Plots

by Sky Curtis

  “Sure I do. I’m not, like, a pure vegetarian vegetarian. I eat milk products and eggs as well. But no meat. I can’t stand the idea of eating an animal that has legs.”

  “Some fish have legs. Evolution, you know. Eons ago a fish walked out of the water and onto land. That might be where we began.”

  “That’s where my husband began,” she laughed.

  “Mine too.” I carried the sandwiches to the harvest table while Cindy brought in the soup. “Thanks for making this, Cindy. I’m starving. Driving always makes me hungry.” Everything made me hungry.

  “You helped.”

  I snorted.

  Over our lunch we discussed our route. Or at least I did. “There’s a trail marked with orange tape tied around trees on the land that’s been sold. Remember, we always thought it was Crown land. My kids made the path years ago when we wanted a long hiking trail through the woods. It’s a loop and takes about forty-five minutes to complete on foot.” I looked at my watch. “It’s after twelve now, so we’d be back in time to head into Huntsville and go to the Town Hall. They probably close at four. How does that sound?”

  Cindy slurped her soup. Her table manners were outrageous. One day I would lose it and snap at her. “Sounds fine by me,” she said. “Are you worried about bears?”

  Of course I was.

  “Naw. We’ll be fine. I’ll carry an air horn with me and, if we see a bear or a coyote, it will scare them off.”

  “What’s an air horn?”

  “It’s a canister of compressed air that blasts a really loud noise. They use them on sailboat races to indicate the start. They are also used by boats in trouble on the water. They are deafeningly loud.”

  Cindy shoved some sandwich into her mouth and spoke while chewing, “So, better than pepper spray or bear spray?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Oops. My non-judgmental Buddha detachment misfired.

  “Sorry.”

  She wasn’t.

  “Bear sprays can backfire on you, especially if you are downwind and they get in your eyes. So I think an air horn is a better option. The worst that will happen if you make a mistake with it is your ears will ring for a few days.”

  She gulped down another mouthful before she spoke, swallowing pointedly before speaking. “You’re sure it will scare bears away?”

  Not at all. “Positive. Animals and humans alike! Didn’t you see that show on the police researching the use of loud decibels to neutralize criminals? Believe me, it will work. We always have a canister here at the cottage. We take it when we are heading into the woods.”

  “Where do you get one?”

  “Oh, any boating store has them. Ours came from the marina section at the Canadian Tire here in town. They aren’t expensive. We buy the small size that fits into a pocket.”

  “So, they’re pretty common then.”

  “Oh sure. It’s just that most people use them only on boats, not knowing they are really effective in scaring off animals.” I thought for a bit. “In fact, I’ve never used one on a boat.”

  “Yes, but have you ever used one to scare off a bear?”

  “Well, no, but I know it will work. All the research indicates it will.”

  Cindy gathered up her bowl and plate. “Righto, then.” She didn’t believe me. Neither did I. “Let’s wander into bear-infested woods with a horn for boats. Yippee. I feel so safe.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, really, it will work.”

  “I’m taking a big stick.” She thought for a second. “Or a hatchet.”

  “Oh my, hand-to-hand combat with a bear. Good luck.”

  “Maybe I should take off my hiking boots and put on running shoes.”

  “You can’t outrun a bear, Cindy. They can travel faster than a car if they put their mind to it.”

  “I’ll climb a tree?”

  “Bears climb trees.”

  “Okay, dart into the lake.”

  “Bears can swim.”

  “So, I give up. If you run into a bear you’re basically dead.”

  “Well, no,” I said, hoping I wasn’t lying. “Face the bear, wave your arms, and look big. And make as much noise as possible.” I stretched behind me for the air horn on the sideboard and waggled it to illustrate my point.

  She reached for my plate and bowl. “Consider me educated.”

  I followed Cindy into the kitchen with the glasses. “If we get separated, look for the orange ties on the trees and eventually you will find your way home. If you can’t find any ties, head downhill. You will come to the lake and see our place.”

  “Why would we get separated? We’re walking together, right?”

