| Page 22. A. Valentine Smith |
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copyright
© 1999, 2000,2001 Andrew V. Smith. All Rights
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A bird in the hand, continued |
| wasn’t moving and was lying at a weird angle. April feared
that it was badly injured from its fall. Must have hit a rock. She looked
up to find the source of the frantic birdcalls. Mother bird was calling
down from her nest in distress.
Sandy looked up at April. “We have to help it.” “Look Sandy, this baby bird’s dead. There’s nothing we can do for it. C’mon, let’s go.” She grabbed one of the straps of her bag and hoisted it up higher on her back. April turned to go. Sandy did not follow. When April turned back again, she saw Sandy with her head sunk down close to her knees. Sandy’s crying; tears wetting her jeans. April felt awful. She reached out a hand to touch her friend’s back. “C’mon . . . let’s get you home.” “Are you listening April?” April’s thoughts are jarred back to the present. The tingling sensation is back too. “Huh? Oh yea . . . sure.” Sandy starts ramble on again. Sandy waves her arms as she talks. Sandy’s arms and both her hands are swallowed up in this humungous oversized gray sweatshirt to ward off the approaching evening coolness. Both girls are wearing their backpacks. It’s late spring and the evening air is still quite crisp, especially with the wind blowing off the ocean. The ocean remains quite cool in the spring and most of May. By July, the ocean begins to warm up and, like a huge heat engine, will store the energy well into the late fall. No matter what the inland temperatures are, the island of Aquidneck is governed by the ocean winds. A cold spring is the price for a warm fall, April thinks. This is something her father often told her. She looks at Sandy happily babbling about something. One of Sandy’s eyes looks funny to April. The area around her eye seems to glow. April rubs her own eyes with her fists, blinks and tries to look at Sandy again. Before she can focus on Sandy, one of her arms is gripped in pain. April reflexively grasps it with her unhurt arm. It feels like the arm’s gone to sleep; like when you accidentally cut the circulation off from your arm by sleeping on it. April looks down at the numb arm. She clenches and unclenches her fist to try and encourage blood flow. On the second unclenching, crushed beach rose flower petals appear in her hand. They blow away
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