Chapter Two: Birthday (Dragonfly Series, Book One)

Chapter Two: Birthday

 

Lightness of day, fullness of hour
Time opens portal of tulip flower.
The girl stirs, slips out at last
One hour to enter the past.

A mother finds her daughter sneaks
Along logs and watery creaks.
Away from home, into the trees
Across swamp and forest leaves.

Flowers bloom, buds burst
Animals drink to quell their thirst.
Demeter mourns, Persephone weeps
The sun rises and the moon sleeps.

 

The next morning, Jessica woke up early, as she often did, but especially today since it was her birthday. The stairs creaked as she tiptoed down them. They were carpeted but still made some noise since her grandparents had built the house over fifty years ago.

She slipped into the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle for her energizing morning tea. She drank a cup of tea from various wild plants each day. Stinging nettle filled up the most space in the mix, which she and her mom grew and harvested themselves each year. The herb hurt their hands to collect, wash, and dry because the stems and leaves had small, hollow hairs that inject chemicals that cause paresthesia. Once dried, the nettles don’t sting so much and, according to her mom, it is worth every sting due to the health benefits.  

While the water heated up, she checked her cell phone for messages. None. Of course. All her friends slept in late and she had checked it late last night. She hoped Eva was holding up okay. She figured she would. This was not her first break up after all.

She looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. Her mom often woke up early, making it was one of the few things they had in common. She scanned the vegetable rows. Sure enough, her mom stood by the strawberry plants, watering faithfully, her straight, blond hair glimmering in the morning sun. The wind took a sudden turn and sprayed water on her mom’s face, causing Jessica to smile.

The electric kettle whistled, forcing her to jump up and make her tea. She sat down again holding her steaming cup gingerly between her fingers. It was too hot to drink so she scarfed down her bowl of whole grain Honey Rings instead.

The back door screeched as she pushed it out, though she did not need to be quiet on account of her dad and Peter. They slept soundly and wouldn’t hear her. She edged along one side of the property, admiring a trellis with wisteria sprawling haphazardly along each post. The flower buds just opened up that morning to show their brilliant, purple petals. They were blooming just on time. She hid behind one vine and pulled out her spiral bound notebook and a pencil. She jotted “May 1 - Backyard” at the top, then “wisteria flowers blooming, just started.”

Her backyard represented her own, special paradise and she loved learning new things about it. The more she learned, the more she realized she needed to learn. After she memorized when the plants in her yard bloomed last year, she realized she could learn which insect liked to feed off of each flower. Then there were thousands of things to learn about each insect. But she felt content most of the time just to observe and take notes. The amount of knowledge she wanted to absorb didn’t stress her out, though she knew the natural world held more secrets than she could ever learn in her lifetime. She enjoyed the challenge.

After finishing her notation, she glanced across the garden to make sure her mother still hadn’t caught sight of her. Her mom continued to water the strawberries. She stood in between two apple trees that had been there since her grandparents planted them more than thirty years ago.

When her mom faced the other direction completely, she slipped behind the shed and kept walking steadily, watching her mom only with the corner of her eye, her peripheral vision. As soon as she made it into the woods, she bolted. She ran like a fawn, weaving in between trees and over roots. Her worn out sneakers were quiet, though it was her running style that helped the most. It had taken her years to perfect the silent running form of a Native American scout. Level head, bent knees, toes first.

Her father taught her this skill during the summer after her sixth birthday. She recalled he abruptly shut the book he was reading, startling her so badly she choked on her glass of lemonade.  

“Jessie, come on outside with me.” She followed hesitantly, anticipating another one of his lessons. “I just learned how Native Americans walk silently. You put the outside of your pinky toe down first, then roll to the big toe, and then to the heel. The goal is to keep your head level. Let’s try it!”

They first walked back and forth. When they thought they had it down, they ran back and forth across the grass in the front yard, barefoot. Jessica remembered that day, in particular, because for one stretch, she outran her father, who ran marathons.

“Wow you’re getting too fast for me!” Her father exclaimed. “Now maybe you can catch the deer in the forest.”

