Dreaming the Bear

by Mimi Thebo

  So, I get back on my phone and pick up where I left off. Izzy has decided she hates that boy. Martha rather fancies him, though. Izzy says all he could do was talk about music. Martha says she likes music.

  Sue posts another picture of the boy and Izzy, and Izzy goes mental and demands she takes it down.

  I feel kind of sorry for Izzy. I tell everybody to leave her alone or I’ll send a bear after them. Sue tells me in a private message that Izzy really needs to think more about how easily she talks to boys. Izzy gave that boy her phone number, and he sent her a disgusting picture. Sue posted the picture of Izzy cuddling him, so that she’ll think more when she goes to the next party and not give out her number to total strangers.

  I ask Sue if Izzy snogged the boy, and she says she doesn’t think so.

  I ask Sue if she’s snogged anybody yet, and she says not really. She asks me if there are any boys here.

  I think about Tony, about how he touched my hand and the feel of his silky black hair. I say not really.

  —

  Dad is standing by the bed, dressed. He says, “Do you want to rest up here for the morning?”

  I say, “Don’t be stupid. I want to go shopping.” I’m packed in about five seconds.

  We get Tony’s shoes first, in case they don’t have his size or something and we have to hunt. But they have his first pick in his size, and we’re really pleased. Then we decide we need to do our other duty, and we hit the supermarket.

  It takes us more than an hour to get everything on our list, and I get quite a bit that wasn’t on it, as well, mostly for Jem. I tell Dad I have to get some stuff for Tony’s family, and also buy a big box of cantaloupes, a huge sack of apples, and another huge sack of carrots. We pack it all into the back of the car. I’ll have to ride with Mum’s suitcase on my lap after we pick her up.

  Then we go to a big box store and stock up on toiletries. I have enough money left for some new underwear and some of the faded cowgirl jeans everybody up here seems to wear. I change into them after I pay, and they look good with my boots, but Dad says I’ll have to save up for some real cowboy boots. We go to a sushi bar for lunch, and drink a lot of homemade iced green tea. Next door is a place with Native American earrings, and I get some little silver feathers with tiny turquoise chips for me; Mum; Sue; and her mum, Mickey.

  “Do you want to go back to the car?” Dad asks.

  I look at my watch. “No,” I say. “We’ve still got two hours till Mum’s due to arrive.”

  “How much money have you got left?”

  I count. Nearly fifty bucks. Dad says he owes me for this week’s allowance, too. We’re right outside a Western wear store. He nods at some boots in the window.

  My father has never willingly gone shoe shopping with me before.

  Five minutes later, we’re back outside.

  Dad is shaking his head. “Three hundred and eighty dollars!” he keeps saying. “Three hundred and eighty dollars!”

  I say, “There were some cheaper ones.”

  “But they were crappy.” He shrugs. “And they were still more than two hundred bucks.”

  “I know.”

  He looks at me again. He says, “Tired?”

  No. And now even I realize that’s a bit weird. We look at each other for a minute. “Maybe I’m all better?”

  “You look great,” he says. “Rosy and healthy and everything.”

  Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I feel fine.”

  “And you didn’t throw a fit about the boots.”

  I say, “I’m not two, Dad.”

  He says, “No, but you haven’t been very…resilient…since we got here. The least little thing seems to make you angry.”

  I say, “Thanks.” We walk a few steps. I say, “I’m surprised you’ve been around enough to notice.”

  He says, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  We look at this cool place with quilts, and I buy some greeting cards and a kit to quilt my own pretty pillow. We get a cup of tea and have a brownie. And then it’s time to drive to the airport.

  I’m not mad at my mum anymore. And I’m so glad to see her. She comes through, and she’s just looking around to see where the bus goes from, squinting because she’s got her glasses up on top of her hair and can’t see the signs. And then she sees us and breaks into her lopsided smile with too much of her gums showing. She hardly looks at Dad. She’s so glad to see me that she hugs me, over and over again, and keeps telling me how good I look.

