A Bird Will Soar: Chapters 1–10

Five feet wide and four feet deep, raggedy with sticks and moss and lichen, the eagles’ nest is squished into a crook in the branches of a massive pine located along the same creek that rushes past Axel’s home.

When a cry comes from high inside the nest, shrill and lightning quick, Ray bounces on his back legs.

Come, Ray says in his own way to Axel, bounding ahead of him, zigzagging through the woods on the paths that they’ve created, boy and best friend.

He knows which knotty roots to leap over, where to turn, and where to pick up speed.

How those words must snap along the synapses.

This year, though, Axel heard a hearty flutter of activity.

The state bird of Pennsylvania is the ruffed grouse,
shaped like the splotch of white on Ray’s brown chest,
a hardy bird made to survive deep winters.

The state bird of Pennsylvania is the ruffed grouse,
shaped like the splotch of white on Ray’s brown chest,
a hardy bird made to survive deep winters.

She makes the most of what she has, filling the window nook with houseplants of all kinds, a bonsai weeping willow, a towering ficus with drooping fronds, a fiddle-leaf fig.

Byrd isn’t subtle in her movements. Not today, not ever. There are tears on good days and bad, kicked over clay pots, more times than Axel can count, and loud, loud laughter. She isn’t afraid to let her whole body show just how her heart is feeling inside.

He’s rereading the passage on kestrels and their perfect hunting groups when Byrd interrupts.

“Who would ever favorite a pigeon when there are arctic terns in the world...and great blue herons...and red-tailed hawks...and peregrine falcons...and golden eagles...and...”

Byrd knew not a wisp of those facts until he shared them with her.

Friendship Club is part of Fairview’s W.I.N. time. What I Need. The club isn’t only for autistic kids or anxious kids or quiet kids. It is for anyone who needs Friendship Club and that makes it pretty great, too.

It feels like an entrance, going from open field to forest right here. The way the branches bend overhead and bright sunlight turns to pinpoint rays of light. The way the sound dampens from open space to tree-lined paths.

By the time Daniel catches up, Axel and Ray are out of breath, but they are together in one bald patch of earth where the light beams inside the forest canopy.

Ms. Dale would say to take the time to clarify, especially with friends. Ms. Dale loves the word clarify.

“I thought I was your best friend,” Daniel says, shooting up from his hunched-over stance. He makes himself as tall as he can, even waves his arms above his head.

It isn’t like Daniel’s house with its huge turrets and the attached garage for three cars.

It isn’t like the houses he passes when they drive to school or the raptor sanctuary.

She cultivated wildflowers by the mailbox, relocated stones to form natural fencing.

He holds his breath to clear the exhaust pipe. The smoke billowing out in a long plume on this cool spring morning.

He holds his breath to clear the exhaust pipe. The smoke billowing out in a long plume on this cool spring morning.

"Come!" George calls, a sleepy rasp to his voice.

“We’re fine,” Byrd says. “Just mayhem on Monday.”

By the time Dr. Martin pulled a bald eagle from a crate, inside that very quiet gymnasium, Axel was mesmerized.

All he saw was Dr. Taylor M. Martin and the bald eagle. The way it spun from the ornithologist’s forearm.

Dr. Taylor M. Martin talked about raptor rehabilitation. She talked about flight and instincts and power. She talked about kids like Axel finding ways to help.

Sometimes games are left out on the floor, with slippery cards on smooth linoleum.

“That’s not okay,” Axel says.
“Axel,” Byrd says, her face flushing pink.

A tent to shade lots of people in much fancier clothes than Axel or Byrd or Frank from the sweltering summer sun.

If there was a way to peek inside Ms. Dale’s brain, under this week’s green spikes, Axel imagines it would be very clear, consistent, orderly; even if her desk and office get messy, her thoughts are always so clear.

No one worries about an eagle
in flight.
Alone.

Soaring in solitude,
above rain clouds
one hundred miles or more.

Axel begins to pace in a space that isn’t ideal for pacing.

The crash of all of this hurt and all this wondering pulls Axel from outside his house back inside, where Byrd sits on the floor, in a puddle of water and debris.