Last Chance for Paris

by Sylvia McNicoll

  “Whatever!” Tyler uses a high, girly pitch that I assume can only be meant as an imitation of me.

  CHAPTER 6

  GRIZZLY BEAR Trail is six kilometers and should take three hours to hike, according to the trail billboard. I make up my mind that it will be a lot faster. I’m going to fill this garbage bag to the top in record time. Then I can get to the Park Office e-mail.

  We start off with Tyler in the lead, followed by me, Martin, and Paris in the rear. As the path meanders through small pine trees, I scan the ground looking for litter. Nothing, nothing, nothing. A spicy evergreen smell tingles in my nostrils, making my eyes squeeze together as I sneeze a couple of times. With the third sneeze, I slam into Tyler, who has stopped for some reason. “Excuse me.”

  “Gesundheit.” Tyler spins around with a smile on his face, catching my elbows in his hands. City kids are allergic to fresh air, his smirk says.

  I smile back and point to a pile of dung on the ground about a centimeter away from his foot. “Don’t you need that sample?”

  He lets my arms drop as he steps away from it, shaking his head. “I’d say it’s black Labrador or German Shepherd.” Tyler doesn’t scoop it and Paris enjoys sniffing around the mound for a maddeningly long time.

  “Come on, Paris. Honestly.” I rustle my garbage bag at him, which makes his ears shoot up and his body lunge forward. “Easy, boy!”

  But it isn’t my bag he’s really after. Ahead of me there’s a rattling in the bush. Paris bolts past me and Tyler, hurtling into the undergrowth.

  Martin’s face lights up. “Maybe it’s a bear!” He chases after the dog, waving his pick with one hand and pushing away branches with the other.

  “Don’t go after him!” Tyler yells. “It’s probably nothing,” he tells me as he reaches into his pocket for his bear repellent.

  A can of hair spray is what it looks like. How can anything that small help us against anything as big as a grizzly? “He’s my brother and I have to look after him,” I say, and I dash into the bush too, the branches scratching my arms and legs. At least I have a weapon, not some wimpy spray. I grip my garbage pick tightly. Listening for Paris’s snarls and yips, I break through to where my brother and Paris stand.

  No bear anywhere, just a high-pitched chirping coming from the top of a tree.

  “It’s a squirrel. Cute, eh?” Martin asks.

  I look up at the creature. Alert black eyes stare back, ears and tail stand at attention, and the tiny nose twitches. Smaller than our Toronto gray squirrels, it has reddish-brown fur that stands up like pine needles. “C’mon guys, you’re scaring the thing half to death.” I pull my brother back toward the path.

  “Paris,” I snap my fingers. “Come!”

  Unbelievably the dog follows, for a while. Then he takes off into the brush again.

  “You’re lucky that was a squirrel,” Tyler lectures as we walk. “Didn’t you read the bear warnings?

  You’re not supposed to get close to them. They’re dangerous.”

  My smiley-faced brother listens to Tyler, but I don’t know if anything sinks in. He reminds me of the dog in that way.

  “Can we just go?” I ask. “It’s almost 9:30 and I only have one pop can.” I march ahead to give them the idea. My boots anchor me down, the metal toes heavy as cement. Still, I move fast. “We have a job, let’s get on with it.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Paris?” my brother asks.

  “He’ll find us, don’t worry,” Tyler answers.

  He’s right, we can’t wait for the animal forever; the hike is taking too long as it is. I walk on, staring at the ground, willing my eyes to find garbage. Nothing. I walk quicker till I’m out of breath. My toes feel like they’ve been pummeled by hammers. Paris bounds back onto the path and, after a few moments, heads off into the trees again. We pass by four information posts and don’t see one speck of litter, but Paris leaps onto the path at regular intervals, almost as though he’s checking on us. “Did you just make up a job to keep us busy?” I complain as we approach post five.

  “No, this is routine maintenance. And it’s not some kind of race. Have a seat and rest.” Tyler points out the bench and sits down himself.

  “That one’s mine!” I call to Martin as I stab an old, empty cigarette pack and shake it into my garbage bag.

  Martin’s not interested in picking up litter anyway.

