Queen of the Creek (Fiction)

***

Girl chased after squirrels in her front yard, hoping to make friends. They escaped into tree branches as she circled around the trunks. She grew dizzy and collapsed into chemical coated grass. When Girl’s ego softened from the initial rejection, she collected the shiniest acorns she could find (even sneaking into Neighbor’s yard to do so) and left them in neat piles below the trees.

The acorn piles jammed Neighbor’s lawnmower, causing Girl to get a stern talking to. A peanut gallery of squirrels tittered above. It was time for Girl to find a new haunt, away from the suburban street’s complex social web. In addition to Neighbor and the squirrels, there was a clique of Pubescents. They rode on Razor scooters, leaving an odorous trail of chicken soup sweat in their wake. When Girl heard the Pubescents’ hoots and hollers, she proactively plugged her nose. There was no use–the ripe smell got trapped in the open air like flies on paper. When Girl went into her own backyard to play, Woman tasked her with “being a good sister.” This meant pushing Baby on the harnessed swing, wiping spit up off his bib, changing his diaper.

Instead, Girl retreated to the small creek about a five-minute rollerblade away. The stream of brown water was lined with a rocky bank on one side, a gristle of wooded trees on the other. Creepy crawlies were a drawback, but Girl could deal with the creek’s wilderness if it would allow for the unleashing of her own. It did.

Girl played hopscotch across rocks, caught minnows in a cup, and found bits of spiderweb in her hair before bedtime. She collected treasure shards of sapphire and molasses hued glass. Girl created canoes from flakes of tree bark, sending pebble passengers down the stream in competitive regattas. She became Sister of Toads, Keeper of Clover, Always Late to Supper. Woman claimed that Girl “always found a way to get dirty,” made Girl wear play clothes if she “insisted on tromping through the woods like a wild animal.”  She did. 

***

On a late winter afternoon when the remaining light tinted everything blue, Girl shuffled in circles on the creek’s jagged ice. While looking for patterns in the bleak leaflessness of twiggy branches, Girl spotted an owl. It perched stoic and still amongst the snow dust, staring down at Girl through thick eyelashes. 

“The squirrels didn’t want to be my friend,” Girl blurted out. “Will you?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” Owl called back, flying down from her branch. On her way to the ground, Owl’s wing brushed lightly across Girl’s face, blocking the dusky light for only a second. Girl felt little needles grow on her bones, stretching then poking through her shoulder blades’ skin. Glancing backwards, Girl saw bunches of feathers sprouting from her winter coat in loose wings. 

“Your name is now Koroleva Ruch’ya,” said The Owl. “Ruch’ya for short.”

“Okay,” said Ruch’ya. Her organs sang with joy–she’d never had a name before. Or wings, for that matter.  “What’s yours?”

“My name is Koroleva Neba.”

“Neba for short?” 

“Yes,” Neba replied, hopping from talon to talon on the cold rocks. “Your name means Queen of the Creek. Neba is Queen of the Sky. In the Mother language, that is. Mother’s alphabet is difficult for the English writing hand, so you can spell it in phenetics.”

“Okay,” Ruch’ya nodded. She would figure out what phenetics meant later. “What is the Mother language?”

“Why, Russian, of course,” Neba responded. “I hatched from an egg in a Siberian snow nest, but I have been here in Kansas for nearly two centuries. I’ve mentored many generations of Girls in your family.”

“Even Woman?” Ruch’ya asked.

“Yes. Koroleva Preriy.”

“Prairie,” Ruch’ya said slowly. “I never knew Woman had a name.” A tear welled up in Neba’s round eye, which she dabbed at with a wing. 

“She doesn’t. Not anymore. She gave it up, like so many did. Do.”

Ruch’ya wasn’t sure how to comfort her, so she spoke the honest truth. “Don’t worry Neba, I will never be Woman. I will always be Ruch’ya.”

Ruch’ya wings fell apart feather by feather, creating a dainty pile on the ground next to her rubber snow boots. The blue sun was setting, and it was time to go home. 

***

To Ruch’ya’s disappointment, Neba explained that she must remain in disguise as Girl. This blow was balmed by the effortless and jubilant nature of their friendship. Neba’s verbal speech was as brief as Ruch’ya’s wings, so they spoke in other ways.  Ruch’ya knew when Neba was hungry and treated her for dinner out at the squirrel tree. The pair giggled at the thought of Neighbor’s lawnmower getting caught in the carnage of bones and bushy tails. Ruch’ya collected acorns and threw them for Neba as a game of fetch. Neba flew over the Pubescents’ heads to drop acorns down on them. The Pubescents were left in a cloud of stinky shock, narrated by Ruch’ya’s laughter. Neba delivered twigs of elderberry and bunches of dandelions for Ruch’ya to use as art supplies. She rendered portraits in purple and yellow on flat stones while Neba posed patiently. Ruch’ya let her play clothes fray into a wild ballgown of thready fringe, let the bits of web stay in her hair, let her nose burn and peel during summer and turn into a stinging block of ice during winter.

Sometimes, when Ruch’ya was pretending to be Girl in the backyard, (eating Man’s grilled burgers or helping Woman plant flowers or playing hide-and seek with Baby), she saw the shadow silhouette of two large wings flapping. Ruch’ya reached through the back of her t-shirt to feel the single feather that always regrew on the small of her spine. Ruch’ya smiled and remembered that she had a name.

Jacqulyn Seyferth is a multi-genre writer and visual artist pursuing her MFA in fiction. She is inspired by Internet culture, fairytales, and creepy antiques. She can be found on instagram @jacqulynseyferth.