling stories and talking about spirit animals. Yours is a hawk, he told her. It's very clear.

I think you need glasses.

It had been as a gap in our great feast.

It was the strangest thing. Some old woman was coming down the pathway with her arm stuck straight out to the side. She couldn't understand why until the woman got closer. She had some kind of blackbird perched on her elbow.

The woman stopped. Do you have any spare change to feed my bird?

The last thing I want to do is feed that thing.

The woman looked at her sadly. It's not the bird's fault.

She looked away, then back again. Keep it away from me.

You're worried about nothing.

If I give you money, will you go away?

No.

Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look not so pale.

May the bird of paradise fly up your nose. Her father had always been a great fan of country music and would sing while he was drunk. She listened to it sometimes when she missed him the most.

Sometimes he would make her take her turn doing chores in the barn. He knew she didn't like the chickens, but he never let her shirk the egg job when it was her turn.

She never thought he was cruel like people said. He was fair, that's all.

That's why she knew she should never be a mother. She was too much like him.

'Tis safer to be that which we destroy

She rested her forehead on her knees, breathing deeply. She rocked forward, savoring the instant where control vanished before regaining her balance. She rocked forward again.

I almost didn't see you. His voice came from behind her.

She had to fling out her legs to keep from falling. Her hands grasped the bench even after the danger had passed. Did you have to sneak up on me like that?

You act like you weren't expecting me. He moved around the bench and sat down. He looked terrible. His eyes shifted to her face and his eyebrows came together. Your eyes aren't blue, he said.

She sighed. Yes, that's true.

I always thought they were blue.

She wished she could smooth his hair. They've never been blue, she said instead, keeping her hands safely locked together.

I can see that now. He looked away and half-laughed. I used to love just looking at you. I spent hours watching you sleep.

Please don't.

And I'd watch you lean over and hit that snooze bar ten times every morning.

A person should never get up the first time.

He laughed. How many times does it take?

Don't do this, she said. You're the only person in the world who doesn't make me crazy.

He looked down. I only came because you wouldn't let me say no.

She looked out toward the pond and spied her young friend scooping up water. His jeans were wet but he didn't seem to care. She took a deep breath. Do you know, I've always been convinced I will have my life to live over again?

What, like you're reborn?

No, I don't mean another life. I just always figured I'd wake up one day and it would be the past and I'd get a chance to fix things.

How was this supposed to happen? Leprechauns?

It was just this idea I always found comforting. She looked around. Another duck was coming up the pathway and stopped, considering the popcorn residue on the ground. It began to pick at what was left. She unclenched her hands and rubbed her palms on her skirt.

That just doesn't make sense.

She could hear the usual annoyance in his voice.

I never claimed it made sense.

The duck moved a little closer and she moved her feet out of the way. It was a marauding duck, and she thought for a moment that if it could, it would swallow her whole.

You're insane.

She opened her purse and rooted around for her checkbook. Reaching behind the register, she pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to him.

He squinted at it for a second and then had to pull out his glasses. The writing was miniscule. Twelve, twenty-eight, he read. It was full of numbers. What the hell is this?

She shrugged. The duck was getting too close again. She pulled her feet up on the bench and hugged her knees. She rocked forward.

The feast of the innocents. Maybe a birthday. Neither, both. Things to help me remember. Just in case I came back to today.

You're making a fool of yourself.

Or maybe yesterday afternoon-- she made a grab for the paper and he caught her wrist.

No, he said. No. His gaze was focused on his thumb, making slow circles on her wrist. That's the funny thing about life. You only get to live it once. His grip tightened. And then you have to live with what you've done.

She looked away, towards the pond. Her young friend had gone.

He pushed her away and stood. This time she didn't move at all. She just fixed her not-blue eyes upon him as he crumpled her paper and threw the wad at her feet. And then she somehow managed to keep still as he examined her once more. And then she watched him walk away.

And when the duck again happened upon her paper, she let it go.

DUCK

by

Cecilia Baader