28. Chomp

It takes a minute for Amelia’s eyes to adjust to how bright everything is. When they finally do she does not feel any better.

“You want me to get on that?” She asks incredulously, looking at the dark green boat sitting in the murky water.
“This is your heritage, Mel, come on!” Ryan coaxes. She hates it when he calls her Mel.
“Just because my Dad grew up here doesn’t make it my heritage, his whole family are from New York for god's sake. I’m Australian Ry.”
Ryan rolls his eyes.
“You wanted to see more of where your parents lived before they had you, well, this is it!” He gestures towards the boat. Amelia highly doubts her parents are the adventurous swamp dwellers Ryan has envisioned. Not once has her mother ever mentioned taking a boat ride up the Myakka River. From the stories Amelia can remember, her mother much preferred watching her husband and Uncle Jacob look for fossils from the riverbed while she read manuscripts.
She pulls out her mother’s copy of the Audubon Society’s Guide to Florida from her bag and flicks through its pages. Several birds have been marked with tiny notes in the margins that say things like Seen at the bird walk - Myakka State Park ‘97 and Gilchrist Park ‘00.
Ryan walks towards the ticket counter while Amelia continues to flick through the field guide. Even now, her mother will sit quietly in the backyard and watch the birds. Just a couple of weeks ago she watched a wedge-tailed eagle catch a brown snake in their garden from the kitchen window. Amelia couldn’t bear to look but her mother seemed unphased.
“Don’t you find that so horrible?” Amelia shuddered as she buttered her toast.
“Yes, but it’s also fascinating,” her mother replied quietly. “Watch the way he moves, he’s so smart.”
Amelia obliged. It looked frozen stiff, just standing in the grass looking straight down at its talons sinking into the soft soil. Then, its head would quickly jerk as if it were following an imperceptible movement. Just as the bird raised its enormous wings and prepared to strike, Amelia looked away again.
Her mother put her hand on Amelia’s shoulder. After a moment she quietly reported, “It’s flown away, my love.”Amelia sighed with relief.

“The boat leaves in five minutes, so we should start lining up,” Ryan says, pulling Amelia back to reality.
“Fine,” she sighs. Maybe she’ll see something horrible but fascinating here too.
As they take their seats on the big green boat the guide starts his introductions through a tinny microphone.
“Good afternoon folks, welcome to the Myakka River Tour,” the man begins. Amelia finds his American accent grating compared to her father’s. The man introduces himself as their tour guide and pronounces the word “both” as bolth, which reminds Amelia of her Aunt in North Florida.
Ryan smiles at the tour guide and listens intently as he instructs the passengers not to stick any arms or legs out during the tour as they’re about to head into alligator-infested waters. Amelia’s stomach twists at the thought.
After a couple of minutes, the boat takes off from the small jetty and chugs along the river. If it weren’t for the stifling heat, glaring sun, and alligators, Amelia might consider this a good time.
They float along past marshes and the bird lookout her mother had noted down over twenty years ago. Amelia spots a sea of crows and a Roseate Spoonbill, which she notes in the margins of her mother’s field guide.
They pass people in kayaks with vibrant life vests and tricoloured herons wading in the banks. Then, a kid points out the first alligator of the trip.
“Is it going to chomp on that bird?” the kid asks the tour guide.
The guide chuckles, and his reply booms into the mic, “I don’t think so buddy, he’s probably more interested in those turtles basking on the bank over there.”
He points to the riverbank speckled with small shells and the kid starts to cry.
“Brutal,” Ryan quips. Amelia nods.
As the boat continues to chug along Amelia keeps her eyes set on the skies rather than the murky river. She much preferred the sight of a soaring vulture to a skulking gator. She tries to drown out the tour guide commentating on the history of mangroves and sable palms as she watches another bird soaring in the distance. She squints, but she can’t be sure it is what she expects.
She pulls out the field guide and looks for the raptors. The bird doesn’t flap, it coasts along the breeze. The wingspan is identical to the one on the page. She looks again to make sure, then she feels a hand on her shoulder.
“What have you spotted there young lady?” the tour guide booms, smiling widely.
“A bald eagle, I think,” Amelia replies quietly.
“What’s that now?” the tour guide bends closer to hear her and sticks the mic in her face.
“A bald eagle,” Amelia repeats in a monotone voice. She points past Ryan, who is now peering out at the sky along with the rest of the passengers.
A short silence fills the boat as it becomes clear that Amelia has, in fact, identified a bald eagle casually soaring above the Myakka River.
“You’re darn right ma’am, that there is a bald eagle,” the tour guide confirms, “folks we got a bonafide bird watcher back here.”
The passengers chuckle, and an elderly couple even clap. Amelia is mortified at the recognition. The guide heads back down towards the front of the boat, prattling on about bald eagles while all Amelia can think about what her mother jotted down in the margin of the field guide.
Next to the picture of a bald eagle, it says Bayfront Hospital - Punta Gorda ‘99, from the NICU window.