just follow the cat

Rose 11

I know it probably sounds crazy, Ril, but I never searched harder to find the Northwest Passage than I did that morning. Never in all the times we played the game had I run as hard or looked in as many places. But each one was a little bit wrong. Or at least that's what Crow said.

"Not here, Starlin. Maybe up the beach."

In a way, the game didn't seem fair because Crow was always a few seconds ahead of me. We'd aim for a chunk of driftwood trapped in the sand or climb onto the small dunes lining the beach, but when we'd get there, something was always wrong. Crow would arrive first and shout back that we'd have to keep searching.

"It looked good from where we were, Starlin', but it's wrong. It's not the Northwest Passage. It isn't here."

Then Crow would point to some other object that was a little too far away to see exactly what it was.

All along, we were getting closer to the fishing pier. And the closer we got to the pier, the more worried I became. I was sure that Crow would mutiny before we got there. After all, I had done it to him a hundred times before, but this time things were reversed because Crow was playing Bob Juet.

As worried as I was, it didn't happen that way. When we got really close to the pier, Crow pointed to a dozen or so red flags tied to the last pylon.

"See," he said. "They were here all along. Dad told me that sailors knew they were safe when they saw the red flags in the harbor."

The wind was whipping the flags so hard that it looked like they'd make it all the way to France if they broke free. We were still hundreds of feet away from the pier, but you could hear the snapping sound like the flags were right next to your ears. Just then, Crow took my hand and we headed away from the water. And suddenly, that was it! There was no mutiny. Nothing at all happened. Henry and Bob were still friends. And someday soon, they would begin searching for the Passage again. I've never loved Crow more than at that moment.

Then we turned onto the small dunes like we had several times already that morning, but this time we went past the sea oats, then beyond the scrubby trees, and finally onto to the beach highway.

All Crow said was, "I'm hungry, Starlin. I think we should walk back and find a store."

All along, there had been nothing for me to worry about.

"Starlin', I think we should stay here forever. And we should live on top of those big sand dunes down the road."

I nodded. At the time, it seemed like a perfect plan.

"But we'll need supplies first. I'm super super hungry."

On the way back to the motel, we stopped at the small grocery store nearby, but I was still too tired to think about eating. When I rolled my cart up to the counter, the cashier looked down at the mostly empty cart, shrugged, and started talking about the weather. She talked about how it was windier today than the day before and how it was still pretty cold at night and how it might rain on the weekend and how spring was near. Crow was off trying on sunglasses and I was agreeing with everything that was being said to me. It was windier, the nights were cold, it did feel like rain, and spring was definitely near. The cashier went on and on and I found out that food had to be trucked to the island every single day and that eggs were twice as expensive as on the mainland and that the brand of potato chips I bought was made in North Carolina. The sky was clear. The tide was down. And the moon was half full.

The words were nothing extraordinary. They were just simple words and yet they were also amazing because I couldn't help staring at the woman as she spoke. She had such beautiful lips. They were painted a sort of pale pink (the same pink as the sunrise) and they made each word look so wonderful. Every sentence was perfectly framed. There were pink commas and pink periods. Even pink spaces between the words.

I especially liked it when she said the word food because it made her lips bunch together in a little circle, darkening the pink as the circle shrank. It was like a pinkish flower, but one that was dried and waterless. Her lips looked fragile. Almost brittle, in a way. They were pink flower lips with the richest possible color because even though the water was gone, the pink was still there.

The woman asked if I was staying in the area for long.

I just stood there and said nothing. Without thinking, I looked down at her blouse to check if she was wearing a name tag. She wasn't but reading name tags is a habit I've had forever. And not always the best habit either. When Crow and I were little kids, we asked the Ouija Board to spell out the names of the two most beautiful women in the world. The one for me was named Charon and his was Persephone. Or maybe I have that backwards. Anyway, I've always checked out name tags hoping I might get lucky and see a Charon, but I have never.

All along the woman kept on talking to me. When I looked back at her pink (pink) lips, she was saying, "Well, I hope you'll stay a while. It's beautiful down here this time of year." Then she handed me the groceries in one neatly packed bag.

Before leaving, I finally opened my mouth. In a short burst of words, I told her that North Carolina was my favorite place in the world, that I came her first when I was 10, and that I wanted to live on top of the sand dunes. Then I reached for the bag and felt the curve of her fingernail as she released the weight of it into my hands. After letting my hand stay there too long, I thanked her.

"No. Thank you, hon!" she said. "But before you leave, take this. And then you come back and see me." She handed me a bright yellow daffodil that was still pinched at the top.

"It's closed up now, but you put it in water and it'll just bloom on out. It'll bloom on out for you. You go on and do that, now."

I felt her put the daffodil in my hand and my fingers close around it. All along, I was watching her lips. The word bloom was so pretty. In the two minutes of talking, it was the prettiest word she had said.

I told her that I'd let her know if it worked. And she smiled and waved as we left. Crow pushed open the door with his foot.

When we got outside, he said, "I think she likes you."

I heard the door shoosh close and I caught it with my hand at exactly the right angle. For just a moment, the glass on the door reflected the pink (pink) color of her lips.

"You hear me, Starlin'? I think she likes you."

I looked at the daffodil and the neatly packed bag of groceries.

don't be silly, Crow. it's only a flower.

...

It was just a flower. I know that, now. At the time, though, I thought it was something special because the woman had asked me to come back. For two minutes (maybe three), she'd smiled at me while she spoke – her lips bunching together into a beautiful pink ball, especially when she said certain words. It was concentrated pink. Back then, I thought every detail of every moment meant something special.

Now, I know better.

...