  I knew what she was like, Miss Independent. “Well, you never know.” I decided to be the devil’s advocate. “Maybe if I get attacked by a bear, you’ll have to run to safety.”

  Cindy ran the water in the sink and squirted in some dish soap. How lucky was I that she cooked and cleaned!

  “You just said you can’t outrun a bear.”

  “The bear would be busy with me.”

  Cindy stopped washing the dishes and looked me up and down. The seconds ticked by. Then she looked at her own body. Considering. “Yup. They’d pick you over me.”

  “That was rude.”

  “So, let’s go on our bucolic walk in an enchanted forest.” She dried her hands on a tea towel hanging on the stove handle and then wiped them on her jeans. “I’m ready when you are.”

  I picked up a bottle of insect repellent from the window frame and held it up. “You want some?”

  “Are you kidding? That stuff’s poison. We have bug hats, plus I’m completely covered.” She showed me her arms again.

  “So I see. And yeah, I never use it either. I never put it on my kids either. Sunscreen as well. The amount of crap in those products, unbelievable. It’s a wonder they can get away with it. There should be food guidelines applied to stuff that goes on skin. Imagine putting this shit on your body.”

  “Insect repellent stinks, too. Air pollution. I’m almost ready to go. I have to go to upstairs for a sec before we head out. I’ll be right back.”

  Cindy ran up the stairs while I dried some of the dishes and put them away. I was looking forward to a walk in the forest with all its lovely smells of dusky earth and evergreen. To think that this forest was going to be razed, making way for a stupid development of some kind. Condominiums or a golf course. Geezus.

  The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. I loved the land. I could feel anger frothing in my chest, ready to erupt. This would not be good for anxiety, from which I periodically suffered, like now, before going into the woods in the spring. Bears woke up in the spring and they were hungry. Yes, I was a true Canadian, and loved the wilderness, but I was also realistic. I started to breathe slowly into my belly and count to eight as I exhaled. In four, out eight. In four, out eight. I shut my eyes and breathed in and out, feeling the anger melt away.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jumped out of my skin.

  “Oh, a little meditation to open my heart to nature.” Cindy already thought I was a spiritual nutcase, so why not feed her impression? God forbid she should know I was scared out of my wits. I don’t know why I was. I’d walked this trail hundreds of times.

  She wasn’t fooled. “I’m scared of bears too. Let’s go.”

  With that, Cindy snatched the air horn and a bug hat off the sideboard and marched out the kitchen door. The porch door slammed loudly and Lucky looked up from his corner of the couch, his soft brown eyes questioning me.

  “No, you’re not coming this time Lucky, you rest here for a bit. We’ll be right back,” I said hopefully, as I snatched my bug hat and followed her.

  Cindy was heading onto the path leading to the right edge of the property. She looked over her shoulder a
s she walked toward the woods. “Hurry up,” she shouted. “I see an orange marker tied around that sapling over there. Is that where we go in?”

  “Yup.” I raced ahead of her. When I got to the orange tie I touched the tape as if it were a mezuzah that would keep me safe. Then I acted like an orchestra conductor, bowing from the waist down as I gestured into the woods with a stick I’d picked up off the lawn. “Follow me. This marks the doorway to the trail.”

  I took the first step in, holding the branches so they wouldn’t snap back on Cindy. I looked ahead into the dark bush and immediately felt as if something were not quite right. Everything looked the same as it always did; shadows shimmered on the forest floor and sparrows hopped from tree to tree, squawking at our intrusion into their sanctuary. But I was convinced something was off. I don’t know why I felt so jangled. My animal totem, whatever that was, was jittery.

  5.

  I TOOK A FEW STEPS deeper into the bush and then looked behind me. Cindy was grimly parting branches, her head thrust back on her neck, out of the way of twigs that might lash at her. I gave her what I hoped was a jaunty smile. “Isn’t this fun?”

  “Some trail.” She spat out the word.

  No, Cindy wasn’t happy.

