Halloween 2021 As the Crow Flies

Halloween 2021

AS THE CROW FLIES

She didn’t know why she did it. Maybe it was because the car was topped off with gas, the laundry had all been folded and ironed, and dinner was up to whomever was hungry. But one second she was contemplating washing the family room windows, and the next thing she knew, she had her car keys in her hands, her purse slung over her shoulder, and she’d slipped the car into gear and was pulling out of the driveway.

Driving wasn’t something she did very often. Gas wasn’t cheap, she had nowhere to go, really, and passing other cars on the highway made her nauseous. Maybe it was because she was, at her age, woefully inexperienced behind the wheel, that she hadn’t given herself time to think about what she was doing. She only knew she had to get out of there and right now. Not five minutes from now. Not tomorrow. And certainly not next week. She wasn’t at all sure she shouldn’t have done this yesterday or the day before.

Time had turned fluid in the past year. Routines she’d kept for years had grounded her somewhat: clean the sheets on Monday, vacuum on Tuesday, wash the kitchen floor on Wednesday. So many days of her life had been tied up in the minutiae of everyday life, she’d managed to ignore the world on a broader basis. Not any longer. Not when every second counted.

Not all her children had returned home to be with her. They had when their father died five years ago, but now James and Mariah had chosen to watch the sun set from the beaches of Hawaii. She didn’t begrudge them their choice. Still, with Matty and Lynn at home, she’d felt more grounded, more focused on living each day as if it were normal. Then today had happened. She hoped they’d forgive her for abandoning them.

It all started with a crow. She’d first noticed it several weeks ago and wondered why it hadn’t taken wing like the other birds she’d fed and watered through the years. All of them had skedaddled, which was totally understandable, albeit sad. But this one crow had decided to stick it out, and she’d wondered why. Then she saw the polished rock it had deposited on her chair on the deck and fingering it, knowing the stone had spent thousands of years being polished by running water, she felt grateful. The crow had given her something else to think about besides the End. 

In return, she’d left a small silver button, one of the many in her button box, in the same spot on her chair. It disappeared the same day. The following day, a small seashell had replaced it. She couldn’t help but wonder where on earth the crow had found it. As thanks, she found a skein of red embroidery thread, and leaving it on the chair, she hid behind the kitchen curtains to wait for the crow to find it.

When he alighted, he pecked at the thread as if trying to figure out what it was. Tossing it from his beak into the air, he danced around the skein, dragging it from one end of the chair to the other. At last, she realized he was playing with it. Laughing, she gave away her hiding spot and sure enough, the crow stopped, thread dangling from his beak, to stare right at her.

“Hello, Mr. Crow,” she whispered, waving one hand at him. He took off, thread in tow.

The third day she found a tattered and water damaged old photo on her chair. In it, a couple smiled at each other, arms around their waists, their clothes old-fashioned and the woman’s hairstyle from the Forties, she guessed. She wondered where the crow had found it, and inserting it into her wallet, she knew she’d turn to it for strength when the time came. The crow was telling her that love was immortal, she had no doubt. In response, she left a Christmas ornament that had been a favorite, a felt-stuffed bird with green feathers fashioned by her daughter when she was learning how to sew in the Girl Scouts. 

The gift-giving had been going on for weeks. She didn’t tell Lynn or Matty about her new friend, because she knew they weren’t interested. All they wanted to do was moan and cry, giving her dirty looks when she asked for their help in keeping the grass cut or the vacuum run through the house. “Why bother?” was the basic response. “Why not?” she answered to their complete disgust. Maybe, she thought, it would have been better if they’d taken off for Hawaiian sunsets with their siblings.

The day she went to check for Mr. Crow’s next gift, he surprised her by flying around her head in circles, cawing to beat the band. “What do you want, friend?” she asked over and over. Finally, he flew to her car’s hood, where he sat, staring at her until she followed him. Ducking his head over and over, he positioned himself so he faced South. Taking off, he flew in that direction, returning after several yards to the hood of her car, then repeating the maneuver. 

