Ms. Feather’s Feeling Trees

Chapter 1

Varicose Veins and New Beginnings

“I adore my electric wheelchair. Did you know that it has a multi-speed function, good maneuverability, and cushioning that almost makes me forget about my varicose veins?”

Willow stares at the old woman seated next to her and channels all her energy into keeping her escalating frustration from bursting out in an annoyed sigh or an ear-splitting scream. Though Willow doubts that Gertrude, this is the name she had assigned to the octogenarian, would be affected by such a scream, for she appears to have poor hearing based on the volume at which she speaks, effectively sharing her medical history with everybody on the bus. Willow takes a deep inhale of breath through her nose and calmly replies, “What are varicose veins?”

Willow regrets the question almost immediately when to her horror, Gertrude bends down and pulls up a pant leg, pointing -well- more like jabbing with her claw-like hands, to the bulging veins in her calves.

“Would you like to feel them?”

Willow sends up a prayer, hoping that Gertrude is revealing her sense of humor, but after observing the earnest expression on her face, Willow frantically tells Gertrude “No.” And then for good measure in case she had come across as rude, adds, “No, no thank you.”

To her relief, the pant leg flutters down to Gertrude’s ankle. To her disgust, she feels a puff of air hit her face and is immediately overcome with the odor combination of egg salad and baby powder. She represses a gag.

“Do varicose veins require a wheelchair?” Willow doesn’t think so, and once again, she curses herself for asking. She really doesn’t give a damn about the veins.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry to say, but they are not something to look forward to.” Gertrude shouts.

“Neither is dialysis!” Yells an older gentleman from the back of the bus.

“Or lung cancer,” rasps a thin woman wrapped tightly in a wool shawl despite it being mid June.

“What did you say?” Gertrude yells, cupping the back of her ear with a wrinkled hand. Willow sees veins bulging there too, but adamantly decides not to acknowledge them.

“Lung cancer,” says the woman again.

“What?” A fleck of spit ejects from Gertrude’s mouth. Willow flinches and performs a quick scan of her own clothes in attempt to quell her sudden anxiety of having been showered by Gertrude’s saliva.

“Lung cancer!” Shouts the dialysis man.

“What about it?” Gertrude yells back.

“It’s bad,” says Willow.

“Oh yes dear, another side effect of aging.”

Willow starts to object when the young man seated directly in front of her spins around with fury in his eyes. What did she ever do to him?

“What?” She asks, annoyed, feeling her own anger bubbling up inside of her.

“Stop kicking my seat,” the man says through bared teeth.

Willow’s eyes wander slowly from the man’s polka-dotted bowtie (who the hell wears bowties anymore?) to her foot, which is in fact tapping rhythmically against the plastic backing of the seat.

“Sorry,” Willow mutters, hoping the half-hearted apology suffices. To be honest, Willow herself finds chair tapping to be extremely annoying, and it only took one experience at the movie theater and one hyperactive four-year-old to reach that conclusion.

The bus shudders to a stop. Gertrude slides forward in her seat as Willow tightens her grip on a bulging suitcase. Gertrude eyes the suitcase warily.

“What do you have crammed in there?”

Willow ignores the question, her eyes frantically scanning for a boarding passenger or…yes! A middle-aged woman clutching a toddler quickly steps off the bus. Seizing the opportunity, Willow springs from her seat, lugging her suitcase behind her and narrowly avoids a piece of discarded gum, to claim the newly vacated space.

Once seated, Willow scrutinizes her new neighbors: a sleeping man and a pair of women wearing awestruck expressions as they flip through a magazine and exclaim over new crocheting patterns. Okay, it could be worse. Questioning her problem solving skills, Willow unzips the top of her suitcase to retrieve, for the first time on this excursion, her beloved over the ear headphones and an ipod sporting a few dents and even more scratches. Sliding the headphones over her ears and selecting her classical music playlist, she allows herself to be soothed by the sound of piano and strings.

She glances down at her watch and silently curses. It has been five minutes on the bus. And it has felt like an eternity. Choosing to focus on the passing scenery rather than punching the greasy, finger-smudged window, Willow watches the city turn into woods and then sprawling meadows and then farmland. As the land flattens, the ocean emerges, and for the first time, Willow smiles. Something about the water and open sky evokes a feeling of freedom. Before long, the bus passes a sign that reads:

Welcome to Sunset Glen

Home of the bearded birds

Population: 719

When the bus stops, Willow rises and makes her way to the door, keeping her shoulders straight and head held up, hoping that her posture conveys confidence when really anxiety is carving out her insides. With all she has left in the world, her suitcase full of her most treasured belongings, and her mother’s last words, Willow steps into her next adventure.

“Be brave, Willow. Be brave.”