Pelican Flight

By

Don Henry

During pelican season, formations of great birds glide effortlessly down the coast and post themselves like waterborne sentinels in front of my beach house.  They prefer the high rolling water behind breaking waves, ignoring the surfers who often gather there when swells grow from unseen, offshore storms.

I knew this beach season was going to be different when Elizabeth stepped off the plane.  I could see she was seriously ill.  On the drive to my home she sat quietly, looking out, with none of the joy she usually expresses on seeing a hillside of flowers or soaring seabirds.

We have been close since childhood, but now I see her only a few days each winter.  I live on the southern California coast and she flies in from Idaho for a few warm days of marathon training on the beach.  The pelicans are here all year, but I noticed them only when she is here.  There have been many things in life I have seen only through her eyes.

Instead of running, she walked on the beach this morning.  Afterward, she prepared her usual training breakfast, selecting fruit carefully, measuring portions precisely, arranging plastic containers into a chessboard of vitamins and supplements.

Expecting her disapproval, I cautiously buttered a cinnamon roll.  She smiled, but said nothing. After my coffee and a second roll, I noticed she had scarcely touched her plate.

This season she brought Poncho, her female Golden Retriever.  I have Morgan out of the same litter.  The dogs play on the beach and eye the pelicans curiously.  Poncho tried to swim out to the birds the first few seasons, but now he's more cautious of the rip tides that are always waiting there.

I could not find the moment, but finally Elizabeth said, "You haven't asked me how I am."

"Will you run another marathon?"  I replied, avoiding her eyes and staring into my coffee cup.

"Not likely.  I'm not going to get better."

She watched the pelicans on the water while I worked on a report that was not due for weeks.

"I know you can't deal with this," she said.  “You never could, not when it was you father's time, or your mother’s.  I want you to know that I understand and it's okay.  I love you anyway and always will."

I felt dazed and numb.  When she's not here, I think of a thousand things I want to say to her.  Now, I avoid conversation.  Not knowing what kind of pain she's going through or how to talk to her about it, I just squeezed her hand and got up to clear the table.

"What would you like to do today?"  I asked.

She remained silent, but looked at me with caring eyes.  Had I ever seen her face without a smile?  My memories are of her enthusiasm for life and for running. She was always running or getting ready to run.  She never talked about her victories although there were many to talk about had she been inclined.  Her focus was always on the next race.  This season, under the circumstances, I was unsure what she was training for, so I said nothing.

"It's time for a walk on the beach," she said to me, or maybe to Poncho.  I wasn't sure.  "There's food for Poncho in the kitchen.  Hope you don't mind feeding her.  Did you know she comes into heat in May and November?"

"No, I didn't remember."

"Wish me luck.  I’ll say hello to the pelicans for you."

I went back to work at the computer.  I stared at it for a longtime.  Finally, Poncho started barking and pawing nervously.  Then, both dogs ran around the room like wild animals until I opened the door.  Poncho led the charge down the beach with Morgan in hot pursuit.  I decided to follow them, and had to jog to keep up.

The dogs stopped a few hundred yards down the sand and turned toward the sea.  Their barking scattered the pelicans, and I watched the big birds rise from the waves and slowly join into a graceful formation.  They made a wide arcing turn and headed back over the beach in slow silent flight

            I watched them for long time until they passed out of sight.  Then I called in the dogs, gathered up Elizabeth's clothes and started for the house.