“You’re leaving too, aren’t you?” She understood his body language as clearly as if he’d spoken English. “Safe travels, my friend.” She laid her last gift, a rhinestone button, on the hood of the car and turned to leave. She’d miss him, she realized.

He wasn’t having any of it. Flying back to her, he circled her so closely she was pinned against the car’s door. Then once more, after picking up the button, he flew South. That was when she knew what he’d been telling her.

She went inside and thought about the crow. Animals, she knew, possessed extraordinary senses that humans had never developed. The news had never given any hope of survival, but maybe, the scientists were wrong and the crow knew it. As she continued to stare out the family room window in the direction the crow had taken, she thought about giving the glass a good scrubbing with vinegar water. 

That brought her up short. Mr. Crow had come into her life with a message, and she was going to ignore it? How many times had she fallen into the trap of the mundane when the universe had been giving her clues about the extraordinary? Without another thought, she picked up her car keys and was gone. No good-byes. No farewell hugs and kisses. The kids had never liked that sort of thing, anyway.

Surprised at the lack of traffic, she started to enjoy the drive. The old-fashioned compass attached to her windshield still worked, so she knew she was going South. Just for the heck of it, after a few hours of driving, she pulled off the interstate highway onto small back roads, slowing down to admire the trees and fields, the small white farmhouses waiting quietly by themselves. When it grew dark, she pulled into a driveway closed off with a metal gate, shut the car down, and slid her seat back to sleep a few minutes. She hadn’t driven this far by herself in years, but she was strangely refreshed by the activity.

When she awoke, the sun was barely up. Relieving herself between two opened car doors, she regretted not bringing anything but a few tissues in her purse. Surely, she could have remembered her toothbrush as well? But she had no one to be bothered by her morning breath so who cared? Not her. 

The next time she saw a sign pointing the way to the Interstate, she pulled back onto it. She’d have to find a gas station pretty soon. She had no idea if they were still open, having filled her tank long before the news turned deadly. Hoping for the best, she exited when she saw a Shell station sign. No one else was there. Wondering if the pumps worked, she pulled the lever, and sure enough, gas flowed into her tank. So far, so good, she told herself. A mini-mart attached to the gas station was dark, but she hoped someone was still on duty. She was starving. The door was unlocked, a good sign. “Hello?” she called out, “I need a few things. I can pay cash if your credit card machine is down.”

No one answered. Taking a small basket, she loaded it with potato chips, a roll of toilet paper, pork rinds, a six pack of Coke, Twinkies, a couple of bags of peanuts, and some bottled water. What the hell, she thought, I’m going to eat what I want, even though she’d avoided everything edible in her basket for most of her adult life. 

With no one behind the counter, she sighed and took out her wallet. Estimating how much she owed, she left a twenty on the counter for food and another twenty for gas, weighing it down with a packet of gum. She wondered if Mr. Crow was still ahead of her or if he’d taken a detour too. Pulling away from the Shell station, she glanced in her rearview mirror, hoping to see someone walking out the door. But the place was as devoid of human activity as when she’d driven in. Seeing no signs of life on her drive was starting to bother her. Had everyone decided on a sunset in Hawaii but her?

The idea hadn’t appealed to her. Seemed too much like a Jones cult mass suicide, but of course, her kids were too young to remember the arsenic laced drink everyone had consumed. If she was going to die, she had wanted it to be where she felt most at home. In her house filled with memories of all the years she’d been busy and productive. Of course, no one now valued a woman’s work that way – she hadn’t made millions or invented a cool app, or influenced anyone on the Internet. She was just who she was, and until that moment, good with her choices.

Just as she was contemplating turning around and heading home, the crow dive-bombed her, picking up a few strands of her gray hair in his beak as he made a swift pass. 

