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Flying Free

Joe Hawkins

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September 30th, 2014 - 09:06 AM

Flying Free

“Hey guys. How are you this evening?” Entering the well lit room, I share as much fun as I can find left in my darkened pockets.
“Hey. He made it.” Jon crosses his legs the other way under the six foot table.
I try to keep a smile on my face. “Better late than never.”
“An hour doesn’t leave much time to play. Did you have a hard time finding the building.”
“No problem. Your wife gives great directions. “ I close the outside door behind me and take a breath. “Dropped down to New Bern to get some duck pics earlier.” I take a deeper breath this time. “Got caught up with things down there.” I try not to show it, but I know Jon can see the redness in my eyes. He just didn’t know what it is, and I didn’t plan on giving a confession.
“I understand. You and pictures.” Jon’s smile widens. “This is Garrett .” Jon introduces me to his only opponent tonight.
“Hi. I’m Joe.” We shake hands after I sit down.
“It’s bigger in here than it looks outside.” I’m talking about the brick building being pinched by a cemetery.
“Yeah, the city owns the building. It’s switched departments a number of times over the years, but they still let us use it on Monday nights.” Gratification gingerly poses on Jon’s face. “They even let us use it for tournaments.”
“That’s nice of them. It’s good to have such a fruitful network.”
“Living here all your life can do that.” Garrett tosses his two cents next to the chess board.
“Did you bring the picture?” Jon references the picture I took, and had digitally painted on a canvas he wants to buy.
“Did you bring money?”
“Bring it on in, show it to Garrett .”
--
Walking back in I ask Jon and Garrett the question my new car asked me outside.
“Is my car going to be safe out there?” I reference the large number of rough looking basketball players lining the outskirts of the tired court that didn’t have any nets.
“It’ll be fine.” Jon glances up from the chess board again. “They’ve never caused a problem.” Jon now looks at Garrett but doesn’t say a word.
“I saw the trap two moves ago, but there wasn’t anything I could do by then.” Garrett’s humility drifts back in his chair as his eyes fix a grip on his own king. “Hmm.” Garrett sits there and makes the only move he really has left. Then the crown on his king falls down.
“It’s your game Joe.” Garrett starts pushing his chair back.
But Jon stops Garrett’s movement. “Here Joe. Play Garrett .” Jon gets up and moves over a seat.
I slip in, but I’m wondering what’s going on. I’ve never seen Jon relinquish a chair for a chess game unless it’s for a kid.
Garrett compliments me on my picture. “It looks like a painting.” His fingers run along the fake brushstrokes.
“That’s what I do.”
Garrett and I play as polite gestures scurry around the flat square positioned on the blown plastic table that folds on the ends, when Jon pops the question of my day. And then we’re done. The game’s over. Other than waiting on Garrett to make his nine moves, I think it’s the quickest game I’ve ever played.
Jon teases with me. He asks to take my temperature. My dim eyes then try to relinquish my cold seat but Jon won’t take it.
“Play another.” Jon insists.
Okay. Now this is getting freaky. Jon giving away one seat is weird, two’s plain scary.
“No. I don’t think I’m going to be that good tonight.” I look at Garrett then to Jon. “I’m going to head on home.”
“You just got here two hours late. What’s going on.”
That’s when the heat of the day begins to water up in my eyes all over again. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I try to dodge the question when my forehead turns red and the sides of my face join in.
I’m not the best storyteller, but I really need to share this with someone if I’m going to fall asleep tonight, any night. I wipe away the single piece of fear that jumps onto my skin and starts trickling down my face. “It’s really not a big deal. I told the officer it wouldn’t bother me.” I take a really deep breath. “But I’m just having issues with it for some reason.”
Garrett’s mouth holds firm as Jon’s concern leans closer. “What’s wrong.”
--
Everything started just before lunch.
I decided over the weekend I’m going to play chess tonight. It’s rare because I’ve never done that before. I don’t usually play on Monday nights, let alone drive a half hour to Washington. Wednesday at Barnes and Noble is only five minutes away. But I really want to go.
I know the diversion that came to me before lunch will add another hour to the road but I haven’t gotten any duck pictures all summer. So I fill up my spray bottle and then I fill up my car. Just so you know, I pack the water bottle because it’s a beautiful day and I want to simulate rain.
