Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The Swan (or Happy Valentine's Day!)

Why are swans accepted as such romantic symbols? In my own Couple's Lexicon, they are creatures of dark intent, savage stubornness, and malicious persecution of the weak. I admit, however, that I might be a special case: I got chased out of my boots by a flock of geese when I was little.  In any case, here's my Swan Song.

It was dark. Strains of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers drifted on the wind, hampered slightly by a misty rain. The benefit concert was outdoors, but the VIP ticket holders had a tent to drink under, so the show went on unchecked.

After finishing my shift as a volunteer bartender to the rich and famous Hamptons crowd, I prepared to enjoy the chance to see a live concert for free, which suited my college student budget perfectly. I heard my name, looked around...ah, the love of my life was waving at me from beyond a barrier of orange construction fencing. With a sigh, I gathered my things and left the concert grounds.

It seems my darling had a problem. His apartment came with chipmunks in the walls, the coldest bathroom on the East End, and free access to a canoe and a flatbed ferry disguised as a kayak. During a recreational paddle earlier that day, he had been forced to abandon ship by a pair of nesting swans. While they didn't seem to mind him leaving the kayak in the reeds, they were adamant that he stay off the water.

After a wet slog home, he cleaned himself up and went to class, then had dinner and probably watched a movie with his buddies in the infirmary before coming to find me to help him retrieve the lost kayak. I was touched.

So we took off in the canoe by starlight. It was a warm moonless summer night, and the rain was little more than an occasional drip condensing out of a low lying cloud. He told me the history between him and the swans and shared his assumption that the birds would be snug on their nest, rather than diligently patrolling the entire inlet this late at night. The plan was to paddle to the kayak, which he would paddle home while I captained the canoe, which I was more familiar with at the time.

Well. It was a good plan.

And it sort of worked. He got out, got into the kayak, and headed for home. I turned the large empty canoe around, a somewhat cumbersome procedure, especially considering the wind that was kicking up. I was in no hurry, making a slow arcing turn rather than trying to fight the water and the wind. I had made it about ninety degrees, so my back was to the shore, when I heard it.

A hiss like ten thousand cobras having their tails run over by a caravan of camels cut through the background vocals from the nearby concert.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump...a rapid percussion of wings in the dark, flying towards me with all the rage of Smaug.

It was headed straight for me. My mind flashed back to a childhood memory, helping collect a black swan from a friend's pond, the strength in the neck and wings and the heavy beak, clacking and hissing until the fathers present slipped a pillowcase over its head.

I had no pillow case with me, so I paddled like hell, straight out into the bay. The hissing and chest thumping stopped, and I turned the boat so I could look shoreward over my left shoulder. I couldn't hear any bloodcurdling screams, so I assumed my beloved hadn't been eaten by the vicious birds. Surely I would have heard that over the Heartbreakers' twangy guitars...there, a light, bobbing along the shoreline. He had gotten the kayak and was trying to signal to me. I flashed my flashlight in return, and shouted, something pithy, I'm sure, like, "Over here!" or "The swan chased after me!" I hoped he would head back before they realized he was there. I sat quietly, straining my eyes for a glimpse of the bird I could sense was out there, awaiting my next move. The rain began to fall in earnest. I watched his flashlight slowly make its way to the left, towards home.

Dipping my paddle into the water, I began to turn the canoe to follow.

The explosion of froth and hollow beating wings and wet-cat hissing a few yards off my port bow didn't startle me so much this time, but only because I could see it coming at me, and therefore knew it wasn't in the boat with me. Yet.

I turned back to starboard, away from home and paddled into deeper water. The swan returned to its silent watchfulness. I could see the beam of a flashlight, waving back and forth, flashing intermittently, but only just. There was no way my much smaller light would be visible, especially as he had no way of knowing where to look. I called out. "Swans!" All I heard in response was Tom Petty. Again, "SWANS!" A hiss in the dark, much closer than I'd been expecting....

"I'M GOING TO THE LOBSTER INN!!!" I screamed over my shoulder, hoping to God he heard me, since all I could hear was the muffled base from the concert. I dipped my paddle into the water and headed away from the swan. It didn't seem to appreciate my guesture as an admission of defeat and leapt to the pursuit again. There was a restaurant with a boat dock a few miles down the road from the college. I don't know how far it was by water, but the wretched beast chased me the entire way, hissing and beating its chest if I slowed down, herding me like a sheepdog.

By the time I dragged the boat into the mud and reeds by the restaurant, by arms and shoulders were burning. I was soaked to the skin, covered in mud, and (I can only assume) looked as though I'd been chased for miles in the dark by a heartless attacker. I would have sat on the dock and collected myself before going inside, but I could see the swan at the edge of the dark, waiting for me to let my guard down.

Sometimes I wonder if any of the people enjoying a pleasant dinner out remember the bedraggled college kid who edged into the restaurant.... I asked the first waitress I saw for a quarter so I could use the payphone. After giving me the hairy eyeball up and down, obviously wondering if I were likely to disrupt the dinning room more if she refused, she handed me several and went to wash her hands.

Yes, a pay phone. I had no cell phone at that point in my life. (Imagine that kids....COLLEGE and no cell phone!) I rang my beau repeatedly, no answer. I finally left a message, using up one of my precious quarters, and tried to think wildly of someone else to call. Most of my friends were at the concert, or a party, or had no car. I tried again. And again. And again. And finally he answered.

He had to bring his work truck to get me, since his personal car had no roof rack for the canoe. The extreme discomfort at misusing Town resources and risking his career were mollified, somewhat, by the state I was in when he finally got there to collect me. Luckily we were in an off-again phase anyway, because I'm certain that night would have strained any relationship to the breaking point (I've never listened to a Tom Petty CD since).

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