  At every sound or twitch of a leaf, he glances around as if expecting something. Sharp, quick, ears up, almost like Paris. Frowning, he opens a Park flier.

  “Post five,” he says. “Let’s see. Plant life,” he reads. Apparently the trees surrounding us are lodgepole pine and alder.

  I look around: one tree’s pretty much the same as the next to me. They’re shaggy and green.

  “Nothing about bears here.” His shoulders sink.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Tyler says. “Bears don’t read. And they often come down this low to find grass shoots and horsetails.”

  As if to demonstrate his point, a branch snaps and the bushes suddenly shake. I gasp, then jump as the branches and leaves part.

  Paris tumbles out. My brother and Tyler laugh.

  I take deep breaths to slow my heartbeat back down again.

  Something hangs from Paris’s mouth. Yeak! It’s moving—a snake, alive and wriggling. “Get it out of his mouth!” I yell at Martin.

  “He’s not hurting it. Come here, boy!” Martin wrestles Paris to the ground and forces his jaw open. The snake slithers a hasty getaway. Paris races back into the brush.

  “Bad dog, stop!” I yell after him.

  “What’s your problem?” Tyler asks. “He’s just obeying his natural instincts.”

  “Look, I never even wanted a dog. This one ate my favorite shoes for breakfast. Now he’s hunting snakes for lunch. The faster we find his owner, the better.”

  “There’s always the wolf reserve.” Tyler shrugs.

  “Speaking of lunch, did you pack one?”

  “I wasn’t talking about lunch. I was talking about Paris, who’s a dog, not a wolf.”

  “We didn’t have time to make sandwiches,” Martin answers for me.

  “That’s okay. I brought extra. We can sit up at my favorite spot by the creek and have a picnic.”

  “Picnic? Here? Aren’t we almost done yet? Can’t we have lunch in town? I’ve got money.”

  “The Charcoal Pit’s closed today. The only other place serving lunch is Food Village, which is where my sandwiches came from.”

  “Darn. I wanted to eat out.”

  Tyler opens his arms to the forest around us. “You are.” My brother and Tyler chuckle at each other. They’re ganging up on me too, just the way Martin does with Dad.

  I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Don’t be mad,” Tyler says. “Wait till you see the view from my spot. No restaurant could match it.”

  I sigh, and we walk on forever. Post six mentions ferns. Post seven describes the bearberry, which is the grizzly bear’s favorite fruit in the springtime. I’m so bored. In my head I hear that stupid country song again: My baby left me for a bodybuilder. She didn’t want to live with a pipe welder. The same chorus repeats itself, making me crazy. What is the next line?

  For no reason, Martin suddenly breaks into song: “I’ve got the tools, he hangs around pools. I need to get a six-pack if I want my baby back. Oooooh!”

  A shiver runs up my spine. He knows what I’m thinking; after four years apart, Martin can still finish my thoughts…and the songs running in my head. He sings the next verse and I sing along.

  Suddenly Tyler squats and pulls out a small hand shovel from his pack.

  The song stops. “What is that?” Martin drops down beside him and a large mound of what looks like coal lumps. Martin’s so excited I swear he wants to drop down and sniff everything, like Paris. “Is it bear scat?”

  I peer over his shoulder and wrinkle my nose.

  “Yup,” Tyler answers, and begins scooping some into a pla
stic bag.

  “So where is the bear? How come we never see any?” Martin looks around.

  “This isn’t a zoo, Martin.” Tyler zips up the bag and marks the date and place across it. “They come and go freely—the way your wolf should.”

  “Speak of the devil; where is the stupid dog?” It hits me like a punch that I haven’t seen or heard him in a while. I remember my drooly, shredded sneakers in the next breath. “Serve him right if a bear eats him.” I cup my hands around my mouth and call. “Paris!” Still no rustling in the bush to signal his return. No sound at all. That’s weird. “Paris!” I didn’t mean it about a bear eating him, really I didn’t. Having said it, though, I start imagining it. Paris bounding up to a big grizzly bear, tail wagging, grin across his face. The bear swiping at him with a massive paw. Paris yelping. I start calling, crazy, frantic; he’s just a puppy, after all. “Pa-riiiiiis!” Nothing. “Oh, where is he?”

