A Human Element

by Donna Galanti

  Laura waved as they left and turned back to the lake. The sun grew bright overhead. The mist had blown off the water. The day stood open for business. Since she missed writing about the sunrise maybe she would just have to write about her new friends, Mr. B and Scooter. How cool she had met the hermit! He intrigued her and she had to find out more. She sensed he didn't want to get to know her. She sensed his thoughts and his past. He's afraid, that's all.

  She smiled as she described him in her journal.

  Mr. B is a serious, old solitude dude who roams the woods with his loyal chocolate lab, Scooter. He is sad because he lost his wife and pretends to be gruff but has a good heart. Oh, and nice blue eyes too.

  It would be her mission to help Mr. B. She pulled out her thesaurus she carried in her backpack. Now what was the opposite of solitude? Social? Boring. She looked up another word for social. Convivial. Great word! She wrote it down. She would make Mr. B into a chooser of people not aloneness. He would be a convivialtarian. That would be her word for the day, if it existed. She plotted next what she could do to help her new friend become part of her world.

  She couldn't wait to share it with him.

  Jim woke up the next day at 6:30 a.m. to rain and darkness. It drummed loud on the cabin roof. A sound he liked. Nature talking to him. It made him feel not so alone. He was glad he had the place winterized ten years ago. He could be snug from rain and snow. It wasn't a large place, but just enough for him and Scooter. The place he most enjoyed in the summer was the screened-in porch. He could enjoy the woods without being devoured by mosquitoes.

  He saw Laura in his mind sitting at the lake writing about the rainy sunrise. Today's sunrise is different than any other. Her words echoed in his head and he smiled thinking about her. He tried to remember the last time he had such a conversation and couldn't. He'd been alone a long time.

  He and his wife, Susan, had bought this as a vacation place years before people started building cabins around the lake. Back then the lake appeared at night as a dark void below. Through the years they watched as each cabin lit up below. It looked like a set of Christmas lights strung around one large glass globe.

  Then, there were the two agonizing years when Susan battled cancer. Jim could only watch her slip away. The cancer spread to her brain but her loss hadn't been a blessing. He had been filled with rage and couldn't bring himself to speak to people. He sold his tax accounting business and their house in Pennsylvania, said goodbye to three old friends, loaded household items, and drove with Scooter the four hours to the cabin. These days he was surrounded by his own silence and Scooter's snoring, not the chatter of energetic children.

  He got the sense with this girl, Laura, the spotlight on the stage he stood on alone would grow to encompass the audience as well. But then the solitary life he had built over the past years would disappear. He wasn't sure he wanted that to happen. He had grown content, at peace.

  "Enough ruminating, Jim."

  He got up and fed Scooter, then poured himself a mug of strong, Columbian coffee. He cupped his gnarled hands around it to feel warm in the chill and damp of a rainy, July morning. The cold made his arthritic hands stiffer than usual. He stepped out on his covered porch to watch the rain and nearly dropped his coffee cup. There on the small table beside his rocking chair sat a pie. It smelled delicious. Sweet, baked peaches oozed juice over a golden crust. He touched it and found it still warm. A folded note was placed beside it with a sunflower on top.

  Dear Mr. B, something from my orchard to you. I hope the sunflower brings you a ray of light on this rainy day. Your new friend, Laura.

  He didn't know how she managed to carry a pie in her backpack over bumpy, dirt roads in the rain without smashing it, and then up the overgrown trail to his cabin. She must have been up quite early to bake this for him. She must still be nearby. He grabbed his rain coat and roused Scooter, who was snoozing again after his breakfast.

  "Come on, old boy." Jim stroked his ears. "We have to go find Laura and thank her."

  Scooter perked up at her name and trotted along beside him down the porch steps and out into the rain. Big, wet splotches plunked down on them as the rain fought to get past the heavy leaf cover. They followed the rough, half-mile long path down to the lake. Small footprints oozed in the mud every few feet. She had been here all right. In the course of one day a young girl befriended him and baked him a pie. He couldn't stop smiling. At seventy-two years old he was actually giddy.

  "Come on, Scooter, we don't want to miss her. Keep up, boy."

