Be Light Like a Bird

by Monika Schröder

  I didn’t say anything. Now would have been a good time to ask about the scars, but I didn’t dare.

  “You know, if you want me to, I could fix up the Volvo for one last ride,” Randle offered. “That way you could say goodbye.”

  “Thanks for the smoothie,” I said. “And thanks for the offer. I’ll think about it.”

  “You bet,” he said. “Nice meeting you. And I mean it. I won’t take it apart for a few days. If you wanna do it, just drop by.”

  31

  At school the next day I told Theo about Randle and his offer. “I think he’s some kind of artist,” I said. “And also a Buddhist. He lives in an almost empty cabin and throws around all sorts of wise sayings. And he has all these scars on his arms.”

  “Sounds like an interesting guy.”

  “Yeah… I’m not sure about him.”

  “Are you going to go on that last drive with him?” Theo asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “What do you think? Should I do it?”

  “I think you shouldn’t go alone,” Theo said. “It could be dangerous.”

  “Yeah… I was wondering if I should have followed him into his house yesterday,” I said. “But he is a Buddhist — all about peace and harmony, you know.”

  “Well, you never know actually,” Theo said.

  “True,” I said. “I do trust him, though. But you could come with me anyway. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Theo nodded. “Sure. I’d like to meet this guy.”

  * * *

  After school, we pedaled to Randle’s Junkyard. I introduced the two and told Randle that I’d like to take that drive.

  “No problem. I can get the Volvo in shape for a last spin right away,” Randle said. “I’m glad you brought a friend.”

  While he was getting the Volvo ready, Theo and I walked around and looked at the sculptures. When it was time, we got into the backseat of the car, and Theo asked, “How did you get the scar under your arm?”

  “My mother burned me when I was a baby.”

  “By accident?”

  Randle shook his head. “No. She was drunk, and I was screaming. She thought it would shut me up.” He then pointed to the thick scar around his wrist. “This one is from the first foster family I lived with. We had an argument and my foster dad settled it with a knife. I didn’t stay there very long.”

  The motor sputtered when Randle turned the key in the ignition.

  “Old Volv’s got the hiccups,” he said, patting the dashboard affectionately. “He’ll be all right.”

  Soon we drove out of his lot, and Randle turned onto 7 Mile Road. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. The truth was, it felt strange to be in the car. Part of me wanted to be alone. I waited for the cloud to wrap around me, but something had changed. I wasn’t alone.

  The car sputtered again, and Randle said, “Come on, Old Man Volvo. Pull yourself together for Wren’s last ride.”

  “Thank you for doing this,” I said.

  “No problem,” Randle said. “But this old motor is truly on its last leg. It’ll gobble up the oil I gave it, and I won’t be able to resuscitate it for much longer than this ride.”

  I leaned against the backrest and tried to think of Dad. But the only picture I had in my mind was of Randle as a baby being burned by his mother. I tried to concentrate on Dad, wanting to bring up some image of us in the car. When had we last driven in the car together? But I couldn’t replay a happy memory.

  Instead, I thought of Randle having a fight with his foster dad. It had to be so terrible that it ended in scars. Then I remembered a day Dad had driven me to school, and we’d argued. It had been a stupid fight over a dumb thing, and I’d gotten out and slammed the door. I still felt bad about it now.

  “Music?” Randle asked, holding up two CDs. “You want sad or funky?”

  “Sad.”

  Randle pushed one of the discs into the console, and a moment later, a raspy man’s voice came out of the speakers.

  “Who’s that?” Theo asked.

  “Leonard Cohen,” Randle said. “One of the best.”

  I relaxed as I listened. It sounded as if he was performing a slow poem to music. He spoke the words more than he sang them. There was this pain in his voice, but I found it soothing. And I loved the refrain:

  Ring the bell that still can ring

  Forget your perfect offering

  There is a crack, a crack in everything

  That’s how the light gets in.

  32

  “Feeling better now?” Randle asked once we were back at the house.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe a little. Thank you, again, for doing this.”

  “Letting go is very hard,” he said. “Believe me, I know.” As he spoke, he glanced over at a pile of boxes next to the hallway door.

  “What’s all that?” Theo asked.

  “That’s my mother’s stuff. I cleared out her house.”

  “I thought you said your mother left you at the Salvation Army when you were a baby. Isn’t that true?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” Randle said. “I actually only met her recently. The foster care system opened the files they had on me, and I learned who she was. We actually didn’t live that far apart all these years.”

  “What was it like when you met her?” I asked.

  “Well,” Randle said, “it is kind of sad. She has Alzheimer’s, and her memory is fuzzy. So pretty much right after we met, I had to help her move into an old folks’ home with special care.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Randle nodded. “Yeah, it’s sad. She’s not even that old. Early onset, they call it.”

  “What about these photos?” Theo asked, peering into a small box on top of the pile.

  “I think my father took those. He was into photography.”

  “May I look at them?” Theo asked politely.

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  Theo quietly flipped through them for a few minutes. “These are mostly bird photos,” he said. “Some of them look like they were taken at Pete’s Pond.”