  We get into the car, and Dad starts driving back to the park. I text my friends until we’re out of coverage. And then I just turn off my phone. I might be able to get a few more minutes at Mammoth, but I might not, and it will just make me sad if I can’t.

  Mum can’t wait to get back to the park. She’s all excited and asks us about a hundred questions. What did we buy for food? What did we have left? How did we manage during the storm? We blow through Livingston, and I look at my ring, my lovely, lovely ring.

  The nearer we get to the park, the more ill I start to feel. At Mammoth, Dad talks to the rangers, and one of them comes out with his jeep. We load up all the groceries and toiletries into the jeep. He’s going to drive us to our rendezvous spot with Jem and Tony. Dad parks the car and gets on the radio. After a whole lot about the observations, Dad reminds Jem to bring both sleds.

  Mum rides with the ranger, because she’s been traveling for so long. I have to walk, with my pack on my back. I take about five steps before I start to feel sick.

  I can’t breathe, that’s the problem. Maybe I ate too much. I stagger along behind Dad, who keeps telling me to keep up. In no time I’ve got that pressurey feeling in my head. But no black spots. Not yet, anyway.

  By the time we get to the rendezvous spot, I want to lie down and sleep in the snow.

  Dad keeps telling me to help. He keeps saying I need to wake up and get with the program. I’m just stumbling around with boxes in my arms. I don’t know what I’m doing.

  Finally, Jem takes Dad aside, and they look at me. I hear Dad say, “But she was fine all weekend. She was running around like anything.”

  Jem says, “And now look at her. You’ve worn her out.”

  “No,” Dad says, “Really. She was okay.”

  Jem comes over and makes me sit down on the snowmobile to rest. “Well, she’s not okay now.”

  When we take off, Tony drives, and I snuggle behind him and lean back against Jem. I can hear Mum and Dad arguing in front of us as they start away. Arguing about me.

  Then they stop, and Tony doesn’t know that they’re stopping so that they can be alone to argue, so he stops too.

  I hear Dad say, “No, I don’t want to believe the worst about her. But what can I think? When she’s getting her own way, she’s fine!”

  Tony suddenly gets the fact that they’re fighting and hits the throttle. Jem gives me a cuddle. He shouts “It’s not true!” in my ear.

  We rumble along, but I wonder. Is Dad right? Do I deliberately get tired because I hate this place?

  I feel under my glove where my ring is cold against my finger.

  But I don’t hate it. I don’t.

  When we get in I manage to get Tony to one side and tell him to put the melons and the carrots and the apples under the canoe. I tell him to pretend they’re for him. I tell him I’ll explain later.

  But I hope I won’t have to.

  He loves his shoes. And I got him a matching key ring, too. I tell him it’s for being so helpful during the storm, but that’s just because everyone else is listening. He holds it really tightly in his hand, and his eyes shine when he thanks me.

  Dad pays him some actual cash for helping with the observations and then gets him to take some of the venison. Dad thinks that Nancy fed a bunch of venison to the boys while we were gone. He keeps saying they must have eaten like kings.

  Jem can’t believe I’ve remembered all his favorite junk food. I got him about twenty frozen Hawaiian pizzas, and a
whole bunch of Cheetos, and all his favorite American candy, including all the spicy Jolly Ranchers. And some Clearasil, because he gets really spotty if he eats junk.

  I give Mum her earrings.

  Now that all that is settled, I sit down on the sofa. In two minutes I’m asleep.

  I wake up. It’s the middle of the night, and Dad is watching me. He says, “Do you want to go to bed?” When I say yes, he carries me up, like I’m little again. He waits for me to use the bathroom, and then he helps me out of my clothes and tucks me in.

  He says, “Either you’re…I don’t know…a horrible teenage monster…or there’s something weird going on.”

  I am too tired to answer. I just look at him and go back to sleep.

  When I get up, there’s nobody home. Even Mum has gone out. The note says, “I have to check my email. I’ll snowmobile to the melt line and be back soon. XX Mummy.”

  And I think, Good. I can feed my bear.

  I use the sled.

  I take a big plastic storage box, the rest of the venison, the cantaloupes, the carrots, and the apples. I take all the climbing stuff I think I’ll need, too. I’ve got a plan for dealing with the cliff.