Although she knew he had let her win, her father had started something important that day. From that moment onward, she would indeed try to outrun the deer in the forest. And not just outrun them, but catch up to them so that if she stretched out her hands, she could touch their furry backs. Then, she could run beside them through the trees.  She held outrunning the deer as her greatest ambition, though so far the running style only helped her see wild animals, not catch or touch them.

The blue sky stretched above the trees with only a few white, puffy clouds floating merrily. The birds sang cheerful tunes into the warm air. She felt happy. Sometimes her moods were so closely linked to the natural world she couldn’t be sure which controlled which.

She slowed down to a walk. She liked to stop every now and then to watch a downy woodpecker or a band of dark-eyed juncos when in the forest. She knew the calls of all her favorite birds, almost too well. When she fell deep in thought, the sharp “pike” of a woodpecker or the rattle of a kingfisher would shock her out of her reverie.

But today the birds were strangely quiet for this hour. She believed it was due to the chill air blowing through the trees. The gentle breeze teased her long hair. By the time she returned home, her hair would be falling out of her pony tail in a tangled mess. Her friends would preen over her if she didn’t do something with it before the party. They all thought she was a freak for enjoying nature and hiking. She wished they were more open to it so she could have companions on her adventures.

She jumped over a little creek. It ran clear today. She wrote that down in her notebook. She heard a squirrel shout, “Hawk.” It really sounded more like one, quick “chee.” She looked up until she found a broad-winged hawk circling overheard. She made more notes in her notebook.

She waited there, by a white cedar tree until the threat was gone and the animals became comfortable again. It took a long time. 

She took a step forward and a squirrel alarmed. She had to stop so he didn’t warn the whole forest of her presence. She stood for another minute or two. Then she took a slow step. This was how she passed through unnoticed, or at the very least ignored. She had spent years learning this skill.

She balanced on a fallen butternut hickory tree, dotted with bright orange winter mushrooms. She jumped off and slid into an earthy pit. The base of the tree now towered above her like the back of a magical throne. She curled up and leaned against the roots.

She often returned to this spot in the forest, especially each year on this particular day, Beltane. People of the old religions celebrated the day by dancing around May poles. For her, the day brought emptiness and longing that not even her party could fill. On May 1^st, 16 years ago, her biological parents left her to die.

Seldom did she think about her sad, mysterious past. She forced herself not to dwell on it though sometimes the hurt feelings crept up on her. A few years ago, she vowed to protect her emotional self by limiting her thoughts of her biological parents to this day alone, the day her parents chose to celebrate her birthday. Her parents weren’t sure what day she’d been born on but this day marked the start of her new life with them. Jessica didn’t even know her exact age.

Why would her parents choose to abandon her like that? Did they not want her? Could they not afford her? Why didn’t they drop her off at a hospital?

The night her parents left her had been unusually cold for the season. Richard Abbott, who by coincidence, had also been orphaned as a young boy, heard her cries while on his morning run and found her wrapped in a soaked, cotton shawl sheltered by the same roots that held her now. Her adopted parents still to this day marveled at how she had survived the thirty degree Fahrenheit temperatures so exposed.

She used to make up stories about how her parents sacrificed her, their only baby, in order to save the forest and the swamp. But, baby Jessica managed to escape death because the world needed her for some heroic purpose later on – perhaps guarding the forest for years to come. Although she had almost died in these woods, she still felt safe here. It felt like home.  

She stood up and pushed through the forest underbrush following a deer trail, pondering the meaning of Beltane. She knew people celebrated spring crops and fertility. But would someone really sacrifice a baby for that? She didn’t think so.

The forest litter gave way to a patch of bare earth. She studied a tiny hand print that looked almost like something a human child would make, except for the deep nail prints. A second print lay beside the first. This formed a shape more like a tiny human footprint. Five toes on each print. These marks had been made by a raccoon recently. Detail was still unblemished in the tracks.

