Though much of the school year drug on and been barely bearable, suddenly it was June and Emma’s sophomore year was over. Mrs. Dudley asked her to stay after class one day shortly before the end of the year. There was a writing workshop for a few weeks over the summer that she wanted to recommend Emma for.
“Emma, I have your portfolio here with me, your works are quite moving and I believe perhaps there is greatness in you to be unlocked. With a little training maybe you could be the next Stephen King or even the Jane Austin of our day,” Mrs. Dudley shared sincerely.
Emma mumbled “thanks”, but knew attending the camp was unlikely. She failed to mention that unless there was another student going she could hitch rides with it was not an option.
Her teacher continued to gaze at Emma thoughtfully, attempting to see beyond her austere surface and asked, “Is everything was okay at home?”.
She had sensed from Emma’s dark and often bleak writing there was more to her story, but Emma assured her all was well. They just had a lot of plans for the summer that she probably could not get out of. The last thing she needed was her favorite teacher to feel sorry for her. So with a quick hug and suggestion that she write over the summer, sophomore Creative Writing class was over.
Delores Dudley had been born Delores Keene in Lincoln, Nebraska forty-nine years ago. She grew up a Corn Husker and married a debonair photographer who whisked her out west after she finished her teaching degree at the University of Nebraska. They had been blessed with a beautiful baby girl named Anastasia or Annie for short. Until one day at only 6 months old their darling daughter did not wake up. The doctors called it crib death, but it was a much more massive and uglier death than that. The whole family died along with Annie and they had not been in the crib.
Happy life only existed in their photograph memories. Professional family photos from their business haunted them from all directions. Delores and her picture taking husband drifted further and further apart until a divorce wasn’t even necessary, but a formality. Looking at each other they could only see their dead daughter.
Delores became consumed with her teaching. “Mrs. Dudley” became the name equivalent of “mother” in her life and all of her students were her surrogate children. All the love she would have drained into Annie she poured into each of them. Her love allowed her to see the best in even the most poorly behaved scholar. In return she was able to open the minds of even the unteachable. Some thought they got away with mischief in her class, but she was aware, just knew what mattered more.
She still had her favorites and Emma was one of them. There was something about this fragile young woman that pulled on her heart strings. She often wanted to just hold Emma in her arms and let her know whatever was burdening her would be okay one day. Even the most awful pain in life dulls with time. But those actions would be unprofessional and in today’s world any act of physical inappropriateness could get her fired. So she just tried to be her friend and hoped one day Emma would know she was a safe harbor if needed.
What none of her students or administrators knew was that Mrs. Dudley was sick and she did not know how much time she had left to instruct them. The villain cancer had invaded her prematurely aged body due to the stress of loss. Her breast that once nursed her baby girl had betrayed her and now need to be sliced off. It was almost metaphorical, portraying physically that it was not needed any more. She wanted to leave these living children, whom she would never put to her breast, with more than an English base. The best lessons she could give would be those on how to traverse the traps they would encounter after they left her class. But she was running out of time, did she have a years, months, weeks or would her body ultimately win the battle against this enemy? She would do her best with whatever time was left. She did not dread her own death. Instead she welcomed it at times. Annie would be waiting.
_________________________________________________
Cash was going to be at a science camp for much of his summer so it would have been nice to have the distraction of a writing workshop. His camp was out of state and six long weeks, every two weeks would focus on a different science discipline. For two weeks he would study robotics, two weeks of computer sciences and even two weeks at an iconic Space Camp. He had tried to convince her to go with him, but science really wasn’t her thing. What was her thing? Writing? Birdwatching? Death?
What would she do this summer besides hang around the house and help Joy with Arty and her mother. The Lanrete’s lived too far out for it to be practical for her to get a job, unless she got a car and driver’s license first. Would anyone even care where she was this summer or what she did or notice if she did not return to school in the fall. That was a sad commentary on her existence…an isolated summer to look forward to, but not anymore isolated than when surrounded by a school of people who would not see you.
