The Music of Bees Eileen Garvin (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

lick of wind on his bare skin for what seemed like countless hours. Within those borders he had found some good and some bad, but he had expected to escape it all, if not for Seattle, then at least for Portland. But lying there in his hospital room, his hometown loomed on the horizon as a permanent holding tank. The day his mom brought him home from rehab, the streets were sloppy with slush and a gray ceiling of sky pressed down on the gorge. He felt a cold weight settle in his stomach when they turned in the driveway.

As the months wore on, so did the crushing sense of claustrophobia. He would hear his parents and their neighbors leave for work in the morning and then listen to truck traffic barreling down Tucker Road all day. The same neighbors and his parents returned at the same time each evening. Even when he had been at the rehab center in Portland, he was sure that life ticked along unchanged in this small town. In his mind’s eye, buses came and went to May Street Elementary. In summer, the Elks Club banner flew over Jackson Park announcing Summer Family Daze. The pool rang with children’s voices and youth soccer games took over the playing fields on weekends. There was a pancake breakfast at the fire station, a line of classic cars in the Fourth of July parade, and the annual Wild Weiner Days and Dachshund Dash. Nothing ever changed around here.

But now, driving through town with Harry, something had shifted. Jake had a strange sense that he had been elsewhere for a long time. He gazed out at the familiar backdrop and felt the glimmer of its beauty.

Harry drove Alice’s old pickup, which was smaller and lower to the ground than her new truck. He had rigged a strap around the steering wheel to give Jake better leverage for maneuvering in and out. There was plenty of room in the bed for the chair and Cheney, who jumped in and braced himself against the back window, smiling into the wind as they drove out of the valley and into town.

Jake lay his arm along the open window and leaned his head back. As the truck dropped down into town, the view opened and Jake felt his heart crack wide open. He could see the broad expanse of the Columbia River with whitecaps whipped up by the wind, sunshine on the basalt cliffs to the north, and cotton candy clouds climbing into thunderheads to the west. He closed his eyes, breathing in the yeasty smell of pFriem Family Brewers mixed with the aroma of roasting beans from Dog River Coffee. The wind gusted mightily and buffeted the little truck.

At the waterfront, Jake waited for Harry to grab his chair as he took in the scene in front of him. In the skate park, a kid dropped into the half-pipe and landed on the other side with a clatter. The long green swath of lawn was peopled with wet-suited figures pumping up kites. Out on the sandbar, the wide green river lapped at the sandy shore. Jake had practically lived down here during high school. He and Noah usually hit the skate park right after school and then just chilled on the grass until the sunset. In the summer the light over the ridgeline lingered until almost 10:00 p.m. He had logged hundreds of hours here. For a moment, he felt a deep pang of grief for that past life. But then Harry appeared with his chair, and he put the feeling away.

Cheney strained at his leash as they moved toward the grass, and Jake found himself grateful for the ADA accessible path, which he had never noticed in the old days because he hadn’t had to. As he pushed his way along, he could feel people looking at him and the chair. If they met his eyes, they looked away like they were embarrassed. It felt like everyone was staring. Jake felt suddenly naked. Maybe this was too much exposure—going to the waterfront for the first time since his accident.

But then he looked at Harry, who was scanning the crowd of kiteboarders, and noticed how pale he was. He hadn’t said much on the ride down either. Jake could see beads of sweat standing out on Harry’s forehead, and it occurred to him that it was he who suggested they look for Harry’s kiteboarding buddy, not Harry himself.

“You know, Yogi might not even be here. So, we can head back, you know, like, whenever,” Harry said.

His voice squeaked with anxiety, and Jake felt his own worry diminish with a rush of empathy. Poor Stokes, he thought. He tipped back and balanced on his back wheels, smiling at Harry.

“It’s cool,” he said. “Let’s just hang for a bit.”

They moved through the kiters, and Jake unleashed Cheney, who raced toward the sandbar. Jake watched the big dog belly-flop into the channel and then look back for his boy. His throat tightened as the dog sprinted back, sprayed him with river water and kisses, and ran out and away again. He tore along the water’s edge, barking and snapping at seagulls. Jake’s sadness lightened a bit at his dog’s joy. He closed his eyes and smelled the river, felt the warm wind on his bare skin.

“Shit!” Harry whispered.

His eyes were locked on a big dude striding up the grass in a dripping wetsuit, his long hair slicked back. The guy grinned hugely and punched Harry in the shoulder.

“My man! The conditions are perfect, dude. Gonna be epic!”

He looked down at Jake, and the wattage of his smile increased even further.

“Howzit going, brother?” He held out a meaty fist. “I’m Yogi.”

Jake bumped the guy’s fist. “Jake.”

“Good to meet you, brother. Harry is gonna love this shit, aren’t you, Harry?”

Jake recognized the quiet terror in his new friend’s eyes, but Yogi did not seem to notice.

The big man clapped his hands together. “It’s gonna be sick out