I drive my freshly cleaned car straight through Vanceboro. It’s a nice vehicle. I’m proud of it. I spent hours polishing it up over the weekend. I only make a couple stops before making a sharp right on route 43, right next to the Shop And Save.
It’s really not my fault though. The day is gorgeous. The sky is really high and there’s not a cloud in sight. And I haven’t been on those roads before. Now I can strike a portion of pavement off my map. But I’m careful not to let the magic marker go too far on either one. I can’t get too distracted. I actually have a plan today. Sunflowers, lunch and ducks, then some shots in Little-Washington, then everything culminates with chess at seven. It’s a well-rounded day if you look at the trail highlighting the plotted positions of the drawn lines.
--
SKIP THIS PIECE…Blah, blah, blah, unfinished sunflower section…I’m still miles away from the waterfront, but I’ve been waiting for autumn to get pictures of the ripened seeds, safely tucked tight between the crowded forest and the dense road. I can get stuck on the smallest thing and photograph for hours trying to get it right; right for me…tight patch…
Sunflower confrontation. Wasted water. My hope’s dashed. They're all dried up and dead…brown stems, flowers and leaves. I take a swig of water and swallow my disgust…
--
I pull up in my car. The tide is high but I’m in the shallow waters next to the boat dock backing into Adams Creek. There’s only a thin bead of sand left running along the shoreline. But the same customary flock of birds are always wading around. It’s really amazing how the different breeds intermingle so easily. There’s different types of ducks and seagulls just floating around. No one’s being critical or pointing fingers about color, shapes, or sizes, religion or opinions, or anything else. Everyone just gets along. Their just happy to be alive.
My shorts plop down on the three foot concrete wall and I leave my toes dangling a short distance from the water. I whistle a brief tune then I kiss my lips into the open air. A few rich ducks come by. You know the ones. You can tell they’ve done well because of the dimension of their bellies. They linger for a second to see if I have any bread but drift on by when I don’t start feeding them.
I use to think it’s nice to give them food, but too many have grown too dependent. And I don’t think it’s in the best interest for wild animals to become too reliant on people. Plus, I can’t get the tranquil pictures I want if their all swarming in front of me. Tame animals can get really weird over food or a mate; much less a wild creature. So I don’t do that anymore. I actually move away from those who do. I don’t want the drama. Too much commotion. But that’s just me.
So I’m safely sitting with my camera in hand waiting for a picture to appear. I’m just enjoying the day and breathing in the beautiful rays, the colorful birds and the lunch I just had. The meal was a little later than I planned because my distraction was more consuming than I intended, but that’s okay. I created some nice shots and I’ll make it to chess on time anyway.
It’s always the same. I’m like that. I absolutely love the apple wood bacon, topping the half a pound of ground beef grilled to perfection, gently flipped on a well toasted bun. And the waitress was particularly nice as well. I’ve had her before. It’s always nice to build a pleasant rapport with those serving you. But relationships don’t last too long in a college town.
And there it is. A mallard is drifting toward me. That’s exactly what I want. The colors are crisp. That’s why I travel down here for lunch and ducks. The position of the afternoon sun casts shadows away from me. And as cute as ducks are, I don’t want a picture of their backsides.
Wait. I’ll take that back. I once caught a duck washing off in the water and I was able to capture a clump of liquid settling on its body, before it slips off its sides and into the creek. It was definitely a moment. I’d never seen that with my naked eye before. And to freeze it in time was just too amazing. I definitely got lucky.
For the most part, however, I want their smiling beaks facing me or them giving me a stylish profile as they paddle on by. I’ve even gotten lucky and some will actually throw out their wings and pose before flying away, if I wait long enough.
I talk to them just like feeders do. I try to entice them to come on by and sit with me for a while without a bribe. I’m usually not after female ducks though, let alone wandering seagulls, unless there’s a certain color on their wings that sets them apart.
I want contrast, something stunning that makes a picture compelling; makes them unique. It may be asking a lot, but that’s all I want.
I’ll drive hours for that. I can easily take a thousand shots in only a few ticks of a clock. I do it every couple of months so I don’t drown my passion. I do it for my love of ducks and the serenity it brings me.