  “Well, it is a bit thick here. I think it filled in over in the fall. But it will open up when we get out of the scrub and into the maple bush,” I said merrily. “The next marker is up ahead, see it?” I pointed up the incline and to the left. “It’s right over there, tied around that tree.”

  She hissed, “How far to the maple bush?”

  I sang, “Once we get to the top of this little hill, to that marker, and then down the other side. It’s not far. There’s a bit of a marshy area and then another incline.” I tried not to let her see I was panting. “It’s at the top of that.” It was tough going.

  “Whatever you say, Radisson.”

  I guffawed at her reference to an early Canadian fur trader. “If we had come here six weeks ago, there would have been buckets on the trees. Somebody in town taps them every year for maple syrup. Really, this land has been treated as if it belonged to no one and everyone for years and years.”

  “Bugs aren’t as bad as I thought they’d be,” said Cindy, swatting at her head.

  Was she being sarcastic? Or honest?

  “As soon as there’s a hot day or two, there’ll be less. When the ground dries up, the blackflies are gone. They breed in water. So, they will be out in full force once we head down the hill a bit to the marsh,” I said, by way of an explanation. I was slightly ahead of her and there were already swarms dive-bombing my head. Good thing I had put on the bug hat.

  Suddenly, Cindy took off her bug hat and shook it madly. “Fucking blackflies. One must have got in somehow.”

  I quickly tightened the drawstring around my throat. “Get that hat back on, Cindy. A bite on an eyelid could turn you into a Cyclops.” Then, I added, “Don’t worry. Once we get past the marsh it will be way better.”

  “You wish.”

  When I reached the swampy ground, my feet squelched through mud with every step. But as soon as I had waded into the mud, I was out again on solid ground, stirring up dust from dried crusty leaves and heading to the top of the next incline. Ahead, I could see sunlight penetrating through the canopy above, leaving dappled shadows on the forest floor. A light breeze fanned my face and the bugs were diminishing.

  “Almost there,” I shouted over my shoulder. There was no sarcastic reply, so I twisted my body around to look for my friend. No Cindy. “Cindy?” I called. Where was she? “Cindy?” I shouted, this time louder. No answer. Last thing I needed was for my red-headed friend to be lost in the woods. She was very tall; how could I not see her?

  I sighed and retraced my steps. Damn her anyway. Plus, she had the air horn. But worry seeped through my anger. She wasn’t exactly a wilderness gal. Down into the marshy gully, up the small incline, over the brow of the next incline. No Cindy. “Cindy,” I yelled, throwing my voice into the forest. It echoed eerily, bouncing off trees. I heard a rustling in the leaves and I spun around. A squirrel scampered off. Suddenly, I felt very alone. It was far too quiet. Fear crept up my spine and crawled over my skull. Where was she? I should have trusted my instincts; something hadn’t seemed right when we’d entered the woods. I listened hard. The wind rustled through the branches and a deer bleated in the distance. Where was my friend? I scanned the leaf-littered ground and lower branches, looking for signs of her: a torn thread, a lost shoe, something. I sniffed the air, trying to catch a whiff of bear. Or worse, a coyote.

  “Yoo-hoo. Up here. The view is fantastic.” Her voice warbled through the trees.

  I craned my neck and looked up, high into a huge jack pine. Cindy was sitting with legs dangling on each side of a large branch, her back leaning against the trunk. Shit. “What are you doing? You’re over fifty years old. Get the fuck out of that tree. You scared the daylights out of me.”

  “I can see for miles. I haven’t climbed this high since I was ten. This is beautiful country. So many lakes, all sparkling in the distance. Come on up.” She gestured expansively at the landscape with one hand while the other was nonchalantly curled around a branch. My throat constricted.

  “No,” I shouted. Was she nuts? I didn’t do trees. First of all, I was fifty-six. Secondly, I get a nosebleed on a footstool. “No way. I don’t like heights. Come on down. I want to do the whole trail in time to get to town. I’m working, remember?” It sounded like a lame cover for my fear, which it was. I could have throttled her.