  On my way up, I scrape the snow back and set three bolts. I can’t believe how relieved I feel when I finish this. Now the snow can melt all it wants, and I’ll still be able to take care of her.

  I call to her when I’m about halfway up. I’m much earlier than usual. She doesn’t sound good when she calls back.

  She looks terrible. She’s sitting up, and she’s licking her shoulder. It looks like she’s licked it raw. She’s all kind of shaggy and raggedy-looking. She’s got foam around her mouth. I take a cantaloupe from my pack and roll it to her. She sniffs at it eagerly, but she doesn’t know what to do with it. She hits it, and it flies off the ledge. I say, “Doofus,” and take another one out and break it on the ledge.

  She’s on it in a second and eats it in about four bites. Four very noisy, very messy bites. I roll her another one, and she learns quick. She picks it up and slams it on the floor and then slurps up the mess in about two seconds. I roll her another one. She eats six in a row and then burps. I shoe down again, checking the bolts. I think I’ve done a pretty good job. I hope so, anyway. Down at the bottom I get the rope. This time, I put on my harness, leave my poles, and only take the rope and the box on my back.

  The bear looks at me when I bring up the box, but she doesn’t seem too bothered by it. She sniffs it and then walks away. I put it on the right-hand side of the ledge and scoop a bunch of snow into it. She gets the idea straightaway and is eating the snow while I’m still trying to fill the box. I keep getting it on her head. It makes me laugh, and I swear she laughs too.

  While she’s drinking I go and kick a huge pile of poo off the ledge and feed the rope through the pulley. I let one end of the rope fall, and make the other fast to the harness. Here goes nothing. On goes the belay device, and I snap it to my harness with a locking carabiner and check it four times. Finally, I step out and rappel down. It’s a bit funky in snowshoes, but it works.

  Now we’re getting somewhere. I hook on the huge bag of carrots and hoist it up. I tie off the rope to a nearby tree. I go up again, without the poles.

  I think I’m doing pretty well today.

  Bear likes carrots. She eats about twenty, and I put the rest of them in her cave. She is already looking better, fluffier. She does a huge wee. Before I rappel down again, I fill up the box with snow. She comes to watch me, hanging her head over the edge as I push up armfuls of wet snow. When I pat her head she shakes off the snow from my gloves and mock-growls. She nuzzles me on my chest, like she likes to do, and I try not to think about teeth.

  This close, her shoulder looks really bad. Really, really bad. It smells bad, too.

  Now is the time to test my new idea. I rappel down and put the venison in a plastic shopping bag. I tie it off to the rope and haul it up. She looks down at me and over at the bag.

  I say, “Go on,” and motion with my head. I’m telling her to get the venison for herself. It’s the only way it will work.

  She just looks at me for a second. “Come on,” I say quietly. “You can do it.”

  Finally, the smell is too good for her. She sniffs the bag and pulls at it, easily snagging the venison clear of the plastic and dragging it to the ledge. She makes a sound almost like purring. I knew she could do it. I knew she could figure it out.

  I’m so relieved I sag against the tree.

  Now, even if I’m too sick to climb up, I can send up food.

  I look up. I don’t think anyone would see the rope, not unless they were looking for it. I take off my climbing harness and hook the sled back up to my belt. It’s a lot lighter than when I came. But I’m a lot weaker. It’s hard to pull.

  I have some melons and a bag of apples left under the canoe. It’s not enough. I’m going to have to try to find a carcass somewhere. If she were well, she’d be eating a winterkill. I have to try to find a winterkill and bring it to her.

  The idea makes me feel sad and hopeless.

  I don’t know what I’m doing.

  But I have to try.

  Chapter Eleven

  I put the sled in the garage when I get back.

  I talk to myself. Sled in garage. Pack with canister under the canoe. I sit on the top step of the porch to take off my snowshoes. And I fall asleep.