Maybe she would visit Lily. She could walk down by the lake, more like a large pond, and visit with her once in a while. That might keep her from going crazy. She had discovered Lily by the Lake, or Lily of Wildwood as she romantically called her, by accident. Emma enjoyed hiking the trails near her home and exploring the hills around to see where they led to. One of her favorite paths took her to a small lake tucked off the road and surrounded by aspen and evergreen trees. She would sit for hours and watch the birds and wildlife that frequented this watering hole. It was sort of like an animal community center with a symphony of honks, quacks, caws and tweets harmonizing in surround sound stereo.
Her favorite spot was just below a damp dirt wall filled with holes on the back side of the lake. In the spring, summer and early fall, slews of birds would fly in and out of the holes which seemed to be their homes. She wondered how they could remember which hole in the mud wall was theirs or if that even mattered. She had named it the Bird Condos. They did not seem to mind if she sat beneath them and watched their continuous flight patterns.
In her unofficial bird refuge she had shared space with so many species that she finally got a bird book and started keeping a record. There were a plethora of ducks and geese in various varieties. In the early spring they would even sun bath on remaining pieces of floating ice, then later in the spring be trailed across the water by their fussy offspring. There were birds of prey including hunting hawks, majestic eagles and a great grey owl even visited one spring for a few weeks. Pretty magpies were plentiful, but not so attractive when feeding on carrion. Woodpeckers would randomly tap on tree trunks, ground quail had nests in the tall grass, tiny hummingbirds buzzed near blossoms and she was pretty sure swallows were the major tenants in the wall of bird condos. Seagulls and sandpipers were around in the summer and her favorites, the elegant sandhill crane couple, unexpectedly made an occasional appearance. She loved their loud trumpeting call that sounded like they were rolling “r”s deep in their throats and their massive six to eight foot wing span that looked like they could fly you away.
It was one of the bird watching days that she had first met Lily. Lily was picking wild berries that grew along the damp shoreline and singing a little folk tune Emma had never heard before. She was wearing a long, cotton, peasant-type dress for lack of a better description and had a jaunty cape on her shoulders to cut against the cool spring air. Her dark caramel colored hair was pulled back in a thick, long braid and tied with a rose colored ribbon. Spring blossoms from the branches overhead had fallen and were sprinkled through her hair as she brushed past them. Emma felt like this cheery character had jumped out of the pages of her book Heidi. She started watching her instead of the birds.
At some point Lily felt Emma’s presence and turned to her offering a huge smile that lit up her already lovely face. “Well what kind of little bird watcher do we have here? Would you like to pick some berries with me?”, the sing-song voice flowed over Lily’s lips.
That had been several summers ago. Since then Emma would wander down here by the water whenever she felt the need to escape or find a little haven and she always looked for Lily.
Sometimes she was there and occasionally they would go back to Lily’s small cottage-type cabin tucked further in the trees. Emma wondered with all the zoning regulations these days how this dilapidated home was allowed to even exist, but Lily said it had been her family’s cabin for over a hundred years so was pre-zoning regulations for this area and grandfathered in. Most of her family was gone, either had died or lived back East, so she just decided to live in it year round. Being there reminded her of happy times as a child on the lake with cousins and aunts and uncles all gathering summers to enjoy the beauty and each other. It must have been festive back in the day. You could still see it’s cozy charm.
Solid frame structure with bare wood walls that had traces of past paint here and there. Darker shutters slightly askew framed the windows and a river rock chimney rose from the side of the house and let smoke escape from the shake-shingled roof. Emma could almost see bluebirds singing on the window sills that would land on Lily’s outstretched finger. It was idyllic in a rustic way. She understood why Lily chose to live here like a hermit.
Emma had no idea how old Lily was. She was one of those ageless people. It was always hard to gauge the age of people older than you, but especially Lily. She could be anywhere from a hard-living thirty to a well-preserved sixty and age was never an issue between them anyway. So she never asked and Lily never shared.