  She swung a leg over the branch and with dizzying speed shimmied down the tree, swaying from branch to branch and finding footholds for her swinging feet. I could hardly watch. Finally, she was on the ground, brushing herself off and wiping her hands on the seat of her pants.

  “Fantastic. So fun.”

  “For you, maybe, but you frightened me. You can’t take off and go your own way, Cindy. You have to stick with me. Things happen in the woods. Don’t do that again.”

  “Sorry.” She apologized but it sounded as if she were saying, “Whatever….” I was tired of her fake apologies.

  “No, I mean it, Cindy. What if you had fallen out of the tree? Broken some bones?”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be a worrywart. You would have found me. Called for an ambulance.”

  I shook my phone at her. “No signal. Besides, what if something had happened to me while you’re up in the sky, ogling the landscape? It’s only you and me here, and we need each other for safety.”

  She looked suitably chastened. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “Okay. Now follow me and stick close.” It was like talking to a child. I put my useless phone back in my pocket and headed over the incline, checking over my shoulder, making sure Cindy was following me.

  “‘Closely.’ Not ‘close.’ Adverb modifying a verb.”

  I shook my head. “Geez, Cindy. Knock it off. You know what I mean. Besides, I think you’re wrong. ‘Stick closely’? Naw. Doesn’t sound right. Maybe ‘stick close by.’ That sounds better. You need a dangling gerund in there.” I thought for a minute. “Not that ‘by’ is a dangling gerund.”

  “No dangling gerunds for me,” she panted. “I’m gay.”

  Oh, what a card she was.

  We made our way through the marsh and up the next steep incline. When we were over the brow, we looked all around. The forest view stretched forever. I loved this vantage point. I grabbed her arm and started to point at landmarks. “See over there, that uprooted tree? There used to be a den of foxes living there. When the tree fell over, it left a gaping hole at its base, a perfect spot for a home. And up that tree? See it? That dark blotch against the sky? That’s a raccoon nest. Last year she had five babies. So cute.”

  “Squirrels’ nest,” Cindy said with authority. “Those were baby squirrels.”

  “How
would you know? I like my raccoon nest thesis better.”

  “I wanted to be a biologist for a while.”

  “Sure you did. After being a fireman and a forester.”

  “Firefighter. Watch your language. What’s that down there?” Cindy asked pointing to a hump in the forest floor about halfway down the hill. “Looks like some kind of brownish-yellow rock or something. Are there such things as yellow rocks?” She squinted. “Is it a rock?”

  I followed her gaze and saw what she was looking at. It sure looked like a yellow rock. Sort of the colour of breastfed baby poop. “I’ve never heard of yellow rocks around here. Maybe in the Middle East. Sandstone. Here we have grey ones and black ones and even some pink ones. But yellowish? Not so much. Besides, you’d think I’d remember it being there. Let’s take a closer look.”

  Cindy took off down the hill at a slant and I followed, our feet rustling in the new green shoots springing up through the dried leaves. The musky smell of forest floor rose as I kicked up the leaves, hurrying to catch up to her. She covered the terrain like a gazelle, loping down the hill on her long legs over to the yellow rock. I covered the terrain like a dachshund, skidding down the hill on my short stubby legs. When we got closer, I could make out some material. “It looks like a bunched-up pile of fabric—the colour of a Carhartt jacket. You know, one of those denimy woodsy coats? Someone must have become hot while walking in the woods and ditched it, intending to pick it up later and then forgetting it. I’ve done that.”

  Cindy said, “I know those jackets. They’re pretty durable. Sandstone. I think that’s the name of the colour. Or Carhartt Brown. I always wanted one, but the bottom snaps don’t do up on me. Besides, I think it would make me look like a biker chick.”

  I eyed Cindy up and down. In her hiking boots, baggy jeans, leather belt with its huge silver buckle, and scruffy navy-blue hoodie she already looked like a biker chick. “Wouldn’t be a stretch.”

  She ignored me. “Do you think we should leave it or hang it up on a tree? That would make it easier for whoever lost it to see it.”