“That hurt, dang it!” She rubbed the top of her head. To give the crow credit, it had taken only a few strands. 

Glancing up, she watched the crow circle her a few times before settling on the top of her car. Watching her with his dark eyes, he seemed to know what she’d been thinking seconds before.

“Okay, you win. A few more miles,” she sighed, waving her car keys so he could see them. “I haven’t been out of the yard in months, it feels good to see new scenery,” she reminded herself and him. She wondered if he understood.

Bobbing his head, the crow flung himself into the sky, cawing loudly as if urging her to hurry up and follow him. Shaking her head at her foolishness, she started the car up and pulled back onto the Interstate. As she drove, she tried to imagine if her children had noticed her absence by now, or if they were so mired in their grief they had no idea she even existed. She rather thought the latter. 

This time the crow didn’t leave her. Whenever she thought he’d taken off, he would reappear in front of her, riding the currents or making lazy Z shapes in the sky. She didn’t drive fast, since there was no one on the highway who would be annoyed at her snail’s pace, and she was determined to keep the crow in sight. He was the only living thing she’d seen all day.

Then, without warning, the crow flew so close to her windshield, she had to hit the brakes. With a cry she couldn’t ignore, he veered to the right, towards the mountains. Stopping the car, she wondered what he was up to. What the heck,she reasoned, she’d already lost most of her mind, why not lose the rest of it? Cranking the wheel, she jerked the car over the highway shoulder and into a field of dried and broken corn stalks. She’d never get the car clean if she kept on, but at this point, who cared about the state of the car? The tank was still pretty full, she could follow the crow a while longer, and if her brain decided to flip on the Logical switch, she’d still make it home, she hoped. 

She was so busy keeping her eye on the crow, she wasn’t aware the terrain had taken a rough turn until she heard the undercarriage scrape loudly. Slamming on the brakes, she noticed the boulders and good-sized rocks that would destroy the underneath of the car. She didn’t want to risk it, so she put the sedan into Park and pulled out her cell phone. No service, of course. Wouldn’t do any good to call AAA, now that she thought about it.  The news had consistently and persistently warned people there was no escaping this meteor, and that trying to hide from its devastation was just pissing in the wind. So she’d accepted her final days with resignation and only a modicum of anger. Unlike her kids.

She’d heard on the news that mass suicides were the norm now that the Big Day was growing closer. She couldn’t imagine giving up even one precious moment, but how she wished she’d been able to talk about it with Ken, her husband. Maybe when she was dust in the wind, she’d find him and say all the things she’d kept bottled up for years. His face would register surprise, then he’d smile slowly, and taking her in his arms, he’d hug her annoyance right out of her.

Lost in her daydream, she missed the crow turning left, heading deeper into the valley than she thought possible for a car to go. Leaving the vehicle behind, she brought her purse and keys, because she wanted it to be there when she returned from viewing what the crow wanted her to see. Very few trees graced the landscape. Ancient ice had slid through this valley, depositing rubble and rocks in its path. Slipping on stone detritus, she had to catch herself several times. Breaking a hip or a leg at this stage of the crisis would be stupid. Of course, following a black bird into the hills wasn’t too bright, either. She’d never done anything like this in her entire life. She didn’t like or approve of spontaneity. No, such actions lead to disaster. Witness her husband’s death if she needed any other proof. The man had never gone four-wheeling in his life. One and done was the way she thought of his death. 

Breathless, she sat on a boulder and half-turning, surveyed the way she’d come. At least, she thought it was the way she’d come. Like an idiot, she hadn’t left any markers on the rocks to guide her back to the car. Every rock looked the same. If the End came now, she’d feel like a first-class fool. Anyone who ever read fairy tales knew you needed breadcrumbs to find your way home. But she had no breadcrumbs, so she rose from the rock and checking to see where the crow was now, tried to keep up.  What, after all, did she have to lose?