  I only wake up a little when Mum comes home. She tries to make me get up, but I won’t. She gets me to slide up a little on the porch and puts a cushion under my head. She covers me with the green blanket from the sofa. I sleep there until late afternoon, when I get cold. I strip off my outer layer and carabiner it to the bolts on the front of the house. I use the noisy toilet. And then I lie down on the sofa and go back to sleep.

  I hear my mother, and I rise out of my body and float out the door. I see her and Jem, talking. My mother looks as though she might cry.

  They begin to go into the cabin. Jem stops and looks at the coat and overalls hanging from the carabiner. He pulls fur from the Velcro fastening of my coat flap.

  He makes some excuse to Mum, and then he has grabbed down his snowshoes. He runs, following my tracks. The stairs on the cliff are freshly cut. He sees the bolts in the rock. He sees the half-hidden rope, neatly tied off to a tree.

  Now Jem looks as though he might cry. He leans back heavily against a tree. Looks down. Rubs his eyes. And sees something.

  It is a cantaloupe. In the snow.

  He holds it in his hand and turns it. And then a sound makes him look up.

  My grizzly peers down from the ledge. She sniffs the air, complains in her throat. Jem rears back his throwing arm and releases the melon in a perfect pass. The bear snags it out of the air.

  I click back into my body. Can I trust what I’ve just seen? Does Jem know?

  I see Jem sitting outside on the steps of the cabin for a long time. When he comes in he tells Mum he’s sick. He says his head hurts, and that he feels like he’s going to throw up.

  He doesn’t have a fever, and he looks absolutely fine, but he keeps saying he’s sick. He skips dinner, and that convinces Mum. But he’s not fooling me.

  I feel like he’s playing some kind of a trick—and like it’s a trick on me. You get an instinct for it, when you’re a sibling. And I wonder again, about my dream and my leaving-my-body thing.

  Can I really see things like that? Does Jem really know?

  Jem has never missed a single day of school. Once, he broke his leg in two places on a Friday and was back at school on the following Monday.

  Dad has always been really proud of that.

  When Dad gets home and hears that Jem doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow, he goes ballistic. He stomps upstairs to examine him and stomps back down. All through dinner, he mutters that the whole family is going to pot.

  After dinner I ask Dad about winterkills, saying that they talked about it in bear training. That’s all it takes. Pretty
soon, Dad has the back of an envelope and is making maps for me to see some interesting ones.

  Dad’s postgraduate helper arrives tomorrow. She lands about five o’clock, but Dad’s going to let her sleep in town. He’ll pick her up the day after tomorrow and wants me to go along. It’s not a shopping trip, he warns me. But we might stop off in Livingston for a burger on the way back.

  Which means I’ll need to find a winterkill and get it up onto the ledge. Tomorrow.

  I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to pull it onto the sled and haul it. I don’t know if the rope and pulley will take the strain.

  I’m in my nice, warm bed. I can see how thin my legs look, even under my duvet.

  And suddenly, I know that I can’t do it. I have this moment when I kind of pull back and actually think for a moment about what I’m doing. It’s totally mad. I just need to tell somebody and let the authorities deal with a wounded grizzly bear in Yellowstone National Park.

  I roll onto my side, so that I don’t have to see my stick legs, but I can feel the logical part of me slipping away. I know I’m not the right person to be dealing with all this. But it’s no use. I’m going to try.

  I mustn’t forget the pepper spray.

  —

  I have just become vegetarian.

  I will never eat meat of any kind, ever, ever again. I’ve looked at the three closest winterkills now, estimating how much meat she’ll get for each one and how possible they all are to move.

  One was not quite frozen anymore, and the smell was so horrible I couldn’t possibly touch it. Also, it was full of maggots and flies. How can flies survive when it’s so cold every night, anyway? While I was there, the body made this sound, and all this smelly gas came out of it.

  That’s when I decided on a vegetarian lifestyle.

  Now I’m back at the second one. Something has already eaten part of it, but the back end is still there, just now free of snow. There’s the head and neck, and then bones where something else has eaten, and then a nice, fresh elk bottom and elk legs on the back. Nothing smells too bad, and there’s antlers, which should come in handy for dragging purposes.