Freedom

I can see the frozen pond clearly outside my window. It’s the end of March and we’ve had this wicked cold spell that froze the ice solid again. The pond stretches for about quarter of a mile ringed by a forest of trees.

In the summer the ducks and other birds land there and float among the yellow and white water lilies. There are purple flowers too on its surface that poke out of their green leaves, tiny skyscrapers. A blue heron lives there during the summer, and I often can’t make him out because he stands completely upright just like a tall grey stick rising out of the water.

At the end of the pond is a beaver lodge. Last summer I noticed the beaver had gnawed through several small birch trees and dragged them over to the lake, where he’d piled them on top of the other sticks bundled there. I’ve seen him a few times swimming away quickly hiding in the shadows of the bank, keeping the carp company. Dark shadows that flit to and fro coming up to the surface to grab the minnows spinning there like tops. Sometimes they even get one of the dragon flies which has stayed for too long.

This evening as the sun sets and the sky goes from a deep orange to dark red and then blinks out into night, I watch the moon as it rises and throws a long pathway of white along the pond’s icy surface. I’m not feeling so good. Trying to figure out what I’ll do after senior year. Tom says he’s going to college but I’m not so sure. Nothing seems to stick. Not even the nights when we get drunk and stoned and make out in his car. A safe place where my parents can’t surprise us.

I wait until after dinner and I’ve done the dishes before I go upstairs. I lie under the covers fully dressed, retreating from the cold air that fills all the spaces in my room, impatient for my parents to go to bed. Once the lights have been out for about an hour, I creep downstairs listening to the sound of their snoring. My mother’s snorts are deep and regular and my father’s more like intermittent gasps and moans.

I grab my skates and put on my coat, hat, snow boots and gloves, and sneak out through the kitchen door, moving slowly so I don’t make a sound. The dog who sleeps on the porch in the back of the house, comes over and thrusts his wet nose into my hand, and wags his tail in delight. I pet him and whisper to him to go back to bed. He curls up into a small ball in his basket and looks at me sadly over the top of his blanket with hurt in his big brown eyes.

Once outside I cross the field carefully so I don’t make a sound. It’s a crystal-clear night with the stars spread across the sky like glowworms. The snow is white and crusty like sugar when it’s left out for too long. My face is cold and my nose begins to run. I wipe the wetness away with the back of one of my gloves. The moon lights my path as I walk carefully to the edge of the pond. There’s an old wooden bench where the dock is, and where Tom and I leave our towels in the summers before we swim.

I take off my boots and put on my skates, then I walk carefully down to the frozen ice and launch myself out across it. I skate fast around the edges, bending down low and pushing my skates out in front of me, swinging my arms to get momentum. The wind whips my cheeks and I smell winter and pine trees and cold.

I twirl and jump and bend. I skate backwards holding out my arms in a kind of ecstasy, as I throw my head back and let the moon shine directly into my eyes. The swish of the blades cut into the ice, and they send small pieces chattering and slithering across it. A lone owl calls to me from the trees and I cup my hands and call back.

I don’t know if she’ll come tonight. I hope she does. Nights when I’m out here I know she’s there because I hear her rustling in the trees. I’ve only seen her once or twice.

I keep skating for half an hour more doing figure eights like crazy. Then just as I’m about to go in and get in out of the bitter cold, I see her right below the big old pine tree.

I skate over to where she’s standing clear in the moonlight in the snow, and I see two tiny shadows just by her legs. I gasp because they’re playing below her and she hasn’t moved a muscle as I’ve come closer. She just stays there looking at me and then sits back on her haunches. It’s like she’s inviting me. She must have mated in January and had the pups at the beginning of the month. They’re tiny so I know they’ll still be suckling, maybe three weeks old at most.

I stand there completely stationary and I laugh softly to myself as I tell her how beautiful they are, and what a good Mama she is. She doesn’t stay long but turns and hurries the pups back to her den through the shadows. Before she disappears however, she calls back to me, a short howl into a night that is dead quiet except for the stars which ring above my head like crystal bells.

I wait for a bit after she leaves before I skate back to the bench, sit on it and undo my skates with fingers numbed by cold. I am mad with wonder as I walk slowly back to the house. Her call has unleashed something inside me. Something that I didn’t know was lurking there.

I greet our old dog again before I silently climb the stairs. I drop my clothes by the bed and get into my warm pajamas, shivering as I expose my thin male body to the frigid air.

Once I’ve snuggled down under the thick covers, I fall asleep quickly and I dream that I’m running through the woods with her. Then suddenly for no reason she is no longer with me and I am alone, my head extended as I throw my head back. I let free a long cry from deep within my throat that echos through the trees and far out into the night.