Silhouette of a Sparrow by Molly Beth Griffin Page B

Mostly I’ve just explored a lot on my own. Last winter stretched on forever—the off-season is so dead out here that I had to wait tables in a tearoom for a while to get by—and when spring came this year I was desperate to get outside. I’ve been all over! I came out to Big Island earlier this week and found something I knew you had to see.”
    As we picked our way through the woods, every rock and twig jabbed into my too-soft feet, but I bit my lip and vowed not to complain and not to ask what kind of snakes
lived in these woods. My dress caught on bushes and mosquitoes bit at my ankles, and part of me minded. It was habit, being concerned about those things. But another part of me, a deeper part, rejoiced in the dirt between my toes and the leaves in my hair. Before I could stop myself, I wished Daddy were here with me—the old Daddy who had always wished for a son but made do with a little girl instead.
    “Where are we going?” I asked, stopping that train of thought before it could leave the station.
    “Just follow me. It’s a surprise.”
    We picked our way through the brush and at last came out in a large overgrown clearing littered with heaps of rusting metal and rotting wood. The place had a mournful feel about it, like a graveyard.
    “What is this place?”
    “The ruins of the old amusement park, the Big Island park that ran back when the huge steamboats ferried tourists around the lake. Not much left now.” She looked out over the piles of scrap lumber and bent nails.
    “Is this the surprise?”
    “No, no,” she said. “Almost there. Watch where you step.”
    At the edge of the rubbish piles she turned, stopped me, and put a hand over my eyes.
    “Do you hear that?” she said. A dull pik-pik sound came from someplace overhead.
    “A woodpecker?”
    She moved her hand and pointed to a nearby elm tree. “Two,” she said, pointing first at the little black-and-white
flecked body that clung to the bark of the tree, and then at the nearly identical bird poking its head out of a hole farther up. The male’s short bill rapped against the wood in search of bugs while his mate gazed down at him. “What kind are they?” Isabella asked.
    “Downy woodpeckers. See the white patch on the back, and the red spot on the male’s nape? They’re too small to be hairy woodpeckers.”
    “Wow,” Isabella said. “I’ve seen that kind before and I never knew what to call them.”
    She looked over at me, impressed, and I gave her a little shrug and a smile. I couldn’t fish or row or dance, but it was nice to be the expert sometimes.
    “They’re a mated couple,” I went on. “I’ll bet they hatched four or five eggs in that hole earlier in the season. The little ones have probably flown off already, but the pair is still together.”
    “Do you like it?” she asked. “Your surprise?”
    “They’re beautiful.”
    But as I watched the pair of birds go about their domestic routine, little holes opened up in my chest, like the woodpeckers were drumming their beaks into my heart. What was happening? I’d been so looking forward to this day trip, so ready to enjoy some time with Isabella. So why did I feel like I was breaking into pieces just as we reached our destination?
    “Aren’t you going to cut out a silhouette?”
    “No,” I said, my voice choked. For once, I didn’t feel like it. After a moment my heart was so full of holes I had to turn away. I took a few shaky steps away from the birds,
away from the elm, away from Isabella. Then I stopped, steadying myself on a piece of roller coaster track, dizzy as I’d been after stepping out of the twisting tunnel on my first visit to the amusement park. I gazed out over the rubble of this old park and fought the tears down. It looked as though the whole world was in ruins. Somehow it had all fallen down around me while I was busy pretending and forgetting—lying and stealing and sneaking around.
    My mind spun.
    What was I doing here hiding in the