  Martin puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles, a long, high-pitched note. Still nothing, for a moment, and another and another. Then suddenly the brush rips open and Paris leaps onto the path in front of us.

  I let my head slump forward on my chest and sigh as I rub my temples.

  I can see Tyler’s smile from the side of my eye.

  “Bears avoid people if at all possible. Unless you separate a mother from her cub, chances are, even if you bump into one, it will just take off.”

  “Yes, except we’re traveling with a very annoying dog. And I read the bear rules on that one.”

  Tyler scratches the top of Paris’s head roughly.

  “You don’t have to worry. No self-respecting bear would tangle with this guy. Not if she could help it.”

  I’m not reassured. I shake my garbage bag. “I’m never going to fill this. There’s no litter anywhere.”

  “Good! It’s early in the season. Here, give me that thing.” Tyler snatches my garbage pick from me too.

  “Will you do me a favor and look up? Come on, we’re almost at the creek. You’ll like it.”

  My hands feel empty, and at first I swing them as I walk. The monotony of the trees and brush is boring, but it’s relaxing too. I stop swinging and breathe deeply. There aren’t any insects, and it’s the perfect temperature for a hike: not hot enough to feel sticky or cold enough to need a jacket. I slow down my stride. Beneath my steel toes, the earth feels spongy with brown soil and pine needles. Tall cedars form a dark cave around us: a cozy room in the wild openness of the mountains. I feel more secure. Martin must feel it too—he’s not singing or reading every signpost. Doesn’t look as though he’s bear-hunting either.

  The rhythm of my feet and the silence make me slide into a no-thought mind-melt, sort of like the yoga Mom and I used to do together in the days when we were talking. Somewhere beyond the trees, I hear the loud shhh, shhh of water. I hear an insistent tap-tapping in the trees above my head, and look way up to where the sound is coming from. A woodpecker.

  It’s large, almost crow-size, and black with a red cap on its head. I inhale deeply and glance toward Tyler.

  “What kind of bird is that? It’s huge,” Martin asks.

  Tall and self-assured, Tyler nods. “That’s a pile-ated woodpecker. They mate for life.”

  Know-it-all. I feel like arguing with him. “Where’s its partner then? Maybe they mate forever but can’t stand to be together.”

  “So cynical. Even in the city, I’m sure married couples work apart,” he answers.

  “And just like in the country, they go their separate ways. No one stays together forever.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe.”

  Point scored, although I wanted him to argue with me some more. I want someone to tell me there are happily-ever-afters.

  “Oh, c’mon, Zanna,” Martin pipes up, a beat later. “Lots of people stay together. Grandma and Gramps. Some of the kids in my class lived with both their parents. It just doesn’t work out for everyone.”

  Once again Martin answers a thought in my head; it’s eerie, yet comforting. He sings again as we move on: My baby left me for a bodybuilder. She didn’t want to live with a pipe welder.

  The path turns and we’re at post number ten, Grizzly Creek. Ahead is a bright splash of color, orange and white wildflowers, and around a bend I spot it, a milky-white stream frothing around the rocks. I stop and inhale deeply; more pine tingles up my nose, but I smile as I realize I’m not sneezing anymore. City girl wins over nature.

  “This is it. This is the spot!” Tyler opens his arms wide.

  Paris gallops to the water and then tries to approach it from different angles for a drink.

  We follow Tyler out onto a large, flat, gray rock.

  Around us the foam bites at the rock as the water jumps over itself to get somewhere fast. The grass and trees are sparse here and scruffy, like at the beginning of the trail. The sky-scraping mountains tower white and godlike. No one says anything for a while.

  Paris gives up on the water, comes up on the rock, and nuzzles my knee. I pat him begrudgingly.

  “Okay, let’s eat.” Tyler breaks the silence as he sits down and removes an insulated bag from his backpack.

  He tosses us each a granola bar, an apple, and a sandwich. Then he pours some canteen water onto the rock for Paris.

  “Thanks, Tyler,” Martin says.

  “Do you always bring this much food just for yourself?” I ask.

  Tyler blushes. “My stepmother packs it. When I’m out on the trails, she insists I take a lot of food just in case.”