  The old dog and the old man reached the bottom of the trail and the lake spread out before them. Tendrils of mist rose from the water lapping at the shoreline. A gray curtain of rain fell steady and soft. A faint pling, pling called out as the raindrops met their end.

  Jim stopped and peered through the fog that rolled across the water and filled the woods beyond. The sky hung heavy, descending upon the mountaintop as if it wanted to crush it. He could see the ghostly outlines of several empty cabins surrounding part of the lake. They sank into ruin after the government forced the owners to sell so they could close off the lake area affected by the meteorite all those years ago. The damn government didn't even have the sense to knock the cabins down.

  Jim peered through the fog and found a lone figure by the lake wearing a bright yellow and green slicker with a hood hung over her face. She huddled on a boulder that overlooked the lake. He made his way over to her.

  "Hello there." The rain slowed to a misty shower.

  "Oh, hi!" Laura looked up at him and smiled. Her journal balanced on one knee. Scooter ambled over to her with his tail wagging. She stroked his wet ears. "Did you get your pie? I didn't know if you'd be up, but I wanted to find your cabin."

  "Yes, that's why we came down here, to thank you. So…thank you."

  "You're welcome. I love your cabin. It's so cozy in the woods. We live in a big, old farmhouse with acres and acres. That's where I picked those peaches from. My mom made the crust but I did all the rest."

  Jim beamed and rocked from foot to foot. "Well, we best be going. You too. Go home and get dry. We thought you might be down here writing your sunrise picture and wanted to say thanks."

  He turned with Scooter to head back up the trail.

  "I have a new name for you, Mr. B."

  Jim turned with a puzzled look. "What's that?"

  "You're a convivialtarian and don't know it." Laura grinned.

  "What on earth is that?"

  "Just wait and see." She hopped off her rock and headed for her bike, waving goodbye.

  Jim watched her ride away in the rain. He had made a friend and it filled his heart with gladness. For years, Scooter had been all he needed. Now this young, animated girl drew color around him when he didn't even know he'd been colorless.

  It felt good to care about someone else again.

  CHAPTER 6: 1991

  From then on, every few days, Jim would find a present on his porch. One time it was gooey chocolate chip banana bread, another time a homemade card with pressed flowers, and another time a juicy blackberry pie. His favorite was a daisy in a chipped blue bottle with a painted scene of a mountain and lake, and there sat his cabin amidst the trees. He placed it on the kitchen window to let the sun shine through it.

  He didn't always head down to the lake on those days he knew she had been there, but more often than not he did. He enjoyed Laura's chatter, spattered with amusing words she found in her ragged thesaurus, even that day when she caught him in a cranky mood and called him a curmudgeon.

  "Am not," Jim denied, his eyebrows crinkled down.

  "Are too," Laura shot back. "You're vexed. Huffy. Surly. And all of these make you a curmudgeon of the most colossal kind."

  "Impudent imp." He shook his walking stick at her. "You don't want a fracas with me, you mischievous moppet."

  "Aha," she cried with glee. "You've been reading your thesaurus, haven't you?"

  "Never, you wayward whelp." And Jim la
ughed in spite of a grumpy mood brought on by arthritis and a bad night's sleep. Laura never failed to cheer him up.

  One day he woke up to find an invitation to her house for dinner, with a box to check yes or no. He smiled at her childishness and after pausing, checked yes, and left it on his porch for her to pick up. He was curious about these parents who had raised such a charming and mature child.

  Jim pulled up to Laura's farmhouse in his old green Jeep Cherokee on a sunny Saturday afternoon. September had crept in and frosty nights had turned some leaves yellow and orange. Laura burst out of the front screen door and skipped over to him.

  "Hey, Mr. B!" She hugged him as he stepped out of the car.

  He stiffened a bit, but warmed to the hug and patted her on the back. "Hi."

  She pulled him along to the house where her parents welcomed him. He could tell that Laura did not come from these stocky, country folks, but her cheery disposition did. Her gracefulness and petite pixie looks stood out next to her parents' big-boned thickness and wide facial features.

