Flight of the Eagle

by Sandy S.

He laid the receiver to rest in its cradle, and as he stared through the picture of a majestic bald eagle soaring across the vastness of the deep blue sky, which hung on the paneled wall above his desk, he attempted to gather his surprised thoughts about the call he had just concluded.
Within a moment, he rose sharply to his feet and in doing so, slammed his swiveling chair against the wooden cabinets directly behind him. He did not deem the mildly destructive act of scarring the precious, self-built bookcases important; his mind was too unorganized and whirling while his body moved with its own free will.
Only one clear, sane bit of knowledge allowed itself a voice in his consciousness as he hurried to his bedroom, rummaged among the wrinkled shirts and pants in his closet, and changed into the most convenient and most publicly acceptable outfit he found. ...He had to reach her…now...before his disapproving wife returned home from her shopping expedition.
He snatched his wallet and car keys from their place of residence on a small plastic tray on top of the clothes dryer and thumbed the leather billfold open to make certain he had some money. He noted the twenty dollar bill and paused to run his index finger lightly over the picture he carried of her although years had passed since he had last seen her in person.
He slid the newly folded wallet into his pocket, went swiftly by the sink, stove, and refrigerator in the kitchen, and was out the back door in a heartbeat. His normally overly acute eardrums closed themselves to the shock of the door crashing into its frame.

In the dark, cluttered two-car garage, his car reluctantly shivered away a comfortable dream and spurted down the long, cracked concrete driveway. He did not realize until he was at the end of the street that his feet wore no shoes...or socks, for that matter, but he decided that she would have to forgive him that small indiscretion. Maybe she would be so relieved to have him with her that she would not even notice.

Any worry he felt over lack of proper attire dissipated the instant his mind switched to the task of locating her house. He had visited her there only two or three times previously and long ago; yet, in the midst of his anxiety, he rediscovered the proper road within a short thirty minutes of systematic search through her neighborhood which was across the city from his own.

He could not remember which side of the street she lived on, and the late afternoon sun glinted with golden sharpness off the tinted windows of parked cars along the edge of the road as he deliberately drove and scanned for the correct place.

The house, which was four houses from the corner, was exactly the image in his memory. The neatly painted white house was tiny with olive green shutters framing the windows on either side of the front door. The emerald mat of her lawn was freshly trimmed, and brilliant purple violets bloomed in thick borders along the sidewalk that led to the steps and along the face of the house.

He pulled his vehicle carefully behind her clean cherry-red one, which was parked in the driveway outside the locked garage. His car key sprang from the ignition, and in the prevailing quietness, he hesitated. Apprehension twisted in his stomach, and he took deep breaths to slow his pounding heart as he glanced in the rearview mirror to check the condition of his hair and make sure nothing was stuck in the spaces between his teeth. With that peace, he brought himself to leave the safety of his home-away-from-home, walk through the heady perfume of flowers and up the front steps, cover the smooth oval button with a finger, and press the doorbell with a confident flourish.

* * *

The echo of the toning bell brought her to life, and she struggled to sit in a more upright position on the living room sofa. When her limbs no longer had the strength to bear her weight, she sank back against the cushions with a soft sigh. After adequate rest, she reached for the lamp beside her on the end table and flicked the switch so that flattering, low light bathed her portion of the room.

The doorbell cried out again, and with the sound, she found renewed endurance in her lungs and spoke aloud, her voice seeming strange with false cheerfulness and foreign above the usual silence that pervaded her life.
"Come in! The door's unlocked."

* * *
As he comprehended her message, he swung open the screen door and turned the knob to prove the front door was really free of constraints. The coolness of the air conditioner contrasted with the heat of the blazing afternoon sun and released a tribe of goose bumps running over his forearms. His nostrils flared with the faint smell of cinnamon reminiscent of Christmas that filled the atmosphere.

He stepped inside the living room and eased the door shut behind him with a click as his eyes attempted to adjust to the lower luminescence of the indoors. After the sparkling fuzzy lights faded, he turned toward the only lit lamp because his ears could hear no shuffles indicative of movement directed at greeting.

There in the dull spotlight lounged a woman who bore no resemblance to the picture in his wallet, and he suddenly felt very foolish for having worried so much over his appearance. She was dressed in a crisply ironed outfit, but the body encased in the cloth was wasted. Her arms and legs bore almost no flesh, and the skin of her face was chalk white and stretched tightly over her cheekbones. Once thick and chestnut brown, her hair hung limp and thin around her head. (He could not imagine how such a twig-like neck could hold up such a heavy load.) Her bony hands clutched the edge of the sofa in desperation, and he thought the furniture would surely swallow her whole if she let loose her grip.

He would have backed out then with mumbled apologies that he had the wrong house, but she held him with the only feature she possessed that was untouched by the ravages of sickness. With horror, he found her in the large shining grayness of her visual orbs. When she saw his recognition, she did not try the impossible task of smiling; she merely let her eyes tell him of her happiness and relief.