She was almost upon it, when she realized the glint on the ground wasn’t the setting sun reflecting off mica deposits. The rhinestone button, her last gift to the crow, lay in front of her. Picking it up, she tried to find the bird to let him know she had it, but he was nowhere she could see. Glancing down, she realized the red embroidery thread had been detangled, and lay in a straight line before her. He was leaving her a path, she thought. One she’d know was his. Mr. Crow was too clever for a bird, she thought.

The red button lay at the edge of a hill, a smaller one that terraced up to a bigger mountain. Bending down to pick it up, she felt a rush of cool air on her face. Air coming from somewhere behind the few bushes that lay in front of her. Shoving them aside, the current grew stronger. A loud cry from above told her the Mr. Crow had been watching her. Stepping closer, she realized she’d found the entrance to a cave. Or rather, the crow had.

Fishing her cell from her purse, she turned on the flashlight and aimed it at the entrance. 

“Turn that thing off!” Movement within the cave startled, then frightened her. “Let your eyes get used to the dark, you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like the dark,” she snapped. “And who are you?”

The man who edged to the entrance resembled her late husband, but younger and more handsome. His dark hair wasn’t like her husband’s, either, but now that she thought about it, she felt his voice from the cave had seemed familiar. Like an echo of her husband’s, before his vocal chords became burdened with age. 

“I’ve been waiting for you. Our friend told me he’d fetch you before it was too late.”

“What friend?” She kept her distance. Every inch of her began to prickle, her skin dancing with fear and anticipation.

“You know who. He barely got to you in time. It’s almost over, isn’t it? I don’t have any way to get news in here, but I can sense the shift in the sun has become more drastic. Won’t you come in and make yourself to home?”

Her husband had used that phrase, “make yourself to home.” 

“My home isn’t here. It’s back there.” She nodded in the vague direction of town. 

“It’ll be gone before tomorrow dawns. There won’t be a dawn. I hope you said your good-byes. We, my friend and I, knew you were lonely and we couldn’t let you go without trying to bring you to me. To be honest, I didn’t think you would come. You’ve never been very adventurous, my dear.”

“How would you know?” But she knew how. She’d known for several minutes. “Oh, this is silly. How long ago did you set up this cave? Does it have enough supplies to last until the planet adjusts to the new normal, whatever that is? I hear water will cover most of the earth, should we go higher?” She looked at the mountain above her and doubted she could climb it, not at her age.

“We’re safe here. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. Didn’t have anything to do but get ready. We’ll be fine.” With that, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, whispering a kiss on her cheek. “More than fine.”

Relaxing in his arms for one second, she straightened herself and gave him a playful tap on the chest. “That’s what you always say. Better let me check out what you’ve got going on in there.”

He never asked her about the children, she noted with gratitude. She’d have had a hard time saying she’d left them to their fates. Good mothers didn’t abandon their children, no matter how old and selfish they were. Forcing them from her thoughts, she realized her eyes had adjusted to the darkness rapidly. The extent of the the boxes piled high testified to his preparedness, something she’d never expected to find in her husband of fifty years. She’d always been the one to think ahead, to plan for their future.

“Oh my,” she sighed, “I can only say, I’m impressed.” Holding out a hand to him, she saw that the veins that had protruded from her skin had smoothed out, and her hips didn’t ache anymore. In fact, she felt downright spry. “You must have discovered the fountain of youth while you were doing all this disaster prepping.”

“You’re my fountain of youth.” With that, he kissed her once more as the crow cried from outside the cave. “Thank you, my friend, for bringing her to me.”

~

The apocalypse, the disaster of Biblical proportions, that had been foretold for a year, swept away all signs of mankind and his stupidity. Good people, bad people, and everyone in between, met their ends with a variety of reactions. Some cried, some prayed, some cursed. In the end, no one survived. The woman died alone on her back deck, clutching a red ribbon she’d left for the crow who never returned, her children too absorbed in their misery to stand by her side and hold hands as the end of humanity crashed down upon them all.