Four Cornered Forest, cont...

Gateway to the tower...

I go in knowing my footsteps have fury in them. Dad looks up and gives me the big eyes, silly mouth, but I grip my mouth and I’m not going to laugh, but I do a little. But I mobile past him into the living room where Mom is on the couch.

I’m not going. I’ll stay here and take care of you, I say.

No Gretel. I really don’t want you to. This will be good for you. Go with Dad, and have fun. You guys need to go get this one. We’ve been talking about it for ever.

Where is Grandpa?

He left.

What? Without saying good bye? When did he go?

Just right as you were storming in.

I wasn’t storming.

Coming in.

I’m not going, I insist.

Sweetie, please, for me go. I’d love to go and I want to hear all about it. But the weather is going to turn soon, and there is definitely going to be snow up there soon. You don’t want to wait until next summer. And Edsel definitely can not wait until next summer. Though the lesson in patients might do him some good.

But Margaret is going.

I turn around and sure enough, right where I would hope she isn't, she is.

Yes, I am, but we’ll have fun Gretel. I promise I won’t bite.

She doesn’t sweetie, Mom tries to assure me.

But I did bring cookies. And I am sure you will like them.

Edsel steps in with his face full of food. He looks like the Cookie Monster.

It's true. They are really good. I’ve had two already.

Edsel! Mom is a little appalled.

It’s alright, Margaret says, I brought plenty. And used the last chocolate chips they had at the grocery. They are extra special.

Mom pauses on this note for a second and then comes back.

Dad has lunch packed. You are going to have a blast. Just pretend Margaret is me for the day.

I’ll do my very best Adeline impression…though I warn you, I don’t think I can ever be quite so sweet as your mother.

Margaret. She has no idea how much I don’t like her apparently. Her laugh makes my stomach turn. No one else seems to mind.

I go upstairs to get my jacket. Mom is on the couch looking pale again. I wish Grandpa was here. In the kitchen I can see Margaret. She is making more tea. I look over and can see her from above. She hears me. Glances up. Smiles. I hate her smile. She is mixing stuff in the tea kettle. I can only imagine. She glances up to see me again, but I disappear.

I want to hesitate but can’t. Dad, Edsel and Margaret are now in the truck waiting. Augusta won’t jump in without me. I crawl in the back seat and he jumps on my lap. Margaret playing like she is Mom.

This will be so fun, she says, looking back at us.

If we were birds we wouldn’t have too terribly far to fly. Red Lakes is close. Except for the mountain in between. So it takes a long time to drive up and around and then over and then down. But if we were birds… There are a lot of times I wish I could be a bird. First I would pick an owl. Obviously. I think because they can see in the dark. If I could see in the dark there are a lot less things I would worry about. Second I’d pick a raven. Grandpa says they are really smart, but that isn’t why. I like how they hang out with others in the sky, but never too close, and they do actually seem like they are talking to each other. Maybe because they are smart. But birds, any birds, always seem happy. You never see a bird and think, oh, they are looking like they are having a bad day. Or, oh, that bird looks really angry with all the rest. Or, as is the case today, oh, there is a bird in the front seat that seems totally and completely fake and disingenuous.

What I’d give to be a bird and fly out of the car, I’d swoop down, pick Augusta up in my talons and carry him with me into the forest, leaving this little woman behind, or maybe I’d come back, and use my talons to pluck her eyes out and let her wander the mountains aimlessly alone until the winter swept in and washed her into a silent, white sleep.

We drive for a while. I doze off and on in sleep, occasionally looking up in the mirror to meet her eyes which seem to be either staring at Dad with one expression, or staring at me with another. She thinks I can’t see inside her, but I can. The truck winds slowly around the mountain, up over a small pass and down into the other valley below. These windy roads are like my skin and I discover new things every time I look over them. Today the road is tacky and quiet under the tires, and the meandering two track hums softly with the grit of gravel. Like a snake it softly turns back and forth across the mountain side as it descends into the valley towards the Red Lakes.

When we finally park, Edsel is the first to jump out, GPS in hand, already fired up. Dad and Margaret looking over their backpacks on the hood of the truck. I grab my map and pack, and throw in one extra bottle that is sitting in the backseat and stand waiting by the trail sign, reading a recent notice put up by the Forest Service that grizzly bears are active in this area, as though they ever are not. Watching her with Dad makes me feel a little a little anxious, a little sick to my stomach. Here she is pretending to be the queen of the outdoors, and yet look at those shoes, look at those pants. No one that ever spends time in woods would dress like that. She is totally unprepared. Clueless. At least there is a chance that a bear will eat her.