Finding Queen Calafia

5. Talia Mayfield

Autumn

Talia Mayfield never played with normal toys. Though she was already in eighth grade, her room looked more like a field lab than a place to sleep. By the time Talia was twelve, she had donated most of her birthday gifts to Sunny Days Preschool in order to make space for her growing collections of birds nests, lichens, shells, gemstones, rocks and volcanic glass, shed skins of lizards, skinks and snakes, feathers, bones, broken sand dollars, bits of abalone, acorns from every native oak, galls, seed pods, dried mushrooms – often disintegrating artifacts that her mother tried to clear out when she was at school.

On metal shelves scavenged from the middle school graveyard for no longer usable classroom furniture, Talia proudly displayed her microscope and terrarium, box boxes, insect nets, binoculars, journals and field guides. A large rectangular glass tank that was home to a Common King Snake named Ningishzida, or Niz for short that she was "snakesitting" as a favor for her biology teacher who was on maternity leave.

Bromeliads hung from the ceiling in her room, attached to pieces of driftwood she used to collect until she learned this was illegal. She made small altars out of items that washed up on shore including bottle caps, plastic bags, chunks of Styrofoam, shampoo bottles, fishing buoys and lures, poker chips, plastic debris of every color and shape, and a few tangled nets. This kind of collecting was not only legal, but encouraged. Talia was a rule follower. Well, she was most of the time.

Now that she was approaching the end of eighth grade, Talia's father, Mr. Phillip Walter Mayfield, worried about her career prospects. "Preferably, find something that doesn't involve saving other people's trash," he said, poking his head in the door.

"What about a tax attorney?" asked Talia, who was examining the translucent wings of a damselfly under her microscope.

Talia's father nodded approvingly. "That sounds like stable work," he said. "Good choice."

"You know, Phillip, the soul-killing careers your generation had aren't going to be a thing when I'm grown up."

"I know, I know," sighed her father, exasperated. "I've heard all your dismal predictions about how many species of amphibians will go extinct in your lifetime, the fate of the glaciers, polar bears, drying riverbeds, the disappearance of the natural soundscape. Please don't call me Phillip. You know I prefer that you call me Dad."

"It's just that we're having a serious discussion, Phil. And the word Dad makes you the authority on subjects that I might know more about. It evens things out."

"Talia. A little respect for your seniors, please."

"It's not just the charismatic megafauna, Dad. Don't forget about all the plants and insects and invertebrates. Nobody puts slogans with slime molds on their coffee mugs."

Talia's sister Gwen shouted from the bathroom. "Stop with the slime molds. I'm in the bathroom!"

Mr. Mayfield winked at Talia. "She has a point, you know."

"Gwen is ill-informed. Anyway, you said you would help me install more toad abodes in the backyard this weekend."

"Talia–

"And Western Bluebird boxes - you promised. And we need another solitary bee hotel. Last year's is rotting."

Gwen shoved her head into Talia's room from the bathroom they shared that connected their bedrooms. "No more bug hotels. They look like condos for roaches."

"Gwen, honey. Could you please close the door?"

"Sure," she said and gave Talia a sharp look. Gwen closed the door hard, making the thin walls of the house shake. "Talia, there's something we need to –"