Newports and Eagles

“IDIOT. I’m an idiot because I let the idiot find out. The blonde idiot outsmarted me which makes me the greater idiot. Stop calling yourself an idiot. Remember you’re being kind to yourself this year. I’m over that. Just because I thought I could change from one podcast. Already giving up? Yeah I’m predictable. Can’t finish a single resolution. Give me another cigarette. You gave those up. Shut up and stop being so self-righteous. Those are what got you in trouble in the first place. These freaking Newports will help me think.”

I was in the middle of having an argument with myself after my boss and her fried frizzy hair (which is beside the point but accurately paints a description of her whitetrash self) decided to do inventory on the cigarettes today and that’s when she noticed a few packs were missing. More than a few. Okay 30 to be exact. December was stressful and what was the harm in using the packs of cigarettes that we sold? I was already underpaid as it was and I deserved a little employee compensation. But Annette (the frizzy-hair, whitetrash boss with wrinkles that could give the grand canyon a run for its money) didn’t see it that way. She told me I had until the end of the day to make it up or else she was taking it to the authorities. Bitch. If the authorities get involved, I’ll never get out of this frozen, dead end town. Where am I gonna get $250 (the amount I owe on cigarettes) in a single day?!

Our city didn’t used to be a ghost town. It actually used to be a small tourist destination. If you traveled here now, you’d snicker at even the thought of that. There’s one restaurant (that serves lukewarm pasta), a motel (only for the desperate and murderers) and two stop lights. That’s it. Our one gas station (the one I am currently having a personal crisis in because I owe them $250), has one pump. But back in the day, people didn't come here for amenities; they came here for nature.

High above the frozen Mississippi river there used to fly eagles. People would come bundled up with their binoculars to spot an eagle (the American freaking dream) in their natural habitat. The eagles called this place home, until, like any American dream, they flew away and never returned, taking our town’s source of revenue with them. Around the same time the eagles left, so did my mom. I was 16. People asked me if I was bitter toward her for leaving. Nah, I think she was smarter than all of us still stuck here. I am now trying to do the same thing. After she packed up and drove off with her boyfriend, I moved in with my grandpa for two years until he died. He got smart too and left this freaking earth.

My grandpa used to take me eagle watching. He was the one that taught me about ‘em and all kinds of birds. Strangely though our favorite birds weren’t the eagles, but the barn owls. He used to fold his hands up and mimic their call. He always tried to teach me but I never could do it quite right. We used to laugh at the naive tourists who assumed the barn owls were eagles. They’d come, take pictures, and leave satisfied that they had seen the great American eagle, not knowing they had just seen a common owl. We never told them the truth, instead let them have their fairytale moment. He was a good man, my grandpa, something my mom and I didn’t inherit. He was the only person who believed in me, and that belief died when he did.

After he escaped this world, I got smart. I decided I’d leave this town too. I would not do it like my mom who had to follow a man and his money, I’d do it with my own money. Anyway that I could make money, I would. That included giving “eagle” tours to naive tourists. They didn’t have to know that the eagles left. I’d take them straight to the barn owls and make some money off it. It was great until the tourists stopped coming all together. Every once in a while someone would come through who was lost and I’d try to scam money off ‘em. Never usually worked, they didn’t care about eagles, just about getting gas and getting out of this god forsaken town.

That’s why I am in the middle of having a crisis. It’s not easy to find $250 here in a single day. As I was mindlessly scrolling Tik Tok while trying to both distract myself from my problems and think of a solution, a car pulled up to the pump. This was a vehicle I hadn’t seen around here before; a 1996 bronco. I’m not a car girl, but you learn to differentiate cars and models when that’s all you stare at all day. It felt like a small nudge from heaven. Finally. It had been long enough. The passenger car door opened and a girl around the age of 8 jumped out. Perfect. She looked like someone who would want to see a fairytale eagle. She rounded the front bumper of the car and moved to the nozzle. I watched intrigued as she flawlessly began pumping gas into the car. Now that’s something you don’t see everyday: an 8-year-old pumping gas. I couldn’t see the driver from my angle but what lazy adult makes a child pump the gas? The girl put the nozzle back and that’s when the driver door opened. Slowly and painfully a man in his late 60s came out of the seat. He leaned on the little girl’s frail body, his body even frailer, and they walked toward the door.

Ding. The bell rang and in walked the two. I gave them a small nod to acknowledge them but not get up in their space. I fiddled with my new unopened pack of Newports.

“Grandpa, you want spicy or regular beef jerky?” the little girl asked.

My hands froze as I stared at the two, trying to avoid memories suddenly gushing upon me of me and my grandpa. I tried not to think about the way he walked his last year of life as my 16-year-old self tried to do everything I could to make him strong again. I tried not to think about the way his once strong body would walk slower and slower each passing day as my soft heart would harden a little more each day. When he died I tried to shut out those memories and any vulnerability that made me weak toward the harshness of life. But today, no matter how much I avoided it, those memories came flooding back.

The little girl and her grandpa slowly approached me. His breathing was labored. He didn’t have much time.

“Excuse me,” the little girl said with such politeness and tenderness it was irritating my tough girl facade. “Could you tell us where to find the eagles? My grandpa used to come when he was a little boy but we haven’t been able to spot any today,” she finished.

It was so perfect, so absolutely perfect, how could I resist? I needed to pay Annette back and they wanted to see eagles. It was a win-win situation and they’d never know the difference. You’ll know the difference, I once again began to argue with myself.

The grandpa’s breathing became heavier as he started to talk.

“This town hasn’t changed much,” he smiled, reminiscing. I was reminiscing too. The way his old flannel smelled when he took me bird watching.

I snapped myself out of my memories and focused on the goal. I stared at this man and he squinted back at me. Good. Even if he knew eagles, his eyes would betray him and he’d still assume the owls were eagles. Perfect.

“I know a spot close by. If you give me five minutes to lock up the store I’ll take my lunch and show you,” I suggested as I watched their faces light up.

“It’ll cost a little,” I continued.

They nodded, understanding.

I reached down to grab my keys and stopped.

This will destroy you. I froze. The sun would be down soon, I needed to hurry. They were my last chance to find the $250 for the day and escape. There are always more chances. I sighed as I slowly stood back up and faced the two customers.

“Actually I misspoke. The eagles left a few years back, haven’t seen many since,” I said, suddenly feeling like some invisible weight had lifted off my chest.

Their faces dropped and the little girl put on a brave face. “That’s okay. I’m just glad for this time with you, Grandpa!” she spouted a little too cheerfully. At such a young age, she was already learning how to carry the emotions of others and pretend everything was fine. I couldn’t take my eyes off them until she had helped her grandpa back into the car and they drove off.

Idiot. You’re an idiot. You let your only chance of getting out of this freaking town escape because you felt bad for a little girl and her sick grandpa. For all you know they were conning you. I’m proud of myself, I argued back with myself.

The last light of twilight was giving the sky a purple glow and the frozen river a pale pink reflection. I decided to lock the store up early and go stand out in the freezing cold. Annette would be here soon and some cop would be with her, helping her shame me. I didn’t care anymore. I breathed out and saw my breath. I laughed because it looked like cigarette smoke and that’s exactly what got me into this mess in the first place, and exactly what I was craving.

Looking up to distract from my urge to go back in for that pack of Newports, something caught my trained eye. No, it wasn’t a barn owl. It was in fact, an eagle. So you decided to come back.

I watched the bird fly above my head and hoped somewhere the little girl and her grandpa were watching too.