  Jim shook Wesley's rough hand and thanked him for having him to dinner.

  "You're most welcome. A friend of Laura's is a friend of ours. Of course, she just mentioned yesterday that she met you at the lake recently." His gravel voice rumbled in the kitchen and he eased his large bulk into a wide rocking chair by a stone fireplace, motioning for Jim to sit in the one next to him.

  "Yes," Jim said. He looked at Laura, unsure of what to say.

  "Mr. B and I just met and I thought he'd enjoy a good home-cooked meal since he lives all alone," Laura said, squeezing Fanny's waist. Her eyes pleaded with Jim to go along with it.

  "Well, we're certainly glad to meet you and enjoy a meal together." Fanny smiled at Jim then returned to stirring a savory smelling stew over the stove.

  Homemade bread baked in the oven and its delicious warmth wafted over him. He sat down and looked around the cozy kitchen. Baskets and pots hung from the beamed ceiling and bunches of herb pots lined the window. A bay window overlooked a pond and the Catskill Mountains in the distance. A worn chopping block held crocks full of end-of-the-season onions and tomatoes just collected from the garden. It all smelled so earthy and homey. This house was so alive. His cabin was empty and lifeless in comparison.

  "Laura's been telling us all about you and Scooter," Fanny said.

  Laura grinned.

  "I hope good things." Jim chuckled as he rocked. "Old Scooter. He's fourteen years old now. Old even by a Lab's standards, but a good match for me. We have the same, slow pace."

  "Why didn't you bring Scooter, Mr. B?"

  "I wasn't too sure how good of a guest he would be."

  Fanny turned to smile at him and wiped her hands on her apron that draped over her large bosom. "You can bring Scooter along any time. We love animals, right, Laura?"

  "Yep, now come on, Mr. B. I want to show you the chickens and apple orchard and barns and everything!" She tugged at him to get up.

  "Now, Laura," Fanny admonished. "Perhaps Mr. Barrens wants to sit and relax and have some sweet tea."

  "Let the man be," Wesley chimed in.

  "Oh, that's quite all right." Jim allowed himself to be pulled through the front door.

  "Dinner in twenty minutes or so," Fanny called to them as they headed outside.

  Jim tried to keep up with Laura's energetic gait. He admired her chickens and how clean she kept their house. She climbed her favorite tree to show him the view, but he remained firm about staying on the ground himself. He followed her into the apple orchard and listened to her talk about so many things.

  "Your mother and father are wonderful people." It was hard for Jim to get a word in with Laura's enthusiastic jabber as he picked his way around bruised and crushed apples.

  "I know, but, they aren't my real mother and father."

  Jim waited for more.

  "But you knew that, didn't you?"

  "I guessed it, yes, but how did you know?" He turned to look at her as she skipped around the apple trees, swinging her lithe body from trunk to trunk.

  "Because I hear people's thoughts."

  Jim's eyes widened. He didn't know if she toyed with him or meant to be serious. She peeked behind a tree and laughed.

  "I'm serious. Oh, but that's not all. I can do other things too." Laura closed her eyes and hugged the tree next to her. The limbs shook. Jim stared, confused at first. Was it the wind? But the warm September air hung still. The branches jiggled and jumped, sending ripe apples falling down in a rain of red.

  "See? Isn't it neat? No ladder!" Laura laughed. "Now we need to gather these good ones so my mom can make applesauce. She makes the best applesauce, all chunky and cinnamony." She grabbed an empty basket at the base of a tree and filled it with the fallen apples. Jim moved forward to help her, unsure of what just happened. Where did this girl come from?

  "I don't know where I come from." Laura bent her head, searching for apples.

  "You can read minds," Jim sputtered in disbelief.

  "I told you, didn't I?" She looked up with a grin.

  Jim moved forward to help pick up apples. "But how did you make the tree move?"

  "I just think it and it happens. I don't know how it works."

  Jim nodded. He could understand that. Life had its mysteries. Like cancer. There were things you couldn't see or explain.

  "You still miss her, don't you?"

  "Every day." Jim sighed. He stood up. He had been a lucky man, one time.

  "But you're still lucky."

