I am Clara

An Unusual School Trip

Something, or someone was watching me. I felt the chill of a cold stare following my every move, and I suspected the eyes didn't belong to another of the Maluku Maleo birds. Just the thought of the chicken-looking bird put me on edge. My shin still stung from where I had been attacked by the monster's beak. Leave it to me, to be attacked by a loyal, typically sweet, and rare bird, the minute we stepped onto unknown territory. The attack didn't help my reservations for today's stop of East Bridge High's annual Cultural trip.

     I had had to beg my mother to let me come. Laine Binsfield was a very stubborn, overprotective, Jesus living woman. Asking her to let me travel across the world to explore cultures and religions that did not follow her beloved Christian ways, was asking a lot. Obviously, I had managed to convince her, otherwise I wouldn't be in this mess. Andrews claimed I was as stubborn as my mother, but I liked to consider myself persuasive. And nothing was stopping me from coming on this trip. I had been looking forward to it, for years. I needed the break; needed the freedom. And Andrews would have been insufferable if I had left him alone for two weeks.

     The trip had been amazing till now; it had been everything I expected. We had visited so many beautiful places, tasted so many different foods and met so many interesting people. Until now, we had followed the school brochure to a tee, and all my expectations had been met. But today's visit, our last day, flight home set to leave late tonight, was not part of the brochure. I had never heard of this small town, or the small community lodged deep in the Indonesian rainforest. I spent hours on Google, and nothing came up. Mr. Barton had sprung the news on us, barely sharing any details. By the faraway look in his eyes, I could tell he knew little of the place we were visiting, and that fact bothered no one but me. They followed old Bart mindlessly, and naturally I had to follow or be left behind.

     It's not that I was opposed to surprises or the unforeseen, I was as excited as the others to visit the forest, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

     The small community was by far the most beautiful of the places we had visited. I had never seen trees and grass as green or water as blue, but there was something eerily calm about the land, not a ripple in the smooth surface of the lagoon. This was a rainforest for God's sake. Surely, we should have seen or heard more than the angry bird who'd pecked holes in my shins. There was another of the many red flags. We were 15 students from a small-town high school, accompanied only by our history teacher and a slightly grumpy guide in a purple cloak, trudging through a rainforest. Surely this was against school etiquette.

     It took an hour, including the ten minutes wasted handling the chicken situation, to reach the temples. They were stunning; ancient but well-maintained and worshipped. Unkempt trail of trees and weeds leading off into a large opening, dozens of wooden and stone temples were scattered among the towering trees.

     Countless purple cloaked community members, worked around the temples, movements oddly controlled. They feigned indifference, going about as they usually would with the gardening and landscaping, but I saw the studious side glances sent our way. They were not used to visitors. I couldn't decide if they were happy or annoyed by our presence. A bunch of teenagers exploring their sacred ground? It was probably the latter.

     Paused at the entrance of the small community, grey beard freshly combed and brown blazer unwrinkled, Mr. Barton was going over the rules. That man was always babbling; probably in hopes to draw attention to the hours he spent grooming the bush around his mouth. As usual I paid him little attention. Mr. Barton had the type of monotone voice, that you unconsciously learned to drown out.

     Distracted by a statue to my left, his words passed over me without concern. While most of the other statues scattered across the property were unkept, rusting with time and overcome by vines, this one was flawless. I didn't spot a single dent, or misplaced piece of dirt. The carved woman looked like a goddess; every inch of stone, from her face to her toes, were curved to perfection. A long-split skirt and small overtop shirt draped the fit body. Long hair pulled into a braid, what caught my attention most, wasn't the intimidating blade in her hand, but the fierce eyes that surveyed the horizon. The eyes were so realistic, held such an intensity that a shiver ran down my spine.