Karolina Waclawiak - The Invaders

Jeffrey had told me to take Teddy around to the club. “We can’t stop living.”

Teddy had hardly looked up from the television when Jeffrey said it. He’d absently clicked through the channels with his good arm, his other in a black sling.

I had assured Jeffrey that we would go.

“Cheryl?”

I turned around. Teddy was standing in the glass doorway, watching me weed the garden.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

“I think I’m almost finished,” I said.

He stepped out onto the slate walk and closer to the bushes where I was weeding. “What are they doing over there?” he said.

I stared at the workers and said, “Building a fence.”

“Who’re they trying to keep out this time?” he asked.

“Everyone,” I said.

He looked out at the islands, at the giant looming Tudors, and sighed. “I miss sailing,” he said.

“I can imagine,” I said.

“Can you? Really? I don’t think you know what it’s like to not be able to do something.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

I looked up and he was pointing to his arm. He said, “Are you serious?”

“Point taken.”

It was the most we had spoken in years, I think, and it was almost nice. I pulled at the weeds with more fury, trying to keep the peonies from falling over. He sat down on a lawn chair, tapping his fingers on the glass dining table we had out here.

“So I screwed things up for you and my dad, huh?”

“Screwed them up how?”

“I’m the rotting anchor.”

“The rot has been there a long time,” I said.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he said, and I knew he didn’t want to be the shoulder.

“How’s your arm?” I asked.

“Fucked up.”

I put my hand on my hip, trying to be stern.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t work,” he said.

“It will,” I said.

“You’re always the optimist, Cheryl. How do you do it?”

“I fooled you, too?” I said, smiling.

“No, not at all. I was being sarcastic,” he said.

We looked at each other and I wanted him to know the truth of things before he got any older. Like, one day you will love someone and then it will just go away and you will need to choose to hang on or you won’t and you will never know which choice was the better one.

“Do you like birds?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“Do you want to take a walk with me on the nature trail?”

“Isn’t that where Steven was attacked?” he asked.

I kept wanting to go back, to see my secrets. Just not alone.

“He was alone” is what I said instead.

“I don’t know what a middle-aged lady and a kid with a gimp arm are going to do to fend anyone off.”

I’m not middle aged , I thought.

“Do you know cranes have about ten different ways of showing that they’re being threatened?” I asked.

Teddy started laughing. “No, I had no idea.”

“Well, they do,” I said. “So if we have a few less than that we’ll still be fine.”

“Maybe the cranes can go after anyone who tries to attack us.”

“No one’s going to do anything to us,” I said.

“I’m sick of being in the house, anyway,” he said. “Any other bird facts? Any of those birds out there cannibals?”

“Only when provoked, I think,” I said, smiling, and he smiled, too.

• • •

I was careful to avoid the area around the tennis courts, so we walked along the seawall. They were spray-painting private property along the cement as we walked through and I stepped off the seawall to walk on the neighboring lawns instead.

“When is summer going to be over? I want all these people to go away,” he said.

I looked around at the sprawling clubhouse, the pool overlooking the boats. We were walking slowly, listening to the bells on the boats jingle as the waves jostled the hulls. Kids screamed as they jumped in the pool and I looked at Teddy’s arm.

“Their fun depresses the shit out of me,” Teddy said.

“They’re not really having fun. They just want everyone else to think they are.”

“That’s profound, Cheryl.”

I could always count on Teddy to be an asshole.

He had a right to be angry because no one was sure when he’d be able to use his arm again, if ever. Rob Girardi was an orthopedic surgeon and he’d agreed to look at Teddy’s arm. He’d said the same thing: “No telling right now.”

I wanted him to get better because he was working so hard. Trying the smallest movements, electric stimuli, massaging the nerves back to life. The changes were imperceptible.

The reeds and marsh grass were bending into the trail, encasing us as we walked. Everything seemed to have grown so much in a short time and it felt so claustrophobic.

“You okay?” Teddy said. He reached out with his good hand and I knew it was awkward for him.

“Fine. I’m fine. I love it here,” I said.

“Yeah, it sucks you’ve been stuck in the house with me instead of being able to come here.”

“Don’t feel bad about it. I needed a break anyway,” I said.

“You probably know all these birds’ names, right?” Teddy asked.

“Sometimes there are surprises.”

The reeds swayed in the breeze and it seemed like nothing bad could happen here, even though something already had. I felt like I was recapturing my sanctuary. “So, what’s that one called?” he asked.

I looked around, trying to find what he was talking about. Then I thought I picked up the sound of whistling and felt the need to flee.

He pointed to the sky as a small bird flitted overhead.

“That’s a common sparrow,” I said.

“That’s cool,” he said. “I thought it was something better.”

I was looking at the base of the reeds, trying to find my binoculars discreetly.

“What are you looking for? Nests?”

“Dog shit, actually. There’s an ordinance about it and no one cares.”

“You can’t police the world, Cheryl.” He looked at me and smiled, trying to make a joke.

“I know. I know. I’m working on it.”

We came upon an opening in the reeds and the cattails and I exhaled for the first time since we started on the trail. The sun was glorious and the tide was high; the inlet into the marsh was thick with birds — tufted ducks, the magnificent black-bellied plover, egrets, herons — they just went on with it all as if nothing had happened here. They ducked in and out of the water looking for food as the crabs slowly inched through the mud and the small, black mussels shot thin streams of water into the air in concert.

We kept on, falling back into the maze of reeds after the temporary breadth of space. We walked toward a bend in the reeds, everything ahead of us obscured.

A man came ripping through on a bicycle and I jumped into Teddy and yelped.

“Jesus Christ, Cheryl!” Teddy yelled.

I pulled him out of the reeds.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” the man said.

“Watch where the hell you’re going,” I said. He was harmless, older, but it didn’t matter.

“I didn’t see anyone up ahead.”

“It’s a blind curve, so how could you?” I asked.

He jumped back on his bike and rode away, calling out sorry again but not wanting to get involved in our situation.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“My shoes are a little wet, that’s all.”

“Maybe we should head back.”

“It was a dude on a bike, Cheryl.”

“I know, I know,” I said.

“We have to get it together. Get healthy.”

He pointed to my hand. I was down to a few waterproof Band-Aids and a twice-daily application of Neosporin.

“Maybe we should start juicing,” I said.

“That’s not going to help us at all,” he said. “We can’t just be shut-ins. We’re going to end up on an episode of fucking Hoarders or whatever.”