Go figure, my lens wants a pretty shot of another mallard just quietly resting out in the water. He’s well groomed and his plumage looks fine but his bill has a hard scar. There’s a serious chip right on the end. Black scuff marks are actually still hanging on to the yellow of his beak. It’s magnificent. My camera zooms in. Click-click-click. I get a spout of shots. Click-click-click. I get some more.
Then the breeze blows low and the lonely little seagull is back in my pic. Instead of getting frustrated, I just move to get another angle. But it’s the same scenario every time; even with other ducks. That one seagull keeps blocking my camera’s view.
I think about leaving or moving to another location, but I really don’t know where else to go. Then I decide to simply satisfy the fowl.
I’ve been here for a couple hours, and it doesn’t look like I’m going to make it to the Washington Harbor because of the late lunch. But that’s okay. I’m flexible. It’s not the first time I’ve had to change my plans in the middle of a trip. I decide to step out of my box to appease the seabird. Hopefully I’ll satisfy it and it’ll leave me alone.
Although, the closer I look, I see the gull has some very distinct coloring spots that could be confused with small shells. It looks almost like a little kids coloring book. It must be a hybrid, whose parents hopped outside their colony and had a romantic encounter with another specie. My eyes focus in as it starts calling, but I don’t hear it making any noise. I keep watching as it keeps trying to make a sound. It can’t. Then a sound goes off inside of me –and it’s in my heart pounding.
I just fell in love for the very first time, with a seagull, I didn’t want to shoot.
I take as many pictures as I can because I don’t know how long it will model for me. That’s when a black SUV streaked with red primer pulls into the parking space next to me. A pack of giggling girls get out as the macho guys stay inside, beating up the warm pavement with alternative rock.
I’m okay. I use to be a kid once. I understand. Ignorance is bliss. I just put some distance in between us as the birds swarm in for a feast.
The gals, however, tease the hungry feathers fighting for their attention in front of them. They’re walking around and showing off their legs for the guys and talking in flirty voices. Only then do they start to throw tiny pieces of bread picked from the tops of their hamburger buns. The fragments are so small they almost disappear in the air before ever reaching a desperate beak. Then the girls are gone. They leave as quickly as they came.
I’m not really sure what to do with my camera at this point so I decide to let it rest in my lap and remain seated. I uncross my legs and let them drop to the side and dangle against the rough concrete again. I close my eyes and meditate to the happy hum of the water, the chirping of birds, and the little boys and girls playing in the park next door. Then I focus on life, my breathing. Then I get lost.
I just relax and breathe. Whatever happens will happen. I decide I’m not going to worry about life anymore.
So I’m sitting there meditating. I don’t know how long. It could have been ten minutes, twenty or thirty for all I know. I’m not sure. I don’t care. I’m not worried about time. I set the alarm on my phone for 6:00 when I first arrived, so I’ll have plenty of time to get a couple quick shots of the Washington Harbor to fulfill my dream before playing a few games of chess. If I get to play that many. I’ve heard the value of the group can stretch as high as twelve.
Then a guy eating lunch on a liquor-sickle starts talking to a few guys that pull in next to him. They talk about their day; they talk about life. But the piece that pokes at me is when the guy in the car says he stopped drinking, and the moped-man says he wishes he could stop.
My mind takes off after that. I’m simply gliding along the water in my mind. I feel calmer than I’ve felt in a long time. My food’s digesting and I’m soaking in the fortunate feelings of the day. I’m feeling everything life has to offer right now. I’m inhaling the fresh oxygen when I feel something brush against my foot. It doesn’t register at first but then my thoughts seem to quietly surface and I think it doesn’t feel aquatic. I slowly pull myself out of the trance only to see a cute little seagull standing next to me. It’s the same cutie who modeled for me.
I want to rub it but I’m afraid it’ll take flesh from my foot. I start thanking it for coming over to visit with me. It chirps a silent remark, which pulls hard at my heartstrings, when another car pulls up. An old man gets out and leaves two ladies in the backseat. The parking lot is filling up.
There’s now a Mexican man with an autistic schoolgirl. She’s deliciously cute to watch. The little girl is excitedly bouncing up and down to feed the birds. Her enthusiasm seemingly grows as he pulls more bread out of his bag. I looked down and Zoey is gone.