"Hello, Daddy." Her voice barely vibrated his eardrums.

He was rooted to the spot with his bare toes sinking into the soft carpet. This could not be his little girl! Then, he woke his voice box with a jerk.

"My God!" He went to her side and knelt close to her. "How long has it been like this? What has happened?"

Her eyes smiled at him. "It's just cancer. Lots of people have it."

"But shouldn't you be in the hospital? Are you in a lot of pain?"

"I have wonderful helpers who take care of me, and today is a good day for pain. ...That's why I called you. I'd much rather you see me at home anyway." His flurry gave her control over her pounding heart and brought calm to her manner.

He looked bewildered. "Where's Patrick?"

Her reply was one of acceptance. "He died a few years ago in an accident. Didn't you read about it in the paper?"

"No." He paused, staring deep into the shadows. "But Marsha quit subscribing to the local newspaper because she got mad about something silly she didn't approve of. And you know us--we don't watch the news on T.V. I wonder why no one said anything to me at work." He refocused on her face. "I'm sorry, honey."

"I'm fine." Then, she asked a question of him. "By the way, how did you get Marsha to let you come here?"

He flinched slightly. "She doesn't know. She went shopping with a group of her quilting friends. You know your stepmother; she is funny about certain things."

She said nothing to that because she knew her father loved both her and her stepmother but did have to live with the latter. Instead, she asked, "When do you have to go home?"

He grinned then. "I'm free for as long as you need me."

"Great!" She stirred on the sofa with the energy of enthusiasm. "Let's catch up. How long has it been?"

"At least three-and-a-half years." He stood, so his upper torso was bound in darkness. "But first..." He moved to the window and flung open the curtains to let in the warm, soothing rays of daylight. "Let there be light!" His expression was bright when he saw the moon-shaped crevices of her eyes, but his hidden heart ached at the tininess of the rest of her.

She managed a smile when he sat beside her gingerly. "Where are your shoes?"

In a little boy voice, he said, "I forgot them."

"You are so silly."

* * *

Father and daughter spoke nostalgically, laughed like children over nothing important, and shared all they had not gotten to share over the years. The hours swept by like a sandstorm, every miniscule sand grain a lifetime experienced in a matter of minutes.

The first sign that any time had passed was when a low rumble filled the air. He put his hand to his stomach and went wide-eyed.

"Hungry?" she questioned teasingly.

"Yes, are you?"

"A little." She shrugged.

"How about if I go get us something."

"What?"

"Hmm." He raised an eyebrow, trying to appear mysterious and failing horribly. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

She suppressed a giggle. "Just don't make it anything too heavy. My stomach is kind of cranky sometimes."

He was almost out the front door when she stopped him. "Wait. You need some shoes...and a jacket." She tried to stand but could not quite make it all the way up.

"That's okay," he said hastily.

"No. Look in the hall closet. I think there's an old jacket of Patrick's and some yard shoes."

He found the articles and slipped them on. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Be okay?"

"Of course. I'll be waiting!" The lilt was back in her voice. "You better come back, or I'll have to call the authorities and report you to your probation officer."

He gave her a nod. "You can count on me, ma'am."
Then, he was gone, immediately thankful to have the coat in the cool evening breeze even though the sleeves were slightly too long.
When he returned, the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and the shield of night protected humankind from the harsh reality of the day. He could see the lamp glowing like a patient, inextinguishable beacon from behind the curtain, and he peered in as he walked past.
She was leaning against the arm of the sofa with her hair fanning over the edge, and he thought she must have fallen asleep in exhaustion. When he entered, he set the deli sandwiches and soup on the table in the adjoining kitchen and locked the door on his way to wake her to eat.
She lay there unmoving with her arms and hands bent to her chest and her legs folded close to her body, but she was not sleeping. Her eyes were open, and for a moment, he was afraid she was not alive until she trained her gaze upon him as he came to her side. A tear swam out of one eye, leaving a wet trail along the side of her nose and spreading when it reached the corner of her lip.
She blinked and whispered hoarsely, "Daddy, I'm scared."
She closed her eyes when he sat down and took her fragile form into his arms. Her skin was deathly cold to the touch, and he could feel her ribs against his side as he rocked her back and forth. She sobbed into his chest while he stroked her hair and told her everything was going to be all right as he had when she had a nightmare as a child.

When at last she was breathing evenly and slowly, he arranged her gently on the sofa because he felt like an intruder going into her bedroom and brought a pillow for her head and a blanket to cover her from the hall closet.

He was no longer hungry but forced himself to eat the lukewarm soup. Then, he fell into the chair across the room and watched her sleep until his eyelids grew too heavy to force away from his lower lashes.

