and I asked her if she would go for a walk with me in the woods. We had lived in the house three months and yet we had never taken the time to explore the land beyond our front door. At our old house, when Grandma Mary was alive, we lived outdoors; we explored the creek and its wildlife on a daily basis, and I realized, looking back on those days, that there was a certain sanity in our lives there. Paying attention to the minute details of the life at the creek, the changing seasons, kept us sane, focused, centered even. Now we were all crazy, wild, out of control. We had no Grandma Mary, no creek, to keep us grounded. That was what I wanted to discuss with Mam.
Mam loaded up a pack with binoculars, camera, pita sandwiches, herb tea in a Thermos, cups, and a notebook for drawing. I carried it on my back, pleased to think that we'd
be gone a long time. I needed that time to figure out how I would say what I wanted to say.
We found a path in the woods marked with deer prints in the snow. We followed them beneath a steeple of trees that Mrs. Levi had claimed were planted back in the days of William Penn. Most were tall, slender trees that bent easily with the wind, and the few birds left to sing in them sounded so far away in those high, high branches that only their echoes reached us.
Mam stopped and closed her eyes to listen to a cardinal. She had her hands stuffed in the pockets of a coat I'd never seen before. She held her face up to the sky, her back slightly arched, her eyes closed.
"Listen," she said, smiling to herself.
I didn't listen. I watched her instead. I wondered if by staring at her long enough I could figure her out, because I had a feeling words wouldn't work. She had on jeans and Larry's boots, which were at least three sizes too big for her. She wore her hair knotted up in some kind of mess held together with a plastic grabby thing that looked like a butterfly. I had seen the same hair holder in Melanie's hair the night before. She had on Bobbi's long Egyptian-style earrings, which were too large for her narrow face and looked out of place dangling next to all her freckles. They were meant for Bobbi, not her. I looked at Mam and thought that she had become, like the clothes she wore, a hodgepodge of different people. I missed the old Mam, the Mam who wore her own jeans and plaid shirts and her own boots and who spent hours exploring the creek with me. I missed being with her alone. I missed talking to her about nothing. We used to have
so much time to talk that it never mattered that it was about nothing, because that nothing was everything. Now I had to think about what to say, plan it, make every word count, because I didn't know when I'd get another chance.
I tried to ease into the conversation by just getting her to talk.
"I'm glad you like living here, Mam," I said, looking up at the treetops so far away.
Mam opened her eyes and smiled at me. "I do," she said. "I love it. And I love the house and everyone in it." Mam ran her hand down the trunk of a tree and leaned forward to smell it "Mmm, you can smell the sap already. Come on, smell."
I leaned forward. I couldn't smell anything.
"You know, I'm really good with people," Mam said, starting to walk again, leading me along the deer path. "I never knew that about myself, how good I am with people—outside my teaching, I mean—how much I love it." She turned back and grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.
"This trail's kind of narrow," I said, hanging back, not wanting to talk face-to-face or even side by side.
Mam pulled me along, talking all the while. "I thought I was an introvert," she said. "Imagine going all your life thinking of yourself as a loner, an introvert, telling yourself you don't need people and then discovering—well, life! I think I've been dead all these years. I've been hiding out in the woods, in the creek, in Grandma Mary's house. It never occurred to me to go out and get my own life. What a scary thought. That's what
Mam loaded up a pack with binoculars, camera, pita sandwiches, herb tea in a Thermos, cups, and a notebook for drawing. I carried it on my back, pleased to think that we'd
be gone a long time. I needed that time to figure out how I would say what I wanted to say.
We found a path in the woods marked with deer prints in the snow. We followed them beneath a steeple of trees that Mrs. Levi had claimed were planted back in the days of William Penn. Most were tall, slender trees that bent easily with the wind, and the few birds left to sing in them sounded so far away in those high, high branches that only their echoes reached us.
Mam stopped and closed her eyes to listen to a cardinal. She had her hands stuffed in the pockets of a coat I'd never seen before. She held her face up to the sky, her back slightly arched, her eyes closed.
"Listen," she said, smiling to herself.
I didn't listen. I watched her instead. I wondered if by staring at her long enough I could figure her out, because I had a feeling words wouldn't work. She had on jeans and Larry's boots, which were at least three sizes too big for her. She wore her hair knotted up in some kind of mess held together with a plastic grabby thing that looked like a butterfly. I had seen the same hair holder in Melanie's hair the night before. She had on Bobbi's long Egyptian-style earrings, which were too large for her narrow face and looked out of place dangling next to all her freckles. They were meant for Bobbi, not her. I looked at Mam and thought that she had become, like the clothes she wore, a hodgepodge of different people. I missed the old Mam, the Mam who wore her own jeans and plaid shirts and her own boots and who spent hours exploring the creek with me. I missed being with her alone. I missed talking to her about nothing. We used to have
so much time to talk that it never mattered that it was about nothing, because that nothing was everything. Now I had to think about what to say, plan it, make every word count, because I didn't know when I'd get another chance.
I tried to ease into the conversation by just getting her to talk.
"I'm glad you like living here, Mam," I said, looking up at the treetops so far away.
Mam opened her eyes and smiled at me. "I do," she said. "I love it. And I love the house and everyone in it." Mam ran her hand down the trunk of a tree and leaned forward to smell it "Mmm, you can smell the sap already. Come on, smell."
I leaned forward. I couldn't smell anything.
"You know, I'm really good with people," Mam said, starting to walk again, leading me along the deer path. "I never knew that about myself, how good I am with people—outside my teaching, I mean—how much I love it." She turned back and grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.
"This trail's kind of narrow," I said, hanging back, not wanting to talk face-to-face or even side by side.
Mam pulled me along, talking all the while. "I thought I was an introvert," she said. "Imagine going all your life thinking of yourself as a loner, an introvert, telling yourself you don't need people and then discovering—well, life! I think I've been dead all these years. I've been hiding out in the woods, in the creek, in Grandma Mary's house. It never occurred to me to go out and get my own life. What a scary thought. That's what
Similar Books