A big, friendly, golden retriever named Hemingway gave Lily companionship and kept her warm in the winters. It was the second day of summer and Hemingway bounded up to greet Emma as she arrived. It was never awkward to be an uninvited guest at Wildwood.
Lily exploded from her home and embraced Emma in a warm bearhug, “So good to see you girly, why, you have become even more exquisite, it has been far too long!”
Emma melted into the hug with Lily’s praise. This was one of the few places she was totally herself and felt more at home than in her own home.
They spent the day in a lazy, but productive way, side-by side doing daily chores and conversing only as desired. There was no need to talk for the sake of talking. Emma marveled that Lily could be so content in her simple world and finally asked, “Lily do you ever wonder if you are enough, if it even matters if you exist?”
“Whoa little lady”, Lily let out a long breath as she continued, “that is a question for the ages. I am sure even Socrates and Plato pondered that one. I guess when I was younger I worried about it more than I do now. Now I just am. I am me and that has to be enough. I believe if we do our best every morning when we arise and love each creature whose path we cross here along our journey, that we have done what we were sent to do. It may not matter to everyone, but it will matter to someone. That is enough.”
Emma soaked in this wisdom, then responded, “But how can you know that is enough? Don’t you ever feel your nothingness out here all alone?”
“But don’t you see, I am not alone dear one. Not only do I have Hemingway and all of nature’s little friends, but there are many here we cannot see. I know I am visited and surrounded by much of my family and friends regularly.” Lily’s eyes shifted from a distant gaze to Emma’s face as she continued, “And look you are here with me now.”
“Are you talking about angels?”, Emma scuffed, “You think angels visit you?” Maybe her friend was a little off her rocker and that was why she could, live out here alone. She pulled the joyful angel with wire wings that she had been carrying around for a few weeks out of her pack.
“Well some may call them angels, but mine don’t have wings that you can see. Today we forget to feel and look beyond for things that our earthly eyes cannot see or maybe even imagine. What do you have there?,” Lily asked.
Emma absent-mindedly held her palm open to show Lily the angel she had been toting around for some strange reason. “This was off a shelf in my mom’s dressing closet.”
“Lovely, just lovely,” said Lily softly, “Yes, I guess today we have delegated to shelves the angels in our lives, but don’t forget for a moment Emma that they are really there. This one is so pretty to look at, but let it remind you that there are ones around you that you cannot see, but if you are still enough, one day you will feel them there. I promise. There are more people who care about you than you know.”
Emma returned the figurine to her bag and wondered on Lily’s words. Could she be correct or crazy? It would be nice to think she had unseeable friends who cared about her, but it was highly unlikely. And if there was anyone there they weren’t very good at helping her feel not alone anyway. But it was something to think about and she did the rest of their day together.
________________________________________________________
Summer stumbled on. Somedays were boring, hot, endure to the end kind of days. While others actually had a bit of breezy contentment wafting though them. Sunshine offered its own kind of therapeutic energy.
Arty was always available between therapies for watching a Disney DVD or to go lay in the grass and watch the white feathery clouds roll across the blue blue sky looking for shapes in them. Arty could not verbalize the shapes he was seeing, but would point and laugh. His seizures were occurring less frequently so that was positive.
Her mother’s condition had not changed for the better or worse. Emma would sit with her for at least 30 minutes a day and share her lackluster life as she stretched and moved her mothers graceful fingers. Sharing her days out loud made them sound even more miserable so often she would read to her of from her best loved books or poetry. She had finished reading The Silver Chalice by Thomas Costain and Exodus by Leon Uris and was now sharing some of Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet that Lily had loaned her. Some passages were marked, they must be especially meaningful to Lily, so Emma read them over again…
Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.
You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream.
Let there be spaces in your togetherness.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
I have learnt silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers.
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
Work is love made visible.
Kahlil Gabrin’s words were deep and soothing. Emma hoped he gave some comfort to her mother if she still possessed any of her auditory functions. Whether or not, it gave Emma peace to read them and in a way she was working on her writing skills as she read. Studying the masters who crafted words with vision and care had to sink in on some level and hopefully assist her with hers.
