Nest (23 page)

Dawn chose the chipmunk for her report. So far, she’s told us that chipmunks are smaller than squirrels and run around on the ground, which everybody already knows.

“Another interesting fact,” she says, “is that they eat seeds from bird feeders. Also, they sometimes eat vegetables out of people’s gardens, like our tomatoes in the summer.”

“Wow, fascinating!” Debbie says, and Dawn smiles, because she doesn’t know what sarcasm is.

“The best part of my report is coming up,” Dawn says. She looks over at the record player on Miss Gallagher’s desk and jumps up and down. Maybe she choreographed something, too, which is a little disappointing, since I want my report to be special.

“Before you move on,” Miss Gallagher says, “I’d like to ask you a question.”

I want Dawn to move on, because after Dawn comes Tommy and after Tommy comes me.

“Where do chipmunks make their homes? What is their
habitat
?” Miss Gallagher asks Dawn.

“Outside,” Dawn answers.

Everyone giggles, and Dawn looks confused.

“Well, yes, outside, but where outside? Can you be more specific?”

Dawn isn’t having fun anymore. She’s staring at the floor. “In our backyard?” she asks in a tiny voice.

Everyone laughs. I feel bad for her, but I’m not sure what to do.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Dawn’s ears turn pink. She’s twisting her hands together.

“Class?” Miss Gallagher says.

“In burrows underground,” Lisa B. says. “They dig tunnels.”

“I knew that,” Dawn says. Her eyes are watery. “I
did
.” One more second and she’ll be crying.

“It’s easy to forget things when we’re on the spot, Dawn,” Miss Gallagher says. “Why don’t you please finish up your report?”

Dawn drags herself over to the record player like she’s been poisoned and is waiting to die. “And now for my grand finale, I’m going to play for you an example of singing chipmunks,” Dawn whispers. She puts the record on and just stands up in front of everyone while Alvin and the Chipmunks sing their squeaky Chipmunk song.

“Please sing along,” Dawn says, all miserable, and then she walks to her desk, picks up a pink Easter basket filled with dry-roasted peanuts, and hands them out, three peanuts each. Nobody sings, but I kind of hum along so Dawn won’t feel so bad.

“Thank you for your report, Dawn,” Miss Gallagher says. “Tommy?”

Tommy always hates standing up in front of the class, so I know he’ll keep it short and sweet. Hopefully we can skip Miss Gallagher’s habitat question, too,
since Tommy made a diorama in a shoe box he passes around that demonstrates cougars in the plains in Argentina, and he’s labeled everything very neatly, like the grass made out of broom straws painted green and the rabbits made out of cotton balls, which is exactly the kind of thoroughness that Miss Gallagher appreciates. I point my toes as hard as I can and then flex them, to warm them up for leaping.

Tommy takes a deep breath and starts reading his report, which he’s actually typed on a typewriter. Just like I thought, he reads super fast and includes all kinds of interesting facts, like cougars have different names—
mountain devil, sneak cat, silver lion
—and they have territories they stay in that are usually in the shape of a circle or an oval. Tommy’s almost at the end of his report. I can tell, since he’s speeding up like a runner right before the finish line. As soon as he’s done, he starts walking back to his seat, so I pop up.

“Whoa, Naomi,” Miss Gallagher says, “let’s give the class the opportunity to ask Tommy questions about his excellent report. Class?” Tommy looks terrified, but he walks back to the front of the class. I have to sit down. I hope we don’t run out of time before the end of school.

“If a cougar and a lion got in a fight, who do you think would win?” Sean asks.

“I don’t know much about lions,” Tommy mumbles.

“How long did it take you to make your diorama?”
Claire asks. She just wants to talk to Tommy, since she has a crush on him.

“I don’t know,” Tommy says. He looks at Miss Gallagher. “Can I sit down now, please?”

I’m already up out of my seat and Tommy’s halfway back to his, so Miss Gallagher just smiles and says, “Wonderful job, Tommy. You taught all of us new things that we didn’t know about cougars.”

