sojourn

the original supernatural nephew is planning to visit us. his mother calls to warn us, to prepare us, to let us know there's nothing more she can do. we have been waiting. since he was very small we have been waiting for him to be old enough to visit on his own. we didn't know him so well his first few years because of the great distance between him in missouri and us in brooklyn but we suspected he was our kind of people. we knew for sure the day of our own wedding, the sweetie's and mine. we wanted the child to be our ring bearer and we wanted him in overalls. his mother, not known for giving in when she's not inclined to, warned us of his unpredictability and impishness. she told us we better not put our real rings on any pillow we planned to give to her child. she shook her finger and narrowed her eyes. we tied the sweetie's giant gold band onto the pillow with my grandma's first ring from my grandpa and we handed it over to the grinning child.

a brother, two sisters and a friend pranced down the dirt-covered cement aisle between picnic tables in suspenders and newsboy hats and summer dresses. the child marched solemnly behind them to a banjo and a couple guitars. we stood behind him, watching him carry the pillow like a piece of glass. and when he tossed the pillow high in the air and watched it come sailing back down onto the dirty cement, we knew. one of us.

and he is ten now, able to start making some of his own decisions, able to negotiate with a clear idea what he wants and what others want. he has overcome every obstacle to this trip his parents have been able to toss out to him. he has come up with this:

1. his parents will drive out to our house in arkville and will drop him off. if things go smoothly, they'll keep the car running in the driveway and won't even get out of it. he will leap from the back seat of the car with his suitcase (an old fashioned plaid number, even if it isn't really) in his hand and will wave furiously at them and will disappear into the cool of the house where there will be lemonade and cantaloupe or maybe cookies and milk to revive him after his long trip.

2. his parents will spend the next three days elsewhere. the child is not concerned with this part. it is not his business as long as his parents are coming back in three days but not before. i am working on finding charming inns and vacation cottages in the northeast where his parents can while away their nonexistence in comfort. his parents will return after the three day period to visit a few days more with us.

3. during his parents' exile, the child will go fishing. we will take him out on the boat because he is skinny enough to displace only about as much water as the live well we sometimes carry with us. we will sit, the three of us, with poles and line that will get tangled at least once. he will want to row. he will want to pull up the anchor. he will love that some of our bass have fiery red eyes.

4. we will go hiking. he remembers going hiking with us a few years ago at kelly hollow. there was more moss than you can shake a stick at. and you can shake a stick at a pretty fair amount of moss. there were trilliums in bloom and the snowmelt had fattened up all the waterways and waterfalls. there are few things more lush than a catskills forest in spring. if it is warm enough to swim, we will take him on a hike we've been saving. three waterfalls. one swimming hole. endless blackberries.

5. he wants to go camping, although his mother says he won't even sleep on the floor in his house. we have a hiking tent and a backyard tent. we will be ready for any version of camping he wants, including putting a sheet over the bunkbeds and lighting the insides with flashlights. we are not above importing crickets and fireflies into the bedroom campsite if that is necessary.

if the carnival happens to be in town we will go. we will eat deep fried vegetables and funnel cakes and the child and the sweetie will ride rides until they think they might throw up. if there is banjo music at the farm market we will listen to it while we buy cheese. but mostly in the evenings we will sit on the porch with glasses of iced tea or lemonade, with a book or two to read until it gets too dark. we will sip our drinks and listen to the next door goats and watch the sun move so slowly we will consider that it may never even get to be completely dark. and when it does start getting dark, when the pinks and oranges are gone from the sky and all that's left is every shade of blue ever seen, we'll look for bats. i know this child. i know what is in him and i know his voice will get all whispery when he sees a bat and he will point to where it was and we, the sweetie and i, will be whispering, too, about a bat we've seen or about how there just aren't enough bats out yet but the fireflies are mighty fine. we will all whisper, not because of the bats or the fireflies or the goats, but because whispering draws everything just a little closer to you.