Yeah. I give the tiny bird a name. Zoey just feels right. It’s gender friendly.
I pick up my camera and turn my shoulder. There’s a vacant cypress tree with only one duck standing on its roots. I’m talking to the beautiful duck who’s balancing there, even though it can’t hear me, or comprehend my voice. Still, it slowly turns as I request. That just happens some days. It’s really cool.
My shutter gets thrilled. I flip the camera on its side to catch a different slant. Click-click-click. I’m going wild. Click-click-click. I feel at peace with the world. Click-click-click.
That’s when I catch a commotion in the corner of my eye were the feeding frenzy is taking place. I don’t think anything about it. Click-click-click. I’m catching the duck lounging in the shade of the tree. Click-click-click. But then I sense something walking up to me. My eyes look down. I smile at Zoey. “Hi Baby.”
Zoey looks up, and then hops away on one foot.
“Ewe.” It strikes me odd. “Are you okay sweetie?”
Zoey turns around. Only then do I see blood running over the seashell spots on its wing.
“Oh baby.” I look around to see if anyone can help. I’ve never been in this situation before. Wait, there’s a woman. A woman right there in a tight tank top, cuddling a baby boy. She’s the closest person to me. I look to the other side, but I don’t see anyone who can help in that direction either. I quickly fish my phone out of my pocket and dial 911.
“What city?”
I didn’t expect that question; I really didn’t expect any question at all. I just instinctively called. But my response is swift after it sinks in. “New Bern NC.”
“Where in New Bern?”
Ewe. Now the operator’s asking something I don’t know. “The waterfront.”
“Where on the waterfront.”
“Oh.” My surprise stumbles. “I’m at the park just after crossing the draw bridge.”
“Union Park.”
“I guess so. I don’t know. I’m not from here.”
“What’s your problem?”
“A seagull is bleeding. Can we get Animal Control over here?” I look at Zoey’s drooping limb. “I think it’s a broken wing.”
“Let me transfer you to the police station in that precinct.” The woman has no emotion attached to her words. She sounds like she’s done this eighty million times.
I file through repetitive questions with the police officer. A couple more questions go by when the officer concludes the conversation by saying Animal Control will be there as soon as they can. I thank the man for his efforts and hang up.
I’m sitting with Zoey for twenty more minutes when I call 911 again. I work through the questions with the operator when the police officer says Animal Control’s on another call. There’s nothing we can do.
“I understand this isn’t a priority. Is there an Wildlife rescue in town we can call to alleviate the need.”
“There is but I don’t have its number.”
“Well. I don’t have a phone book with me. Can you look it up and call for me?”
“I can give you the number if you want to call.”
“I don’t have a pen or paper. This is an emergency. Can you call for me?”
He says he’ll call if he can. “But it’s probably closed.”
I look at my phone. 5:15. “Man!” I should’ve asked that question during the last call; or not stewed so long. I free up the line. “Thank you.”
I close my flip phone and sit back down with Zoey. I scooch my butt to the edge of the wall. I don’t want to move into Zoey’s private space, but my bare feet are preparing to defend it from anyone who gets too close. I consider shooting the lame bird with my camera but I can’t do that. It just doesn’t feel right.
Zoey stays still, balancing on one leg, as blood drips from its wing and onto the wet sand. I fill the query inside. The dangling leg is broken, too. I want to reach out and hold it… love it. Another half hour passes before the lady in the tight pink tank top yells. “Hey, Mister. I think Animal Control is here.”
Finally. Finally. I feel some comfort. Zoe’s going to be okay. I ask it to stay right there as I hop up with my camera still in hand; I almost never set it down.
“Hi. I’m Joe.” I greet him through his open window.
“I’m officer Bennett.” The deep voice matches the stout man.
I go through the list of details I wrote down in my head so he can escort the bird into his van and be on his way, when the alarm on my phone goes off in my pocket.
He in turn pulls out a net and walks over to the little ledge of concrete boarding the water and jumps down onto the sand. I ask Zoey to understand and be patient with us. The officer doesn’t offer to disguise his tone. Just then the net traps Zoey to the sand. Zoey flails around and tries to break free. But its beak and feet are all caught up.
