Saving Cicadas by Nicole Seitz Page B

nothing better than putting a smile on Mama’s face.
    Rainey and I sat in the backseat nibbling two halves of a cheese sandwich. Mama grabbed egg salad, but Poppy and Grandma Mona said they’d have their tuna fish back at the motel. There was nibbling, teeth chomping, and paper crinkling until we rounded the bend and were almost there.
    â€œGreat, I’m almost out of gas,” Mama said. “Tomorrow I’ll ask Mr. Stevens if he’ll pay you in actual money. These sandwiches are good, but they can’t fill up the tank.”
    â€œOkay, Mama.”
    â€œYou mean you’re actually planning on staying in the same town for more than one night?” said Grandma Mona. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
    â€œCome on, let’s go in,” said Mama. “Get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow’s gonna be a big day.”
    We finished up our food and stuffed the wrappers in a plastic grocery bag, then everybody slid out and headed for the building. I took Poppy’s hand and pulled him back at the last second, letting the others go on ahead into room 103. “I need to talk to you,” I told him.
    He turned to me, eyes dark brown and crinkly. “What is it, sugar? Something wrong?”
    â€œI just need to talk.”
    â€œOkay.” He leaned in the door and whispered, “Mona. Janie and I are going out for a few minutes.”
    â€œI wanna come,” said Rainey, cradling her baby doll in her arms. Her cicada was lying in a plastic sandwich box on the dresser, not much interested anymore in flying. Mama was fussing over the suitcase, emptying the clothes into the drawers. Don’t know why she did it when she’d just pack them up again tomorrow or whenever we’d head to wherever we were going next.
    â€œI got to talk to Poppy, Rainey. Just give us a minute.”
    â€œPoppy?” Rainey was all fretful, so Poppy said, “Oh honey, it won’t harm for her to hear. She doesn’t care. Right, Rainey?”
    Rainey grinned. There was a glob of sandwich bread stuck in her teeth. “Goodie,” she said, so the three of us paced back down the concrete sidewalk and out to a little fountain in the parking lot. It was an odd place for a fountain, and it gave the impression it’d been here long before the lot was paved, maybe back when the place was grander than it was now.
    Rainey took her shoes off and dangled her feet in the black water. She leaned down and collected coins lying in the bottom, left over from desperate people’s wishes. I was nervous about what I was going to say, so I was happy to have distractions. They came in all forms. An old yellow car about the size of a boat cruised in and around the parking lot, then bumped back onto the street. I heard a bird singing. Then another and another. When the songs were over, a single mockingbird flew out of a tree and dive-bombed us. Poppy saw me watching the bird and he said, “You know why they call them mockingbirds?”
    â€œHuh-uh.”
    â€œBecause they mock other birds. They can listen to a birdsong, then copy it exactly. They sing over and over, then switch to another song. It can fool you sometimes.”
    â€œI thought that was three birds.”
    â€œThat’s what I mean,” he said.
    â€œAre they making fun of them . . . of the other birds?” I asked.
    â€œNot sure about that. What I do know is it has something to do with staking their territory. Protecting their young.”
    â€œSo . . . they pretend to be something they’re not, so you can’t see them coming when they dive-bomb you? Our next-door neighbor Miss Carson used to complain about mockingbirds attacking her cats.”
    Poppy looked at me and said, “That’s how it appears, yes. God has a way of providing every creature a way of surviving. Some are just more creative than others. Remember the magicicada? It protects itself by coming up out of the