* * *

Her contented humming rose from the smell of fresh coffee wafting from the direction of the kitchen when he shrugged off his dreams in favor of the reality of morning. The sun was not in a visible position in the sky, and he was startled when she walked out of the kitchen, crossed the carpet, and perched on his knee.

Though she was still wan and pale, there was a strong vitality in her cheeks and movements that had not existed the previous day. Her lips turned up brightly when she handed him a steaming cup of black liquid.

"Feeling better?" He accepted the hot mug gratefully.

"Of course. You're here." She patted his leg and stood. "Shouldn't you give Marsha a call?"

He took a sip and shook his head. "No, I woke up last night around ten-thirty and borrowed your phone in the kitchen. I hope you don't mind."

She impatiently ignored the last comment. "What did she say? You didn't get into too much trouble, did you?"

"Don't worry about it. I just said I was spending the night with you, and I'd be home this evening to take her to dinner."

"Kissing Up," she goaded with a glint in her eyes.

"What I do best." He sipped again.
She sat on his knee a second time. "Do you still have the picture of the eagle that I painted you?"

"Yes. It's hung above my desk in my study at home. I love it. Why?"

"Well, that's what I want to do today...go see the eagle."

* * *

Once when she was very young, he took her to watch the sunrise at an old bridge built over a creek in the woods just outside of the city. An eagle came out of hiding as they stared and circled and circled over their heads until they decided to leave. Every month thereafter, he took her back, and every month she told him that one day she would be as free and glorious as the beautiful creature.

Then, she grew up, and her father got married for the first time since her mother died. Her father also came into some money, and he and his new wife traveled often, especially after his daughter got married herself and moved across town. Marsha resented her husband's little girl, and the two became so far estranged that soon the girl never saw her father.

* * *

"Are you sure you're up to it?"
"Definitely." Her eyes were adamant.
"Okay. If you're sure..."
"I am."
"Let's get your jacket, then, and get going before the sun gets a chance to wake the world."
He set his cup in the kitchen sink and retrieved her jacket and some shoes from the closet. They were driving in his car when he next spoke.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you when Patrick died."

She stared out her window. "Don't worry. It was the year that you and Marsha were living in England anyway. I didn't want to bother you because you needed to devote all your attention to your business dealings. By the time you got back I was pretty much okay."

He was quiet for a while. "Yes, but I know you needed me. You should have told me; Marsha and the business deal be damned." A pause. "No. I should have found out myself. You know I'm right."

She said nothing, and he realized she forgave him.

He stopped the impending silence as the sun began to stretch the bloody scarlet of its birth into the grave of darkness. "I want to get some specialists to examine you tomorrow. I at least want you to be comfortable and happy. And I'm going to visit you lots more."

She would not face him. "That's okay, Daddy. I don't have much longer. I don't want anything else done, and I've been doing fine."
"Yes, but I want to see you smile more."

Her eyes were sparkling with tears when she turned toward him, and she was smiling. "I am very happy since you are with me again."

"Me, too." His eyes shifted to the road, and his finger brushed her damp cheek. "Don't cry. Marsha won't take me away that fully anymore. I won't let her."

* * *

He parked the car alongside the shoulder of the highway near the trail and climbed into the crisp air of the soft pink dawn. He pressed his arms toward the clouds and tightened and released his muscles. Then, he noticed that she was not coming to stand beside him. Embarrassed, he went back for her and hefted her lean form out of the front seat.

"Sorry."

She was shy and abashed herself. "Let's hurry, or we'll miss him fly!"

He moved as fast as he could without jostling her too much. He was afraid that if he did not use the utmost caution that she would crumble and break in his arms like a delicate china vase.

They reached the bridge in ten minutes, and he was not even out of breath because she weighed so little. He placed her easily on the edge of the bridge so that she swung her legs merrily up and down. He settled next to her, and she nestled her head against his shoulder.

The trees parted their swollen branches to allow them to view the sunrise.
"It's gorgeous, Daddy."
"I try," he said in a subdued tone.

She squashed her nose into his upper arm and laughed into his sleeve before repositioning her head. "You're funny."

When they could finally see the entire roundness of the solar body and all its color filled the multi-colored heavens, the rustles of life grew mute, and life held its breath as the eagle glided from the depths of the leafy forest and soundlessly began to circle the clearing over the bridge and small stream. The magnificent bird cried out once and seemed to be staring at them with quick, intelligent amber eyes framed by snow white feathers.

* * *

He was entranced by the hypnotizing motions of the wild creature and did not observe that she was placid beside him. Enthralled by the eagle, he hardly heard her words.

"I love you, Daddy."

His gaze lingered a few seconds longer on the sky before he fixed his eyes on her. The remote smile that touched his expression faded when he saw that her eyes would forever be focused on her eagle. His own tears welled as he pulled her to his racing heart and thought both wistfully and joyfully that she, whom he had so recently rediscovered, was flying free of him again.

(September 15, 1995 through September 18, 1995, 7:54 P.M.)

THE END