  “My ma loves birds. That’s one of the few things I’ve learned about her since we met,” Randle said. “And from the looks of it, my dad did too. But how do you know that’s Pete’s Pond?”

  “Look here,” Theo said, pointing to one photo. “This is a panoramic view of the pond with the birch trunks in the back.”

  “It looks pretty much the same now as it did then,” I added.

  “How do you guys know that place?” Randle asked.

  “We go there to watch birds,” I said. “Right now, we’re trying to save it since they want to use the area to expand the Pyramid Landfill. We’re collecting signatures.”

  “Oh, that’s cool,” Randle said. “Can I sign?”

  I nodded. “We’ll bring the petition next time we see you.”

  “Who’s this?” Theo asked, pulling out a photo of a man and a woman.

  “My parents,” Randle answered.

  “I thought you said you’d never met your dad,” I said.

  “I didn’t. He died before I was born. I put that photo aside ’cause I wanted to bring it to my ma.” Randle handed Theo the photograph. “It’s in bad shape, though. See?”

  “It needs to be restored,” Theo said.

  “Can you do that?” I asked, looking over at him.

  Theo shrugged. “I could try.”

  “I’d love for you to take a shot at it,” Randle said. “Ma sure would be over the moon if we could show it to her with the both of them actually visible.”

  “Aren’t you angry at your ma for giving you up?” I asked. It was hard to imagine that he could have forgiven his mother for doing that.

  “She had her r
easons for not wanting a baby,” Randle said. “She couldn’t have taken care of me.”

  “But you ended up with terrible foster parents. Look at your wrist. That wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t abandoned you,” I said.

  “There’s no point in holding on to anger or resentment. As the Buddha said, ‘Don’t be loyal to your suffering.’ With things the way they are now, my ma and I just have to make the best out of the time we have left.”

  Randle paused for a moment. “Actually,” he continued, “you always should make the best out of the time you have. ‘Live in joy,’ as the Buddha said.”

  33

  “Soon we might not be able to come here anymore,” I said to Theo when we met at the pond a few days later. “It’ll all be gone. Randle would probably say that the Buddha tells us not to cling to anything.” I threw my hands up in the air and called out, “Let it all go, your pain, your fears, your wetlands…”

  Theo laughed. “I don’t think the Buddha would say you should bury all these things in a landfill. The Buddha would probably be in favor of recycling, like Randle. He reuses most of the car parts.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t say all this stuff about Buddha. ‘Let go of your suffering’ and ‘Don’t cling to your bad feelings’ and so on. I can’t stand how he rubs that in all the time.”

  “Don’t you think it’s true?” Theo asked.

  “I don’t know. But he sounds like those little sayings that people print on calendars with cheesy kitten photos,” I said.

  “It’s not cheesy,” Theo said. “He’s certainly forgiven his mother. Imagine, she burns him, hurts him in all kinds of ways, and then gives him away. And yet, he finds her and takes care of her. That’s awesome.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It seemed everybody around me thought that Randle and his Buddha were saints. The day before, when I’d told Mr. Leroy about him, he’d said, “He’s a Buddhist Chippewa Indian who looks like Keanu Reeves? It sounds like you met one of the most interesting characters in Pyramid. I hope you told him about my store in case he needs some whey powder for his smoothies.”

  “Of course I did,” I’d said, smiling.

  “Good, I’d like to meet that man.”

  “He’s really into Buddhism and keeps quoting the Buddha.” I’d rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t make fun of that,” Mr. Leroy had said. “Buddhism is a great philosophy. It’s about being peaceful and not wanting too many material things and living in the moment.”

  “Are you living in the moment?” I’d asked him.

  Mr. Leroy had laughed. “You’re asking hard questions today, Wren. This Randle has got you thinking.” And after a short pause, he’d continued, “I guess it would be good if I could live in the moment. But like everyone else, I worry about the future and obsess about the past. I admire people who can live in the now.” He put imaginary quotation marks around that word in the air. “But all these wise things are easier said than done.”

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, Theo and I brought Randle the restored photo. I could tell he was touched when he saw the black-and-white picture of his parents.

  “Oh Lordy,” he said, studying the image. “It’s like new. I only drove you around in an old car, and you’re giving me this great gift. You guys are something else.”

  “It was really nice of you to take me on that ride,” I said. I handed him another album of pictures too. “We also brought these bird photos for your mother. You told us she likes birds. Theo took them for a school report.”

  “Wow, man! Thank you! You should go pro with this, Theo!” Randle exclaimed, looking through the album. “These are really good. You’ve got the eye.”

  “Thanks,” Theo said, his ears turning red, giving away how proud he felt.

  “I’d love for you to take some photos of my sculptures,” Randle continued. “I had a guy come by who wanted to offer some of them to a gallery. He left his card and said I should send him some shots. I’d pay you for it.”

  “I’m happy to take some photos of your sculptures,” Theo said. “But I don’t want any money for them.”

  Randle opened his arms, and in a quick movement, pressed us both against his chest. When he let go, I could tell Theo was as embarrassed as I was. We both stepped farther away than necessary.