Jessica pulled out her tiny notebook and pencil and spent a few minutes drawing the prints and measuring them with her hands. She wrote “Procyon lotor - In soft mud in Little Swamp, 5:30 a.m.” at the top. Procyon lotor was the Latin name for raccoon. She didn’t know all of the Latin names for each animal in her area, but her mother kept telling her it would be useful if she learned them now since she planned to study wildlife science in college, when she would need to memorize all of the Latin names of the plants and animals.

Her mother studied biology in undergraduate school and then focused on botany for her master’s degree. Her job as a professor seemed like a really cool choice to Jessica, the teaching part anyway.

She walked on and looked for the prints of other animals. Lines of deer tracks weaved through the mud and leaves. They were easy to see. She could not decipher the prints made from one deer versus those from other deer, but she still tried.

She wrote down more in her book. She wrote the Latin name for deer, Odocoileus virginianus. Then she pulled out a small measuring tape. The prints each had two tear-shaped toes and two circles behind them. They were two hoof marks overlapping each other. Twenty-two inches later, there were two more. It went on like that for a ways. She measured the distance of a few of the pairs, wrote them all down, and then calculated the average, which was 21.5 inches. She also wrote down that she believed the prints had been made at dusk yesterday.

She shoved her notebook in her bag and walked on. The slope of the land increased as Jessica neared the small pool created by a spring. She could hear the soft trickle of water running over rocks and roots before she could see it. Her face felt cool from the excess moisture in the air.

When the pool stood in front of her, she sat down on a mossy rock so she could see the water below. Later, she would go swimming. The water felt unusually warm here, and she always wore her bathing suit into the woods in case she felt like taking a dip.

An albino deer she called Snowglare had come a few times to drink from the pool. She would sit for hours just to see him. It never grew old to watch the beautiful creature. And, as far as she knew, only she had seen the animal, though he glimmered like a bright beacon. She wondered why his eyes were so dark red. Albino animals have pink eyes, not red eyes.

She did a sense meditation, starting by counting ten sounds. She heard a few songbirds farther away that she couldn’t place by their voices alone. The leaves rattled in the wind and an occasional tree creaked. The water made a lovely trickling sound. And the quietest of all was the crinkling of dry leaves on the ground around her as insects crawled through them.

While maintaining her awareness of the sounds around her, she opened her mouth breathed in through her nose to smell the wet soil and new leaves. She could smell a hint of flowers so lovely, she wanted to open her eyes to see what they looked like. Sometimes that would pull her out of her meditation. This time she resisted. The soil smelled rich after the rain the night before. She could also smell an unmistakable, sweet smell that shouted spring.

She made sure she held all the sounds and smells at the same time before moving on to her sense of touch. Touch was easy for her. Every time the wind blew, she would remember to pay attention to it. The ground felt cool beneath her, but not unpleasant. And the sun that had only just risen, peered through the trees. She felt a hint of warmth from the sunlight playing on her face.

Before she even opened her eyes, she felt something. Eyes boring into her back? A heady smell? She felt rather than heard or smelled it. Slowly, she opened her eyes and even more slowly turned to look over her shoulder.

There, in a sliver of light sneaking through the trees, stood Snowglare. He seemed unafraid and calm, more like a beam of bright light than his solid form. Jessica tried to be the same. Breathe. She stayed in her sense meditation, trying to maintain her awareness of the forest around her.

She tried not to look right at the buck, but just beyond him. Looking right at a wild creature would scare it away. But Snowglare stared back at her unflinching, with his strange, crimson eyes.

He stepped closer, making her pulse quicken in fear. Why would a deer approach a human? Rabies? Food? Ah, she did have an apple. Very slowly, she pulled the apple out of her bag. Even more slowly, she moved her hand inch by inch to place it down as far as she could reach in front of her. Snowglare walked up boldly and bowed his head as if in thanks. Then he took one more step forward until he stood in front of the food. He bit down with a sharp crack.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Relax, breathe. She'd never been closer to a wild deer. He stood so close, she could reach out and touch his hoof or his muzzle. She saw scars and sharp nicks cut deeply into his antlers, as though he never hesitated to use them in a fight. He could butt her with them and kill her in an instant.