  Stepmother. Wonder what happened to his real mother. Guess she wasn’t the pileated woodpecker type. I take my sandwich out of a zip lock bag and peel it open.

  “It’s peanut butter and jam. Doesn’t need refrigeration,” Tyler offers.

  “Good. I’m vegetarian.”

  “Yeah, Joyce told me.”

  “Who?”

  “Joyce, the cashier.” He shrugs. “My stepmother.”

  I want to sink my teeth into the sandwich no matter what it is; I’m starving. But something bothers me. “Just how close was this sandwich to your bag of bear poo?”

  Tyler laughs, deep and rumbling again. “A whole other compartment.”

  “Glad you find me funny,” I tell him as I take a bite.

  “Only in a good way.” He stares out at the mountains as he chews. He pushes the canteen toward me.

  Martin and Paris dash after something brown, furry, and fast. So much for the lovely calm, Zen feeling I thought we were all sharing. I finish my sandwich. “Okay, well, I’m done eating. We should head off after them.”

  “Let them be. We don’t have to go right away. Sit still for a minute.”

  “Actually I wouldn’t mind getting back to the house soon,” I yawn. “I could use a nap.”

  He holds out his backpack. “Lean back, use this as your pillow,” he tells me.

  I take off my boots and socks to give my toes some air, roll up my pant legs, and lean back as he suggests, the sun warm on my face.

  “It’s beautiful, but it is lonely. Not everyone can take living here.” He sounds sad, and for once I don’t feel like smacking him.

  I close my eyes.

  “It’s nice to share this spot with someone.”

  Maybe if I weren’t so tired I’d think about the lumps underneath my head in the backpack. Instead, I find myself drifting off. It’s a delicious feeling, half in this world hearing the water shushing everyone, half somewhere else. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been lying there when I feel a tickle against my ankle. I brush at it, and my hand hits Tyler’s.

  I’m embarrassed at the touch. I mean, I was expecting to swat a bug and instead my hand hits his fingers. Something about Tyler makes me want to see Zane again so badly, to see him smile, to hear him laugh.

  “Did it hurt much? I mean, the needle.”

  “What are you talking about? Did what hurt?”

  “The tattoo.”

  “I didn’t mind suffering for art. Don�
�t you like strawberries?” I sit up.

  “I don’t know. My mom sure loved them.”

  He sounds wistful, as though he never sees her anymore. I don’t know what to say. “My mom likes avocados. In salads and dips, there was always this green snotty stuff.” I look at Tyler but he’s staring at the water. “She won’t travel with my dad on his research trips anymore. And he never stops traveling.”

  “And how about you? Can you take the traveling?” he asks. I shrug my shoulders, picturing my mother at the Eiffel Tower. She certainly enjoys some travel. I stand up and walk toward the rapids.

  “What are you doing?” Tyler calls as he follows.

  “I want to test the water,” I say, picking my way down through the rocks.

  “Are you crazy? It’s freezing.” He quickly pulls off his own shoes and socks, hopping from one foot to the other. Then he rolls up his jeans. “Don’t you dare go in there alone. The current’s dangerous.”

  As I step in gingerly, the rushing water feels like a powerful ice jet. I want to leap out screaming, but don’t want to give Tyler the satisfaction. Needles shoot into my ankles until I can’t feel my feet at all. I take another step.

  Tyler picks his way in after me, and I watch his face screw up around a scream he won’t let loose.

  Martin steps out of the bush at that moment.

  “Hey, that’s a great idea. Last one in is a rotten egg!” He kicks off his sneakers and plunges in too. “Ahh— you guys are nuts. This water is freezing.” Martin hops back up the bank.

  Tyler grabs my hand, and it’s a warm shock.

  “Don’t go in any further!”

  The water sucks at me but Tyler’s grip is strong and when he squeezes my hand, I feel safe.

  He tugs and turns. “Come on, let’s go back. This is ridiculous.”

  I’d like to run back up the bank, but I can’t let him boss me around so I take one more step forward instead, tugging him along. For one moment my heel connects with a stone, but the stone jostles loose and my heel glides over it. I flail, and then I fall.

  Backward. The world splinters into shards of needle-sharp water. Up my nose, down my throat. I try to scream, but swallow more needles.