  “I’m still looking through this shoe box, trying to find some other photos my mom might like,” Randle said. “Most of them are of birds and trees. My dad was really into nature photography.”

  “Why don’t you take the whole box?” I asked.

  “The doctor said that it would be better not to overwhelm her with memories,” Randle said. “So I only bring her one or two each week. Some of these photos are weird.” He pointed to three black-and-white images. “There are several of a turtle shell my dad apparently found interesting.”

  “That looks just like the shell we found,” Theo said. “It has the same kind of holes in it.”

  “There’s a date on the back,” I said. “Pete’s Pond, May 1971.”

  “You found a shell like this at the same place? That’s interesting,” Randle said.

  “Maybe we could ask your mother about it,” Theo suggested.

  Randle nodded. “I think you guys should come with me anyway when I give the photos to her.”

  I looked at Theo, who nodded. “Sure,” we said in unison.

  34

  In the reception area of the Golden Acres Retirement Home, it smelled like cabbage and bleach. We crossed a room next to the foyer where four old women sat in their wheelchairs like fragile dolls, slightly bent over, their heads turned toward the flat screen TV that was mounted above a fireplace.

  I couldn’t help staring at their wrinkled, gaunt faces, wondering if it was their white hair and the faded colors of their clothes that made them all look alike, or if it was something else.

  We passed a window in the hallway that opened into the garden. Outside, I saw Ma pushing an old woman in a wheelchair. I hadn’t expected to see her here. Monday was her day off, but maybe she’d switched her shifts. I paused and watched her park the wheelchair next to a bench. Then she sat down and took out a book. She said something that made the old woman smile. Then Ma began to read to her. The old woman reached out and touched Ma’s knee. Ma looked up and smiled at her, then continued to read.

  It gave me a pang to see such a tender expression on Ma’s face. She never looked like that at home.

  “Who’s that lovely lady you are looking at?” Randle asked, standing behind me.

  “My mother,” I said. “She works here.”

  “You want to go outside and introduce us?” Randle asked.

  I shook my head. “I’d rather not. I didn’t tell her that I tracked down the Volvo and that you drove me around in it. We’re not talking very much right now.”

  “Oh, I see,” Randle said, raising his eyebrows. “I sense some mother-daughter conflict here.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “A big one.”

  Thankfully, Randle let it go at that, and we made our way to his mother’s quarters. Mrs. Redbird’s room was small but light-filled. She sat by the window in a wingback chair. Her spidery fingers clasped the armrest like a bird holds on to a branch. “These are your friends from school?” she asked, looking at us doubtfully.

  “No, Mother,” Randle said patiently. “This is Theo and Wren. They brought you something.” He held out the black-and-white photo.

  Mrs. Redbird’s eyes glazed over as she gently touched the photo of her husband. “Oh, Edward,” she whispered.

  Randle threw us a thankful look, then walked over to his mother and gave her a hug. In the car he’d told us that his mother was so confused at times that he didn’t know if she would even recognize his father.

  I thought of the scars on his arm as I looked at the two of them hugging. Theo was right. It
was awesome of Randle to take care of his mother now even after she’d abandoned him.

  “Are we going somewhere?” Mrs. Redbird asked.

  “No, mother,” Randle said. “We aren’t going anywhere. But I have another photo. Edward took pictures of a turtle shell. Do you remember anything about it?”

  Mrs. Redbird looked at the photo and said, “Edward liked pork roast. He…” Her voice trailed off, and suddenly she looked at us with an empty stare.

  “We also brought you some bird photos in color,” Randle said, placing our album in her lap. “Theo took those.”

  Randle’s mother studied the photos slowly. “Edward had the fever,” she said, looking out of the window. “We gave him herbs and medicine, but the cough wouldn’t stop.” Then her eyes teared up, and she sobbed.

  “Oh, Ma,” Randle comforted her. “That’s all long passed.” He dabbed her face with a tissue and pointed to another photo. “You know that bird?”

  Mrs. Redbird stopped crying and pursed her lips. After a moment, she whistled the short song of a chickadee, making us smile.

  * * *

  “Now I’m kind of curious about this shell,” Randle said, when we were back in his car. “You guys know the librarian, right? Maybe we could go and check with her.”

  Theo and I agreed, but when we arrived at the library, Mrs. Carter, the library assistant, told us that Mrs. Russo had just stepped out.

  “What should we Google to find out about the turtle shell?” I asked when we sat down at the computer in the library reading room. I noticed an issue of Aviator was still on the magazine rack and quickly looked away. But this time, it didn’t trigger terrible thoughts about Dad.

  “Just enter turtle shell with holes, Upper Peninsula, Michigan,” Theo suggested.

  I followed his instructions, and several links quickly appeared on the screen: Turtle Shell Construction Company, box turtle fact sheet, turtle diseases.

  I shook my head. “Nothing fits.”

  We tried a few more times but couldn’t come up with anything useful. When Mrs. Russo returned, we were all grateful. Theo and I introduced Randle and explained what we were looking for.