Finally it’s my turn. “Just one minute, please,” I say to everyone in a very polite voice. Then I run to the back of the classroom and pull my wings out from behind the bookshelf. They’re still kind of dented from when Joey and I sat on them on Halloween, but I’ve added flecks of white paint to change them from gull wings to loon wings, and they look pretty good. Miss Gallagher asks Joey and Sean to please push her desk back against the blackboard while she ties my wings on, just like we planned.

I take a deep breath and imagine warm honey pouring on my head and running over my shoulders, which Mom says you should always do before any kind of performance. I pull my index card out from the waistband of my black Danskin pants.

“What you’re about to see is my interpretation of a red-throated loon taking flight, first from land, then from water. Being able to take off from both is a unique characteristic. I’ll also do an interpretation of a loon swimming underwater. When my dance is done, I’ll share some interesting facts about this very
special bird. Thank you.” Everybody claps, which seems like a great beginning.

I start out on the floor, with my head tucked under my wing.

“Dead,” Joey whispers.

“Sleeping,” Dawn hisses.

Slowly, I raise my head and blink my eyes. Then I do a couple of hops on my knees, to show that a loon can’t really walk very well on land. I flap just a little. Then harder and harder. I lean forward and tip my toes underneath me. A few more flaps, and then I’m on my feet and pushing off fast into my first attitude leap, which stands for the loon launching into flight.

“Cool,” Lori says. Miss Gallagher is smiling.

I fly in a little circle, and then I flap down the aisle. Everyone ducks so I don’t smack them with my wings.

“Go, bird, go! Go, bird, go!” the class yells while I fly around the room, and Miss Gallagher doesn’t even shush them. I’m heading back to the front of the room so I can demonstrate liftoff from the water when suddenly—Dad! He’s peeking through the window in the door with Mrs. Mitchell. I can’t believe he decided to surprise me by coming to my report! I’m a little bit embarrassed, because no other parents are here, but I’m really happy to see him. I want to wave to him, but it’s too hard with my wings on.
The show must go on
, so I get in position at the front of the room and sway and bob, a loon in water, waiting for Dad to come in and sit down. I don’t want him walking in right as I’m
demonstrating the water takeoff.
Sway, bob, sway, bob, sway, bob …
 I wish Dad would hurry up.
Sway, bob, sway, bob, sway, bob …
 Is my dance getting boring? Just as I decide to start flapping my wings in preparation for takeoff, the door opens.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Mitchell says, “I hate to interrupt you, Naomi, but your father is here to see you. Will you come out into the hallway?”

“Could I please just take off from the water and then—”

“I’m sorry. It’s important, dear,” Mrs. Mitchell says. I look at Miss Gallagher, and she nods.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell the class. I start to flap out of the room. Everyone claps. “It’s not over,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

“What is it, Dad?” I say as soon as the door’s closed.

“Honey,” he says, “you need to take your wings off.” His voice is shaking.

“But, Dad, I’m right in the middle of my presentation!”

“Chirp.” He reaches out and starts untying a wing. Mrs. Mitchell is untying the other one.

“Why?”

“We need to go, honey,” Dad says.

“Go?”

“Leave now,” Dad says. His hands are shaking. “We need to leave, honey, I’m sorry to say.”

Mrs. Mitchell takes my wing off and leans it against
the lockers. “Here,” she says, and helps Dad untie his strap.

“Where are we going?”

Dad hands my other wing to Mrs. Mitchell. “Okay,” she says, looking at the ground. She hands me my jacket and lunch box. Somehow she already got them out of my locker.

Dad grabs my hand and pulls me through the hall. He’s walking so fast I have to run to keep up with him. As soon as we’re outside, he kneels right down on the pavement and looks into my face.

“It’s Mom,” he says. “I have terrible news.”

“You took her back to the hospital.”

“Oh, God,” Dad says. He rubs his face with his hands.

“I want to finish my dance,” I say. “I was just about to take off from the water.”

“Listen, honey. Mom isn’t in the hospital. She died. Mommy died.”

“No, she didn’t,” I say. “She’s just really sad. There’s a chance she’ll have to go back to the hospital again.”

