Lisa opened her eyes to the hazy grey of a Florida morning. Like the varied instruments of an orchestra slowly coming to life, one by one the woodland voices came to her ears. Grimacing, she pushed aside long, loose strands of black hair and looked up. A few stars beyond a tapestry of pink clouds still shone behind the dark canopy of her tree.
Her tree. Damn it, her tree. Nobody but nobody was going to hurt her here. An enormous live oak in the midst of a forest of pines, vines, palms, swamps and bugs.
She inhaled deeply, moving to a more comfortable position in the tree's cradle of seven thick branches, and her mind began to churn with the events that had led her here.
Then she heard it, like in the dream. A deep, purring growl. Vaguely, it reminded her of Kitkit, a Siamese mix she'd rescued from the pound four years back when she was thirteen. Her father had killed it. He said it had been an accident -- the cat sleeping in the driveway and he, coming home late one night, drunk, had run over it.
Bullshit! Kitkit would go a mile out of your way.It hated you and could sense your arrival even as you were on the Interstate, a half hour away. You killed it in one of your fits of anger because mom wasn't around, and I had finally figured out I had the right to lock my door.
She stopped her thoughts mid-track, finding herself gripping the gnarly bark like a cat with claws extended. Relaxing a little, she reflected that this certainly wasn't a normal way for a seventeen-year-old girl to run away. Why couldn't she have gotten on that bus with her backpack, and sallied to L.A. like she'd planned? But habits are hard to break, and in all these years she'd always run to the woods to find refuge from the rage and shame that filled her. Mom had taught her that. Part Indian, she'd shown her the many herbs and secrets the forest could impart. They'd taken many long walks into the forest.
Never again.
The sight of the Sheriff's car by their modest home's driveway three weeks ago as she got off the school bus had filled her with the hope that something dreadful had happened to Dad. But there had been a very sad look in Mom's dark eyes earlier that morning. Sadder and more depressed than usual. Those eyes had not mirthfully winked their usual goodbye to her.
The deputy had put a kindly hand on her shoulder, saying, "I'm sorry, miss. It was sleeping pills. I think she might have accidentally taken too many of them."
From then on it had been more than an occasional visit to her bed. And she just lay there like a thin rag doll as he sweated over her, her mind dissociating to the long walks with Mom into the woods. She pictured her mother's bronzed face and dark long hair as she showed her nuts and berries... and mushrooms.
"Oh look, Lisa," her mother had said sweetly.
But all she could see was a dark shadow flowing into the depths, palmetto fronds waving in the path the creature had taken. "What, Mom?"
"A black panther, dear. That's your totem." Her mom had gone on to explain how auspicious this was. "There's only a few of them left in Florida, love. Fact is, rangers think they're long gone. Ha! That cat, and her kindred spirit, will protect you for the rest of your life. Isn't it wonderful?"
She wished she could have told her about Dad.
Had Mom known?
In all these years, she must have. But her mother's shame must have been as deep as her own. Or deeper. She'd been pulled from her life as a teenage barmaid in one of those joints on the reservation by the Everglades, and had married Dad, dreaming of escaping generations of poverty. That's how it had been with her family since Geronimo's relocation to Florida some say.
Lisa noticed she was gripping the tree even harder and had broken a nail. She heard the purring growl again. But it wasn't coming from below.
When their eyes met -- the black cat sitting in potent repose on a thick branch above her -- she didn't flinch. She was awed by her lack of fear. "Oh my," she breathed out.
Hooked in one of the cat's massive forepaws dangled a dead rabbit. The cat's slitted yellow eyes did not waver as it retracted its long curved claws and let the animal drop conveniently into her lap. She looked at the rabbit, and looked up again. The cat was gone. She searched the tree. Nothing. Below. Again, nothing. Not even the subtle movement of leaves to betray its path.
What else could she do? This was like when Kitkit would bring her a mouse in the morning. Almost as a way of mitigating the abuse she might have suffered in the dead of night. But this wasn't a mangled mouse. This was food. And she knew how to skin and cook it.
Later, she bathed in the crystal clear pool welling from an underwater cave her mom had discovered years ago. You could see yards down. It was cool, refreshing, and if thirsty, just open your mouth. It wasn't the usual sulfur water that came out of the artesian wells. Just the purest, sweetest water imaginable. She dived deep, exploring limestone formations that resembled ghostly cumulus clouds.
