Sunday, March 6, 2022

The Bird Club: Chapter Three

 
Illustration conceived and drawn by Dell Linney

Chapter Two

A donut was enough for Wilder, which was only an hour or two of walking and visiting the ocean. But it was not enough for a birding trip, which was a whole day of long, boring car rides and long, boring walks that usually ended without anyone seeing the bird they were looking for. For those, her mother had to promise at least a cheeseburger and fries. Maybe even a sundae.

“And you have to give me a ride to work later,” April said as she pulled out her clothes. 
April never liked taking the bus to her job at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, but it was especially bad on Sundays, when all the flea market goers crowded on. She could never make the whole trip without someone sitting next to her. 

Evelyn agreed to drop April off, then got up to leave, since both of her daughters were too shy to undress in front of her. This frustrated Evelyn, who used to know every inch of these people she made, so much that she would “accidentally” come into the bathroom while they showered.

“Be sure and bring a sweatshirt. It’s pretty foggy,” Evelyn told April, who did not begin dressing until she felt the stairs shaking.

Once they were walking to the beach, April was glad she came. She loves the ocean and loves how relaxed her mother is when walking. Not rushing to get ready for work, buried in a bird book or telling April what to do. When they are outside walking, they can just talk.

“Are we still going to the Japanese Gardens Saturday?” April asks. 
“Yes,” her mother says, sighing but smiling, happy that April is eager to go somewhere with her instead of having to be dragged. “Did you remember to ask for the day off work?”
“Yes,” April says, mimicking her mother’s sighing tone, and they both laugh.

They walk in silence until they reach the bay tree near the train tracks, and Evelyn tells her to pick a few leaves so she can make spaghetti for dinner.
“OK,” April says eagerly, grabbing a handful of the fragrant leaves and pressing them to her nose, thinking only of the eating part, not of her bursting stomach afterward. 
Then she tucks the leaves in her pocket and runs to catch up with her mother.
“Think we’ll get to band one today?” she asks.

April only got to band a plover once, but remembers every second of it. 
That day her mother had found a nest, so she prepared to catch the mom. She laid out three long pieces of what looked like thick chicken wire with very small holes. On each piece, she had tied dozens of little fishing line lassos. 
With the traps forming a triangle around the nest, April and Evelyn hid behind a dune. When the bird came back and walked over the traps to its nest, one of the lassos caught its leg.
The bird panicked, hopping and tugging at the line until Evelyn picked it up and cut the line.
“Here, you can hold her. Be very gentle.”
April wrapped her hands around the bird’s squirming body, trying not to squeeze too hard and hurt her, or too soft and let her go. She was surprised at how warm the bird felt under its feathers and how fast its heart was beating.
Together, they put the bird head first into a tube to secure her, then her mother hung a scale from her legs to weigh her. After recording the weight and length, she prepared for the trickiest part — putting on the band. While the bird waited in the tube, her mother chose the proper color and readied the tiny bracelet in her pliers. She steadied the bird’s leg, then quickly snapped the band in place.
Two minutes later, they released the bird and she hopped off, shaking her leg to try and kick off the band.
“Let’s go,” Evelyn said. “She’ll never go back to the nest with us here.”  

April wouldn’t have to be bribed to go to Wilder if she knew they would be banding a bird every time, but it only happened once. This morning was like all the others: walking and waiting, waiting and walking. 
But wait, the donut!

Inside the shop, April heads straight to the glass cases displaying the donuts, careful to not get too close to the cash register so the clerk won’t talk to her. She inspects each row to make sure there are no new donuts to consider, which makes her anxious. She doesn’t want to miss out on something tasty, but she also hates being disappointed by trying something she won’t like. 

Like the time she fell for the jelly donut. Seeing one with no hole, she thought it would have more cake than the others. But as soon as she bit into it she realized it was a fruit pie donut. Yuck.

Or the time she chose one of the long bars of glazed cake with all the glistening frosting that look like they give you the most donut. And maybe they do, but after a few bites of the maple bar April got sick from the frosting, just like when she had finally gotten to try cotton candy at the fair. 
For years she had watched kids fill their mouths with those fluffy handfuls of pink and blue and imagined they tasted like creamy clouds of whipped cream. But they didn’t. 
As soon as cotton candy touched your tongue, it evaporated. It was like eating air; air that immediately made everything sticky. And then all the sugar made her dizzy and gave her a stomachache. Just like the maple bar. 

So now she just looks at all the other donuts before choosing a crumb cake: a dense, moist donut sprinkled with nutty, cinnamon-flavored crumbs that keeps her stomach happy. 
And she sat happily in the donut afterglow until she discovered why her mother dragged her to the beach.
 

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