Sparrow 134

       With Coral approaching, I panicked, pocketed my writing pad so fast I missed my pocket. I looked down to see the pad bounce off the stepping stone, disappear into the tall grass. I left it, having realized it was the binocs around my neck I should be pocketing. I pulled my binocs over my head, but it was too late; here she came, ripe apple in her palm. Here she came, the woman I'd slotted as heaven-sent, behaving like earthly Eve in her darkest hour.
       Which was, of course, every man's dream combo.
       "Hi," Coral said, one hand polishing the apple on her belly, the other removing her winged, Marylin Monroe sunglasses.
       "Hi," I said, diverting her attention from the stepping stone by stepping off the stepping stone.
       Coral pointed her apple at the binoculars in my hand. "What are you doing; assessing what to do with this area?"
       I thought I'd go with her lead, drum up some lie about some grounds project. Anything to get my mind off Adam's apple, her mind off what I was up to, lurking in the orchard with binocs. But then a better game plan came to me; the truth.
       "No," I said, displaying the binocs, "there's this bird I keep hearing when I walk by the bramble here. So today I brought up my binocs to see if I could see it."
       "Oh," Coral said, "you've hurt your hand."
       "Oh, that," I said, eyeing the dirty gauze. "Just a little pruning accident. Risky business, you know, hacking back Mother Nature."
       Coral took a bite of her apple then stepped upon the stepping stone I'd scrubbed white as an angel's bottom. 
       "Is this something new?" She pointed her bite marks down at the stone. "Don't remember seeing this."
       "That?" I said. "Nothing, really. Just something I dug up."
       Coral didn't say anything.
       "Ya, I was digging around here the other day, dug the damned thing up. So I thought, what the hell, might as well expose it; clean it up."
       "It looks out of place." Coral then performed a stunning move. Holding her apple out like some kind of radar, she turned her body full circle. "It's so natural here--here in the orchard. A concrete disc just looks out of place."
       "Ya, that's what I was thinking--thinking what kind of damned fool would roll a wheel of concrete all to hell out here--out here to where Mother Nature's doing her thing just fine, thank you much."
       Coral didn't say anything.
       "I bet it was that Leif; the fool who kept the grounds before me. You wouldn't believe all the things that bastard did just to piss me off. But mark my word; I'll dig the damned thing up first thing in the morning, haul it to hell out of here."
       I heard the bird song then: "Here for years, for your tears."
       "There," I said, turning, pointing my binocs at the bramble. "That's the bird I'm trying to identify."

       Coral and I looked for the source of the song. To the urban naturalist she and I--bending over in unison--might have appeared to be in the throws of a courting ritual; bowing right, bowing left, trying to spot the bird we could hear, but couldn't see for the bramble.
       "Here for years, for your tears."
       "What a plaintive song," Coral whispered.
       "I know," I whispered back. "I think it's a golden crowned sparrow."
       Coral straightened up. "Golden crowned sparrow? Does it really have a gold crown?"
       I straightened up. "Ya, it does. Well, more like a slice of gold on top of its head."
       "Speaking of wildlife," she said, "the other day two deer walked by our condo. One had horns."
       "Ya, the deer come down out of the woods this time of year. I see them all the time on campus at sunrise."
       "Why do they come out of the woods?"
       "Because they like what you like."
       "What I like?"
       "Ya, they like eating apples too."
       Coral looked at her apple. "Cool."
       Boy, what a free flow of dialogue we were having. No, you know a girl is meant for you by how easy it is to free-associate with her.
       "So," I said, eager for more free--association, "you must live near here; I see you walking on Silo road."
       "Yes, I live with Trent . . . in the condo complex . . . up by the cemetery." And nibbling on her apple she explained how her and Trent liked living near campus so they could go home between classes. And, yes, they did have a car, a Volvo wagon, but only drove it when they had to haul stuff.
       All the domestic talk triggered a free association. Before I could think better of it, I went with it: "Say, Coral, you didn't lose a dial of birth control pills, did you?"
       Coral gave me a frown so serious, I had two reasons to close my eyes. One, to shut the visual down--Coral was going the way of the grizzled professor again. Two, to buck myself up--prepare for the incoming dressing down. 
       I heard a laugh then. How fortunate, no doubt some third party had arrived to save me. I opened my eyes. But, no; it was Coral laughing--laughing all out.        I was cracking my face to join her, when the nature girl quit the laugh, went the way of grizzled professor, lecturing me on idiot women, painting their faces, loading up their nails with toxic polish, filling their systems with overdoses of hormones--artificial no less--just so they can be irresponsible with sex. 

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