by Diane Adams
Neal sat on the floor of the clubhouse, surrounded by books about insects and birds and mammals. His father must have been very interested in nature, judging by the number of books Neal had found in his room. Since their New York apartment was on the 17th floor, the closest Neal ever came to nature was squashing a bug in the bathroom.
He had been studying the pictures all morning, but found none that resembled the bird or bug he had seen the day before. He wondered if it could be a whole new species, or possibly one already considered extinct.
Neal stacked the books neatly in a corner and sat perfectly still, listening to the absence of noise. In New York, it was never this quiet, not even in the middle of the night. In order to drown out the noises from the street below, his mom always turned on the TV, even when she wasn't watching it.
His dad had liked to listen to music, thumping his palms on his thighs as he kept time with the beat. Neal smiled, as he remembered how his dad would grab his mom and waltz her around the room, making her laugh.
He wondered if Mr. Cameron had ever seen the little white bird, but he didn't think his grandparents would like it if he went next door to chat with their strange neighbor.
A few years ago, Neal had stayed with his grandparents while his parents attended a seminar. Though no one had mentioned the topic in his presence, he knew it was meant for couples who weren't getting along. He was just as tired of the arguing as they were, but he would rather they keep fighting than get a divorce. He almost made himself sick with worry while they were away, which made his grandparents nervous and cross.
His grandparents were the kind of people who wore clothes that needed to be ironed, even when they weren't going out. They had expected Neal to be neat, clean and quiet. Several times a day, they had urged him to go outside and get some fresh air, but please do not get dirty. He had mostly stood around in the yard, watching for his parents to return, though they weren't supposed to come back until the end of the week.
The third day, the neighbor from the old Templeton place came around the corn field, pulling a wagon filled with neatly sawn boards. Before Neal could run inside to ask his grandparents what to do, Mr. Cameron asked him to help unload the lumber.
"What's it for?" Neal asked, biting his lip.
"Your dad's clubhouse," Mr. Cameron had explained, indicating a sort of shed in the back corner of the yard. "A few of the boards need replacing. I brought you a hammer and nails too. Just hang on to 'em when you get done. Maybe they'll come in handy some other time."
While Neal watched, the older man leaned the boards against the back fence, then handed him the hammer and a box of nails.
Neal remembered his dad talking about the hours he had spent in the clubhouse with his friends, but he hadn't realized it still existed. "Thanks," he told Mr. Cameron. He was pretty sure his dad would be pleased if he fixed up the clubhouse, though he wasn't sure how his grandparents would feel about it.
The day his parents were due to return, Neal's dad suddenly appeared in the doorway of the clubhouse. He looked around with a happy grin, and complimented Neal on an excellent repair job. The minute Neal stood up, his dad grasped him in a wonderful hug that said everything was going to be better from now on.
And it was better, even if his parents acted like they were making a movie, always whispering and laughing about stuff that didn't seem funny to him. When his father got killed, Neal couldn't help wondering about the order of events - why should his dad get killed just when he and Neal's mother were falling in love again? She wouldn't be nearly as sad if they had still been fighting all the time. It would've made it a lot easier on everybody.
Neal stood up and stared outside the clubhouse, wishing the rare bird would appear again. He should've taken his mother's advice and brought his Game Boy and iPod along. He was old enough to know that time moved faster when your mind stayed busy. His grandparents didn't even have a computer! How was he going to keep his mind busy when there was nothing to do and no one to talk to? Keeping busy was a lot more important since his dad died. And now that his mom had deserted him ...
At first, Neal and his mother were certain that his father had survived. He might be buried beneath the rubble, but the rescue workers would soon dig him out. He would probably have some injuries, but nothing that wouldn't heal.
Three weeks went by before his mother finally said the words out loud - your father isn't going to be rescued. Neal refused to believe it, even though he had been to the site and seen the tons of rubble still to be removed. He told his mother that he was going to go on thinking that his dad was alive. She lifted her hand, then let it fall, as if she were too tired to argue.
After that, Neal and his mother didn't talk about his father anymore. Neal went back to school and his mother went back to work. They avoided the routes that would take them near the disaster site. They didn't watch the news on TV, threw the newspaper away without reading it, and changed the subject if anyone mentioned Ground Zero in their presence. When they met at the dinner table, they talked about TV programs, or the weather, or the dog who lived in the hallway.
One night, Neal told his mother how the dog rode the elevator with him that morning. When they reached the ground floor, it went to the front door and waited for someone to open it. The doorman told Neal that the dog would come back and sit patiently until someone let it in again. Then it would trot across the lobby and stand on its hind legs and push the elevator button. Neal thought this was a particularly interesting aspect of the dog story, but his mother acted as if she hadn't even heard him.
"I'm going to California, to visit my parents," she said.
"Am I going along?" Neal asked nervously.
"Not this time," she apologized. "You're going to stay with your father's parents."
"For how long?" he asked, trying to act as if it wasn't a big deal.
"I don't know," she said. Then she got up and began clearing the table.
They left the next morning and arrived in Missouri two nights later. Neal knew he would be staying more than a week this time. He was afraid he might be stuck here forever.
Suddenly the bird appeared, hovering over him for a few seconds, then soaring to the uppermost branch of a maple tree. He stepped back, slowly, trying not to blink. It was a bird, he decided, but what kind of bird? If only it would come a little closer, so he could get a better look. Instead, it fluttered away and landed in a small dogwood tree. Neal moved slowly in its direction, watching from the corner of his eye. He wished for a net, or at least for a video camera. When he stopped and tilted his head, to get a good look, the bird lifted off and glided to a large leafless branch on an otherwise healthy tulip tree.
It almost seemed to be luring him towards the house next door, though he knew that was a silly thought. He followed again, to prove his own theory wrong, but it kept moving nearer and nearer to the old Templeton place. "Maybe it's an escaped canary," Neal thought, edging further into the Cameron's yard. He wondered what Mr. Cameron would say if he caught him prowling around on his property. Would he remember Neal and the time he had given him the materials to fix the clubhouse? Would he offer him a net, or better yet, offer to help him capture the little white bird?
(( 6 ))