Water’s Edge

They walked from the car on a little winding path through trees and came out in a grassy area. The boy could see water ahead. His mother said look at how big the park is.

They walked right to the water’s edge. Big clumps of reeds, taller than him, grew along the bank, but there was an opening along a curved bit of shoreline that formed a little cove, and he could see across the water to another grassy bank in the distance. It was a pond or a lake; he didn’t know which.

His mother said there might be turtles. He looked but didn’t see any. The spot in front of them would be a good place for a turtle to crawl out of the water. Other creatures, too, he thought.

His mother, holding his baby sister with one arm, waved around and said look, what a special place for a picnic, and they had the whole place to themselves. He looked around at the whole place. They were alone. The big area of grass, with some playground pieces and a bench, was theirs, and the little cove was theirs. He looked for their car but it was too far away to see, or hidden in the trees.

His mother said oh look. A big white bird was paddling across the water toward them. His mother said what a beautiful bird, it’s a swan. The bird came right at them, but then turned and paddled slowly along the bank. When it covered the little distance across the cove, it turned and went back the other way, staying close to the shore. His mother took the baby’s hand and pointed it at the bird, and said again, isn’t it beautiful. The boy wasn’t sure. It was a huge bird, much bigger than the ducks he was used to at their usual park. When the swan crossed in front of them, he exchanged looks with it.

His mother turned and walked back to the bench and told him to go play. Watching her walk, akilter with the baby on one hip, he remembered when she first brought his sister home. His mother could barely walk, and leaned on his father as she waddled into the house.

The boy went to play on the swings. He sat down holding the chains and looked back at his mother. She was settled on the bench with his sister on her lap. He looked back at the water. The huge bird was still patrolling back and forth along the shore.

The boy gave himself a couple of small pushes with his feet, but then decided he was too far away from his mother. He got off the swing and walked to the merry-go-round. He didn’t get on it, though. He stood holding one of the cold iron poles, watching the bird.

His mother called out to ask, wasn’t he going to play? He shook his head.

A few minutes later his mother pulled things out of their picnic bag. She called to him, let’s eat, but he shook his head, even though she had probably made something special.

The boy kept his eye on the bird, and good thing he did, because the bird clambered out of the water and started walking across the grass toward the bench. The boy let go of the merry-go-round and ran to a spot between the bird and his mother. The bird stopped just a couple of feet from him.

The bird looked bigger now, standing right in front of him. It turned to look at him with a little beady eye on the side of its head.

The two stared at each other for a few moments, then the bird swiveled its long neck to look at him with its other eye. It saw the same thing—a small boy wearing a t-shirt and overalls, and a ridiculous yellow hat that his mother insisted he wear for the sun. His feet, in sneakers, were planted firmly on the grass.

The boy wondered what the bird would do next, and he thought about his own next move. He wanted to look back at his mother, but he was afraid the bird would take advantage if he looked away for even a second.

The bird moved first, taking a tentative step forward. The boy threw his arms high above his head. The bird ducked its head as if the boy was going to hit it, then swung its long neck to the side. The boy felt like he’d gotten the upper hand, but then the bird stretched its neck to match the height of the boy’s upstretched hands, and the boy found himself looking up at its big orange beak. Then the bird thrust its beak down at the boy and let out a great honk. The boy couldn’t help but pull his hands down to his face and take a step back. He felt fear surge through his body, and he almost turned and ran, but thinking of his mother behind him, he held his ground. At the same time, the thing he felt rushing through his body gathered itself in his belly, and then to his surprise it rose up and burst out of his mouth as a squawk that was louder than the bird’s. The bird reared back, then turned, tripped over its big webbed feet, and waddled quickly away. The boy ran after it until it splashed into the water. He watched it paddle a little ways then stop, its head cocked to keep an eye on him.

The boy found himself shaking. His lower lip trembled. It felt like when he was about to cry, but he didn’t want to cry, and he didn’t. But he couldn’t stop shaking, and thought maybe the bird was shaking, too.

Finally he was ready to look back at his mother. He hadn’t heard her cry out, so she was probably crying. Or maybe she had run with the baby to the car. He turned and looked. He was surprised to see her sitting on the bench, bouncing his sister on her knee. If she was crying, she was hiding it. She looked up at him. Holding the baby with one hand, she waved to him with the other. It was just a regular wave. That was strange. He didn’t wave back.

The bird resumed its back-and-forth patrol across their little cove, so the boy took up his post at the merry-go-round. He finally stopped shaking, but he was tired and wanted to go home.

His mother, still sitting with his baby sister on the bench, called out to say he’d better eat, but he shook his head. Then she said he’d better get on the swings because they weren’t going to stay all day. She was annoyed, so he didn’t want to say no, and just shrugged.

Finally his mother called out that it was time to go home. The bird was still paddling back and forth in the little cove. The boy stood near his mother, keeping an eye on the bird, as she gathered their things. He stayed a few steps behind her as they walked to the car.

His mother turned and asked didn’t he want to walk with her? He shook his head. He wanted to explain but didn’t know how.

His mother asked why he was so glum, and why he wouldn’t play, and why he wouldn’t eat the food she made. He just shrugged.

As she strapped his sister into the car, her backward-facing capsule next to him on the seat, she said she picked the park just for him, because it had swings, swans, and maybe turtles. Driving home, she looked at him in the mirror every few seconds as she talked, and said if he was going to act like that, she wouldn’t bother putting together picnics, and they could just sit in the house every day and do nothing.

He found his eyes welling with tears. He hated the tears and tried to will them away, and then he tried to blink them away, but she saw them in the mirror. She stopped her lecture and said oh honey, and said he must be sick, and she was sorry, and they would get him to bed as soon as they got home, and he could have some juice or ice cream.

He was angry with her for not understanding about the bird. He tried not to cry, but he felt his chest heave and his tears came pouring out.

His mother said oh honey again. His baby sister, right next to him, gurgled. He put his hand on her belly and she grabbed it with both hands and held it all the way home.