  "I am?" He was startled to find how easy it became to follow a conversation with her from his head.

  "Sure. You have Scooter and now me as a friend."

  Jim smiled as they finished filling the basket then each grasped a handle to walk it back to the house.

  "There!" Laura grabbed Jim's arm. She dropped her handle and apples tumbled out. "Do you see him?"

  Startled, Jim also dropped his handle and allowed the basket to fall.

  "See who?" He looked around the peaceful orchard, the afternoon sun slanted in the waning days of summer. Wasps buzzed around juicy apples rotting at their feet. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the soft glare. Something dark moved in the trees up the hill.

  "It's him." Laura shrunk down. "The man in black. I've got to find out who he is. Come on!" She pulled at Jim's hand. He pulled her back. She let go and took off running.

  "Wait, are you sure that's a person? Maybe it's just a deer."

  Jim stumbled over apple bumps after her, when something sharp stung his neck and left hand. He slapped his neck and a third sting hit behind his ear. Stingers shot into him, over and over. Laura kept running through the orchard. He tried to call after her but he could only rasp out a whisper. His throat swelled and he couldn't catch his breath. A burning pain spread through his chest. He doubled over and fell sideways onto a tree stump. In the distance a man stepped out from behind a tree toward Laura. She was almost near him.

  "Laura." He wheezed. What could be wrong with him?

  The woods around him spun and nausea rose and fell in waves. He clutched his chest as the burning grew more intense. Jim watched, unable to get to her, as Laura stopped and faced the man in black. The man stood thirty feet or so from her. He stared at her in silence. His bulk loomed wide amongst the trees. He shimmered as if his body floated in the air.

  "Why are you watching me?" Laura's voice cut loud and clear through the woods.

  "I need to know what you are."

  She flipped her head to look back at Jim. He shook his arm in the air. She hesitated, then turned and ran back toward him. He closed his eyes.

  "Mr. B!" Jim fell off the stump and lay on the ground. When Laura reached him he felt barely conscious. His breaths came fast and shallow. He couldn't get enough air in him. She fell on her knees beside him.

  "Wasps." Jim wheezed in between breaths. She felt his hands and neck. His skin puffed up in a red swollen mass around each sting site. Behind his ear gre
w another swollen lump.

  "I didn't know you were allergic. I wouldn't have brought you in the orchard!" She placed one hand on his neck and one on his hand and closed her eyes. "Please don't die, Mr. B. You need to get well. You need to stride-the-woods with your walking stick and faithful dog. Please!"

  Jim heard her speak, but it was far away down a tunnel. Minutes passed.

  "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I brought you here." Laura cried and shook Jim's hand. Her tears fell on his stung hand and she wiped them away.

  "Not your fault," Jim said in a clear voice and opened his eyes.

  "Oh, Mr. B! Can you get up?"

  Laura helped him up.

  "What happened?" He scratched his head as she steadied him with her hands.

  "You got stung real bad and I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know you were allergic."

  She hid her head in his shirt and sobbed. Jim held her and looked through the woods, but didn't see this mysterious man. "But I'm not allergic, Laura. And I'm fine now but how'd that happen? It's like the stingers' poison just worked its way out of my body."

  "I made it come out. I didn't want you to die, like my mom almost did. I saved her once, but I didn't know if I could save you." Laura continued to cry. "I just imagined pulling the wasp stingers out and sucking out their venom. I imagined you being able to breathe."

  Jim stood still, his stomach clenched. "Is that one of the other things you can do? Heal people?"

  She nodded, her head still buried in his side. He took a deep breath and tilted her head up to look at her. Tears streamed down her face.

  "But who was the man, Laura? Did he ever try to hurt you?"

  "No, he always watches me from far away. I don't know who he is. Today he looked funny. Like a ghost. All shimmery. I asked him why he watched me. All he said was—" She rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

  "He needed to know what you are." Jim stroked her smooth hair. "I heard him."

  "So what am I?"

  Jim also wanted to know the answer to that question.

  "I couldn't read the man's thoughts though," Laura said. "But I sensed a bunch of feelings all jumbled up inside him."