The buck finished his snack and licked his lips. He lifted his long neck and head, then walked a few steps uphill. Rather than fleeing as he normally did, he paused and turned to look back at her. He took a few more steps, then looked back again.

He looks almost humanlike with his gestures. Or maybe like a dog pleading for me to come.

Snowglare took a couple more steps forward, and then turned back again. He stomped one forefoot on the ground as if in frustration, making her jump in surprise. So much for keeping perfectly still. She feared he'd bolt because of her reaction, but he froze instead.

She felt a shiver run down her spine. Rather than give in to her fear, she bravely stood up to follow.

Wait a minute, did he just nod? Curious, she used her quiet walk to avoid startling him. She followed him up the hill to the top, where soft grass spread out on the forest floor. She passed by a tall oak tree she loved more than any other. She had spent hours upon hours sitting beneath its branches, trying to tempt song birds to feed from her hands.

The buck led her down a narrow path. White pine trees grew on either side, making the path seem enclosed, almost claustrophobic. She could walk noiselessly without much effort on the soft needles. It was her favorite part of the forest since her father would take her here to practice the art of silent walking in an ideal location.

She crossed under a tulip poplar tree that grew straight up from the base of the trunk but then curved down to form a living arch. She had never noticed this before and she wondered how the arch formed. She watched Snowglare step under the arch and then turn around to glance back, as though making sure she still followed.

Yes, I’m coming.

She ran her fingers along a cedar trunk next to the path, noticing for the first time that the trees became hairier and larger with each step in this part of the forest. The trees also grew farther and farther apart.

How strange! She felt annoyed with herself that she hadn’t noticed this before. These trees looked almost like a different species than regular white cedars. She carried a small guide to plants and animals in Virginia in her bag, so she pulled it out, still trying to keep Snowglare in sight. She wished she could stop and draw a picture of the delicate cedar leaves.

She thumbed quickly through the book. She couldn’t find any cedars with a two inch cone. The tree wasn’t there. Am I missing something? Have I discovered a new species? She imagined a tree named after her. She would call it Chamaecyparis abbotus. She giggled at the thought. She would have to check more field guides when she returned home. 

 

She walked on for a long time in a daze. She lost track of the hour, and then, the sun shone down from directly overhead. She needed to hurry back to be home in time to help her mom make her birthday cake.

But nothing could be as exciting as being led into the forest by a deer! Torn between duty and the thrill of the moment, she stopped walking to see how the buck would react if she refused to follow.

Snowglare stopped too, and turned around. His glance asked, “What is it?” She could almost hear a soft, airy whisper in her head. She felt her vision blur. Yes, I still have plenty of time. This is too exciting to quit now . . . just a little bit farther. Her feet carried her forward, as if by some force outside of herself.

 

She felt like time played a trick on her. Her legs felt heavy, but it seemed as if she had been walking an hour, tops. Her head felt weird and empty . . . like she moved through a cloud. Then, without warning, Snowglare jumped over a briar bush and dashed into the woods.

She felt her head clear instantly. What’s wrong with me? Am I coming down with something? Am I dehydrated? She turned to look for Snowglare, but he had evaporated. The stillness of the forest made her feel suddenly lonely and cold.

But what an incredible experience! She hadn’t exactly “caught” a deer by running, as had been her long-standing ambition, but this had been just as cool. Perhaps even more so. She had been led through the forest by a large, majestic buck.

She felt a little turned around but she could hear a soft trickle of water. If she hurried, she could still find her way back home in time for lunch. Good thing she’d already cleaned the house for the party. Her mom couldn't be too angry with her.

The path forked several times, so she used the sound of flowing water to guide her. The sound of water became louder and louder, too loud for any of the streams in this forest. After rounding a bend in the path, she saw a twenty foot waterfall up ahead.

 

Her eyes grew big to take it in. The most gorgeous waterfall cascaded onto a rock in the middle of a clear blue pool, a rainbow of colors shining from every droplet of water.



You can also download Chapter Two.