Dad holds my shoulders. He puts his face so close to me that his words make wind in my eyes and he says that Mom died, she really did die, this morning after we left for school, and he knows this because Clara went to the house and Mom wasn’t there, but there was a note on the table that said she was very sorry but she just wasn’t able to go on this way and
she loves us very much and she didn’t want to make this harder on us, so she wanted us to know that she went to Hutchins Pond.

“Is that where we’re going, Dad?”

“No, honey,” Dad says. “I’ve already been there. With the police.”

“Police?” I say.

“Mommy drowned, honey.”

Dad tries to hold me, but I’m flapping my wings.

Oh, my baby girl. Oh, my poor baby
.

I’m diving underwater. I’m kicking my feet.

Dad picks me up and puts me in the backseat. He closes the door.

“We’re driving to the junior high school. We’re going to go get Rachel now,” Dad says in a loud voice. “We’re turning left here on Herring Drive, and soon we’ll come to the light. At the light, we’ll make a right. Main Street.”

The water’s sparkly green. Cold and green. I’m speeding through it.

“Then just another mile and we’ll be there. We’ll go get Rachel. We’ll get Rachel, and we’ll all go home.”

Flap, flap, flap. Down, down, down.

“Okay,” Dad says. “Okay, we’re almost there.”

I’m swimming through the sparkle. Bursts of blue-green light.

“We’re here,” Dad says. “Chirp.” He takes my hand and pulls. “Chirp.” He pulls and pulls me across the parking lot. Rachel’s in the office, waiting. She jumps
up when she sees us. She runs out to the car. She looks at Dad. She looks at me. “It’s the worst news, isn’t it, Dad? It’s the worst thing that could happen, right?”

Dad nods.

“Aiiiiiihhhhh!”
she screams.
“Aiiiiiihhhhh! Aiiiiiihhhhh! Aiiiiiihhhhh!”

Hands on my back. Breath in my ears.
Oh, my girls! Oh, my girls!

I dive back under, swim and swim into cold black quiet, wet deep black.

D
AD AND
R
ACHEL MAKE
too much noise. Cry and moan and yell. Talk and talk and talk.
Chirp?
They knock on my door.
Chirpie?
They push my door open.
Can we come in and be with you? We need each other
.

There’s nothing to say.

I pull my pink rug into the corner. I shove my desk over to make a triangle with the wall with just enough space for me to crawl in.

I guess we should just let her be. I guess she needs some time alone. Pssssss. Whisshhh. Pssssss
. Their whispering is cold air blowing.

I get my pillow and red wool blanket and white quilt and yellow Therma-Weave off my bed. Eggie. All of my Danskin shirts and pants out of my drawer, the purple ones and yellow ones and green ones. I drag everything in. My pillow goes in the middle. Then all
of my clothes in a circle. I roll each of the blankets up and push them against the wall and desk.

A nest should be well constructed. It should keep you warm even when there are strong gusts or a downpour. It can’t just fall apart. It should be as safe as possible from predators.

I’m finally done. Nest building isn’t easy. It takes most birds a minimum of three days. I’m so, so tired. I’ve never been so tired. I curl up. My nest is warm and snuggy.
Loooooo​loooooo​loooooo​loooooo
. I sing myself to sleep.

The phone rings. Sun on my face.
The rabbi is coming
. Knock on my door. The front door slams.
Ten o’clock tomorrow
. The phone rings.
Clompclompclomp
. The phone rings.
She must be hungry
. My door opens. A dog barks. They pat my leg.
Come eat, Chirp. Come out of there now
. The phone rings.
Chocolate doughnuts
. The doorbell rings. My door closes. Smell of coffee.
Yes, it’s a long drive. The Jewish cemetery
.

“Here, honey, put these on,” Grandma says.

The tights are too small. They won’t pull all the way up.

“They fit okay?” I nod.

Grandma hands me a dress. I put it on.

You didn’t even like her
, I think. But I don’t say it. I don’t say anything.

Rachel and Dad are talking outside my door. They’re always, always talking now. Their words fill up all the space, so I stay quiet to balance things out. “Off we go!” Grandma says, like it’s going to be fun.