Microfiction by Todd Adams
By Todd Adams
David’s rusted-out Coronet shook as it battled across the brand-new Mackinac
Bridge linking Michigan’s upper and lower peninsulas in 1957. Winds buffeted it
seemingly from all directions, and the road beneath twisted and turned as it
rolled up and down to a rhythm only it—or the wind—knew. In front of us, a
Bridge Authority pickup truck with flashing lights plowed through the moving
snow drifts and kept us from skidding off the road into the dark whiteness of
the blizzard. The guard at the bridge’s base had told us we would be the last
car across tonight as if it were an honor, and I doubted it was. I’d jumped in
the car with my friend six hours earlier, ignoring the warnings of my
girlfriend, because David had heard a rumor that a Great Snowy Owl had been
seen in the upper peninsula. He wasn’t a twitcher who listed every bird he’d
seen or took off at the drop of a hat to see a bird he’d never seen before, but
with his eyes sparkling between his short, preppy haircut and full mouth, he
assured me we had to go now. The Arctic bird might never appear again in
Michigan during our lifetime. So, I grabbed both of our binocs, and we started
north in the dusk. Girlfriends came and went, but a roomie was forever.
Minutes seemed like hours, and hours like days, but we made it across the
bridge and onto terra firma. Now what? We couldn’t stay there with a three-quarters-empty
gas tank or see ten feet ahead on the two-lane road as it climbed into the
hills beyond. The best we could do was to follow rapidly disappearing tire
tracks in the hope of finding an open gas station or a motel. We felt more than
drove our way as windshield wipers maintained a monotonous rhythm. I leaned out
the front passenger side window—my eyelids freezing almost shut as snow and ice
accumulated on them and my nose turning red from frostbite until I couldn’t
stand it anymore—and tried to glimpse the future. More by luck than skill, my
eyes saw an orange reflection on a snowflake. I screamed, “Turn!” to no effect,
then ducked my head back into the vehicle and shouted turn right to David.
He did, but the old car couldn’t make it up the driveway to the hotel, stopping
under the flashing neon vacancy sign at the entrance. Leaving the car running
in case it wouldn’t start again, we got out to trudge the rest of the way to
the manager’s door. The snow tasted cold and clean on our tongues. Relieved, we
pressed a buzzer before pounding on the metal door when no one answered. Fifteen
minutes later, a pasty, bleary-eyed man with red-rimmed eyes opened the door to
let us into the motel lobby. He couldn’t have expected anyone to come in such a
storm, but he’d shaved before bed, and only bristles covered his thin face when
he got up to greet us. We couldn’t say the same as we hadn’t shaved since we
left Ann Arbor, and he said nothing to us except “two dollars” and “Sign here,”
as if we were pariahs.
We laughed at and then forgot him as David couldn’t wait for dawn to begin
tromping through the hip-high drifts along fence lines and the curving edges of
trackless forests. Our useless eyes probed the swirling white pines and bare
sugar maples to no effect. Our noses filled with a citrusy, grassy, soapy smell
that overwhelmed any but the most pungent tobacco smell, and our ears stood
alert for the faintest whistle, hoot, or hiss throughout. No luck, and we
returned to the motel. Two hours of sleep and a dried fruit bar later, we were
back out in the early dawn, stopping more often now to draw in the hot
cigarette smoke to warm our lungs as the bitter cold frosted the linings of our
noses. We traversed the barren wastelands until we almost dropped. Indeed, we
did so more than once and responded by carving out angels in the snow until we
heard a raspy call in the morning twilight. It sounded close by, and we stood
stock-still, our fingers shooting with pain as they froze solid, moving only
our eyes as they searched the woods and fields for the owl.
David found the great bird’s claws gripping a post less than a stone’s throw
away from us. Its white plumage was stippled with dark spots, either a male or
a young female from its smaller size. Its head, with its long, black beak, was
turning around upon itself, ever-searching, until it stopped moving and peered
at us with sun-kissed sclera. It was magnificent and not a little scary.
“Who are you?” we breathed out to the alien eyes across the clearing.
“Who are you?” it called back.