___________________________________________________
One morning before the end of summer when Emma awoke the mountain to the west was calling her name. It probably had a name too, but she did not know it and could not call back. Instead she decided to hike it. She had no major commitments for the day, so tossed some granola bars and two water bottles into a backpack and told Joy not to expect her until dinner. It was already warm outside and felt like it was going to be a scorcher. She was glad she had brought a water bottle for both the trip up and another for back down.
Just the hike to the base of the mountain was as far as she usually walked when heading south to Lily’s. Maybe the raised geographic mound in front of her wasn’t a considered mountain, but it was the tallest peak in the area and she needed a challenge. The top did not look that high, but she knew looks can be deceptive. Perhaps she should have considered a buddy system, but Cash was still away at camp, Arty would never make it and she wasn’t sure who else she could ask. No this was a solo mission.
It was early enough in the day, she should be okay. She would stay on trails or mark the path she took clearly. If she did get lost, she would just head down the hill. How hard could that be.
The breeze through the trees as Emma started increasing elevation was refreshing. There was a poorly maintained path that followed the creek as she climbed. Small critters ran for brush as she walked by and a water snake slithered across her thankfully shoe clad foot startling her so much she let out a shriek, but Emma kept pressing forward. She had no idea how far she had gone but the sun was nearly overhead so the time must be getting close to noon. She sat on a big boulder by the stream and ate a granola bar as she tossed stones into the water.
Since it usually took longer to go up than it did down, Emma decided to head uphill for another hour or so before turning back. Her efforts were richly rewarded. Before reaching the summit there was an out-cropping of rocks that over looked the whole valley. Emma did not love heights, but she shinnied out a ways to sit and enjoy the view. She could not quite make out her home, but visually followed the road that wound to it and encompassed their rural neighborhood. She could see where she caught the bus and Lily’s pristine blue green lake. The perspective from up here was magnificent. She did not want to return to all her problems in the world below. If she “accidentally" slipped and fell from this height no one would ever know. Her family would never have to suffer the pain of knowing her death was a suicide. But with her luck she would likely be just badly injured and spend months in the hospital before ending up in a bed beside her mothers. Also she had promised whomever was listening in the vast void that she would make a concerted effort for one year and it had not even been four months yet. Nonetheless the thought was tempting.
After an adequate amount of time Emma guessed she had better begin the long trek down, but stayed a tiny bit longer in case she was not able find this exact location again if she did venture another climb. She carried no camera, but made mental pictures to return to. Too bad they could not be shared or scrapbooked.
There was one more surprise treat from nature on the downhill trip. Not counting when she stumbled on loose rocks mildly spraining her ankle, but the branch of the stream she was following drained into a clear mountain lake. Emma stopped to wade in a short way to cool off and sooth her sore ankle. Across the water she saw on the far shore a mother moose and her calf. The adult moose was humongous. She had heard moose could be mean, so Emma remained still until the two were done drinking and wandered away. The mother and calf weirdly reminded her of the wildlife picnics with her mother in days gone by and filled her with momentary nostalgia. So many emotions traveled with her that day as she finished her descent. They were the companion she did not take with her.
Each day was a climb up some kind of mountain, but not all this literal. If she could crest a few thousand feet elevation, perhaps she could also scale some of the worries that she struggled with on the flat lands as well. The analogy played in her brain while she meandered the rest of the way to her home.
____________________________________________________
Cash returned in August and challenged his comfort level by calling her a few times. They even met at the library twice to reconnect and catch up on their summers. He seemed older, wiser and more handsomely hewn somehow. Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder or at least see more clearly things one may have taken for granted. She had to embellish her summer a bit lest he feel embarrassed for her about the pitifulness. But it was wonderful to see him. It was like he had never been away and they picked up right where they left off preparing for their junior years at Eastside Mountain High.
No comments:
Post a Comment