The Music of Bees by Eileen Garvin (free ereaders txt) 📗

there! Okay, here’s what we’re doing today. Equipment intro and kite basics. C’mon. I’ve got it all set up.”

Yogi strode away from the sidewalk toward a cluster of adolescent boys and one girl slouching around a pile of gear on the grass, skinny arms crossed over their chests against the chill of the wind. Jake followed Harry after confirming the ground was navigable. The children stared wordlessly at Jake’s chair and his bald head. Then they looked at Yogi.

“Okay! Listen up, kidlets! Rule number one: This is not a kite lesson. I am not an instructor. I’m simply standing around talking about kiteboarding and you happened to be nearby. Any of you tell your parents I gave you a lesson, I’ll kick your little butts. Consider this a public service announcement, all right? All right, Tommy?”

He turned to the closest boy, a pale redhead who looked like he weighed less than Cheney.

“Uh. Yeah. Right, Yogi. It’s not a kite lesson,” he said in a soft soprano.

“Great. Okay. Rule number two: Know your equipment.”

The children leaned in as Yogi showed them the gear: wetsuit, helmet, impact vest, harness, bar, lines, board, and the banana-shaped kite. He talked about how the equipment worked together, showed them the safety releases, and explained the need to take care of your gear. That meant stowing it properly when you weren’t using it and not leaving it out in the sun. He unrolled the kite, which was Pepto Bismol pink, and the kids took turns at the pump, their skinny arms going up and down, until all the struts were inflated. Yogi flipped it over so it was facing into the wind and weighed it down with the board to keep it in place.

“Nice job!” he said, slapping his palms together. “Good. Okay. Rule number three: Don’t be a douche nozzle on the beach!”

He talked about the wind window, the power of the kite, safe launching and landing, and beach etiquette. He explained where to stand when you were out among the kites on the sandbar and how to be aware of people around you. He told them how important it was to look out for other kiters for safety. The kids hung on to every word.

“What’s rule number three?”

“Don’t be a douche nozzle on the beach!”

“Right on!”

The girl raised her hand.

“Autumn?”

“What happens if the kite crashes in the water?”

“You gotta relaunch the dang thing,” Yogi said. “There’s no one right way. Depends on the wind and the water current. One thing is sure, though. Your attitude is everything. If you want that baby to fly, you gotta believe you can make it happen. Make sense?”

The kids nodded, and Yogi grinned.

“Great! Now, you pip-squeaks are too skinny to try this out yet. But Harry Stokes here is going for it!”

He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him. Jake saw Harry’s face turn gray.

“We’re going to practice launching and landing out on the sandbar. You can come watch, but again, what’s rule number one? This isn’t a—”

“Kite lesson!” the kids shouted.

“Tommy, you take the kite. Autumn, you grab the bar and lines. The rest of you, follow and get that kite rigged. Harry, get your gear on,” he said.

The little crowd took off running, and Yogi picked up the kiteboard and followed them. Harry struggled into the wetsuit, which was far too big for him, being Yogi-size. It sagged in the crotch and bagged around his neck. He pulled on his helmet, his face beaded with sweat, and handed the truck keys to Jake, mumbling, “I don’t think . . . Should be back pretty . . . If I . . .”

“Hey, Harry,” Jake said. “Breathe, man.”

Harry met Jake’s eyes, swallowed, and nodded.

From the water’s edge, Yogi yelled, “Get yer stoke on, Stokes!” and laughed at his own joke.

Jake watched his friend walk toward the sandbar, his shoulders slumped and his eyes trained on his feet, looking like he was headed to jail. Jake could hear Yogi’s encouraging voice over the sound of the wind. He had enthusiasm enough for the two of them, Jake thought. They crossed the channel to the sandbar, and then Jake couldn’t hear Yogi anymore.

The spring sunshine warmed his head and shoulders as he looked out at the river. The park was not as crowded as it would be in the summer. About two dozen kites dotted the sandbar awaiting launch, and a handful of windsurfing sails flashed out in the white caps. A barge chugged into mid-channel and blasted a warning as kiteboarders and windsurfers sailed out of its path.

Jake felt an unexpected ease settle over him. No one was staring at him, not really. Sure, people noticed the chair, but so what? That was fine. He closed his eyes and felt the sun heating up his T-shirt. He heard a familiar hum and looked down at the lawn in front of him. A honeybee landed on a cluster of dandelions and crawled through the great puffs of pollen, joined soon by others. One landed on Jake’s chest and crawled around, perhaps mistaking his orange T-shirt for a giant blossom, and then returned to the dandelions.

“Hello, there, ladies,” Jake murmured.

He scanned the sandbar and saw Cheney charge up to Harry and Yogi and put his paws on Harry’s chest. Then the big dog put his nose to the ground and made his way back across the channel and up the grass. He threw himself at Jake’s feet, panting and smiling.

Jake stroked his broad head. “Good boy, Cheney.”

The big dog dropped his chin onto his paws and fell asleep.

Jake heard the clatter of a skateboard and a prepubescent boy doing a Tarzan call. But it didn’t make him feel sad. He felt almost carefree, sitting in a favorite old spot with Cheney. Sunshine, wind, honeybees, and a snoring dog. He tried to put his finger on how he was feeling and was surprised to name the word. He felt happy. Yes, he just felt content to be sitting there in the sun by the river with his dog on