It hurts to watch. “Oh, it’s okay Zoey. You’ll be fine.” I try to reassure the cute little bird. “This nice man’s going to save you.”
The broad officer walks toward the back of the van. It’s too much for me. “Please do what you can.” I thank him and walk away.
Looking at my phone I realize I can still make chess if I get going. I’m almost to my car when something hits me. I stop and look to my left and then to my right. Then I look up. Something just fell from the sky but I can’t decide. But I turn around anyway.
Mr. moped-man is needlessly rambling on with the officer, delaying Zoey’s critical care.
I know I don’t have time to waste, but I walk back over to set things straight.
“They’re going to put it down.” The officer now admits to me.
My mouth drops and my eyes open wide. “No.” It’s my only response.
“The pound doesn’t keep birds.”
“But there must be an alternative.” I try to find a way to save Zoey. “Is there a wildlife reserve nearby?”
“The only one in town has closed down. The closest is in Morehead City.” The officer can see me counting time. “It’s about an hour away.”
“Can you take Zoey there?”
“I can’t leave the County.”
“I’ll take Zoey then.” I didn’t think about what I just said. The response just rushes out of my mouth.
“Are you sure?”
“I can’t let Zoey die.” My upper lip quivers.
“Do you have a box or something to put it in?”
“No. Is there anywhere I can get one nearby?”
Before the officer can respond the tight tank top girl interjects from a couple cars down. “I have one.”
My camera walks over to her as she dumps a pile of baby food into her back seat. I thank her but I don’t linger at all.
“How do we do this officer?”
“Let me get directions.” He’s moving to his van. “We’ll put it in the box and then into your trunk.”
“Can we call to make sure someone will be there? I don’t want to drive Zoey all the way down there and no one be home.”
--
“The night guard said she’ll be waiting for you.” Bennett hands me his business card after placing Zoey into the floorboard of my car. It’s still bleeding pretty bad. You sure you don’t want it in the trunk?” I dismiss the officer’s suggestion for a second time. The recommendation just doesn’t feel right.
And we’re off. Just Zoey and me. We’re flying together down highway 70. Zoey’s uneasy with the ride at first though. I talk and coo. I’m sending it healing energies. I even plead with the Universe as I move Zoey onto the passenger seat. My prayers are eventually answered. The box settles down.
--
The directions were good but it’s getting dark and the place is far out in the woods. I’m lifting the box when a woman appears. “I’m glad you stayed open for Zoey.” My voice bounces around the interior of my car.
The heavyset lady stops. I left my daughter’s soccer game when I heard about the bird.” She smiles. “Zoey.”
I smile in return. “Thank you so much. I just couldn’t let them put Zoey down.”
The doctor’s medical coat peers into the box. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of Zoey.” She tries to let me get away.
I don’t know what it is, but something feels funny right then. “Are you going to put Zoey down?”
“Zoey’s already in a much better place.”
My heart drops right then. I can’t look in the box. All I can do is fall down on the ground. My knees are buried in the rock of the backwoods parking lot, but that’s not the reason why I start to cry. “I tried. I tried Zoey. I really did.” My baby sobs become magnificent callings. “The universe let us down.”
“It’s okay. Zoey went into shock from the loss of blood, and just drifted off to sleep.” The doctor takes time from her daughter’s precious game to paint me the best picture she can. “We would’ve been forced to put her down anyway. The woman clears her throat because she’s experiencing the full flood of my passion, but her professionalism wipes one of her eyes dry, and she goes on.
“The broken wing never would have been used again. The calcium build up in the joint would’ve been too much; and not being able to fly would have eventually caught up.” Then her index finger holds up Zoey’s broken leg to reaffirm her message, and the innocent webbing flops with no life to the other side.
I don’t know what to say. I’m stuck in shock. But the broken leg isn’t broken anymore, at least not in my mind. Bird or not, angels can always fly. Zoey will always be with me up in the air.
But I think I’ve finally had my share of photographing wild ducks. My passion’s gone. I don’t think I can ever go back. I don’t think I can handle this again. I’ll never get rid of the blood stain. It soaked in too deeply.
--
“I’m a photographer who can’t take pictures anymore, Jon.” I place my face in my hands and my body begins to tremble –and I’m wailing all over again.

Joe Hawkins
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