Swimming up, she gazed directly into slitted yellow eyes. The air in her lungs bubbled forth, breaking on the surface, distorting the image.
The black cat.
When the surface cleared, the image was gone. Stealthily, she surfaced, eyes searching along the bank. The cat was nowhere. Just a few crows cawing and a catbird mewing in a wax myrtle. Again, she was awed by her lack of fear.
She spread out a blanket from her pack and lay naked in the sun, first combing out her long dark hair, then braiding it. She fell asleep. And dreamed of excursions with Mom.
***
Mom pointed at a small brown mushroom.
"Oh, it's been years since I've seen one of these," Mom had said. "My great aunt told me that if you ate one after wishing for something you really want, your wish just might come true." She had laughed. "I wish I'd eaten one long ago when I was your age and working in a bar." Her laugh had turned to sadness and she quickly had walked away, almost yanking Lisa from the mushroom. Then she'd stopped, and looked down on her, eyes all misty, and had said, "I'm sorry, Love. You were worth it."
Suddenly, in the dream, she saw the big black cat. A playful cub tagged along, swatting at a butterfly before being drawn to a mushroom poking through dead leaves. The cub was about to eat it but in a blinding flash, the mother snarled, threw her infant out of the way, and herself engorged on the pungent fungus. The big cat then regurgitated a milky substance for her kitten to eat.
***
She woke up with a start. The sun was low and mosquitoes were beginning to swarm. Quickly, she dressed and dabbed insect repellent on her exposed skin. Something in her mind felt odd as she walked toward the tree. And there was a bitter taste in her mouth. She licked her lips and spat out what felt like dried bits of saliva. Well, she hadn't eaten since morning. So she enjoyed the last of the rabbit. How long had she been gone? It felt so much longer than three days.
When she got to the tree she noticed again the many scratch marks on the trunk and the acrid scent of urine. She wondered if perhaps this tree wasn't the cat's home, its urine defining its territory. That cradle where the seven spreading branches converged was unusually comfortable.
She took out a cigarette from her pack and lit it. One of her past boyfriends, whom her father had managed to frighten off, had warned her about smoking. But for her it was more of a ritual enjoyment than an addiction. She only smoked at odd times, when she wanted to commune more deeply with herself or nature. She inhaled deeply, letting the growing shadows and evening voices soothe her melancholy, and sat against the tree's massive trunk. And closed her eyes.
And dreamed.
***
And felt herself streaking through the forest, following unimaginable scents. Her hearing was acute. Even a spider pouncing on the moth in its web sounded thunderous. Jumping over streams and snaking through the underbrush, she came to the wood's edge by her house. No car sat in the driveway. Opening her mouth, she listened. Only cockroaches scurried within. But an intuitive sense told her that someone belonging to the house was a half hour away on the Interstate. She streaked through the shadows to the large bottlebrush tree by the drive. The tree wouldn't support her weight. There was nothing like an oak. Instead, she scrambled up a pine tree to a second floor window. That's how she'd come home on some nights after a date and didn't want to rouse her father.
But she couldn't get the window open. Instead, she just made herself as comfortable as possible in the slender tree and waited.
***
She woke up with a start. Somehow, she'd crawled up into the oak's cradle, though she didn't remember doing that. The cat was in the branch above her. Its slitted yellow eyes stared unwavering as it dropped the prize down into her lap. It wasn't a rabbit. When she looked up again, the cat was still there, breathing heavily as though it had been running. Blood was splattered around the silky black fur of its head and paws. The big cat winked an eye then noiselessly scrambled down the tree and disappeared.
Lisa looked at the thing in her lap. Well, it was meat. So she cooked and ate it.
After bathing in the pool, she felt an unusual strength in her heart. "That's it," she resolved with an assertive whisper. "That bastard is never going to hurt me again."
Hours later, she came to the wood's edge by the house. Her father's car was there. "Damn," she muttered. She'd expected him to be at work. But there was a Sheriff's car there also. They were probably looking for her. She nervously approached two deputies hovering by the house's front door.
"Excuse me?" she said, mustering her will.
They looked at her, startled. She recognized one of them. The one who'd put a gentle hand on her shoulder three weeks earlier. "Miss," he said, again putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I..."
"I... I'm sorry I--" she began uneasily before being cut off.
"It's your father. A puma attacked him. He's dead. There's tracks all over the place."
"Good lord," said the other deputy with utter lack of sensitivity. "The cat ripped out his heart."
