I know what I saw

Paige was about nine years old that summer night, almost 30 years ago.

Our little house didn't have a porch; just a concrete step to sit on and watch the birdfeeders, or the dogs, or the sky.

Mom always said sitting on concrete would give you hemorrhoids.

Paige and I escaped unscathed, and that summer we often found ourselves on that step. Boys busy on their mysterious pursuits, I kept my girl company with idle chat, and then, stories.

"Make this one scary, Mom," she might urge. Or "a story about the dogs on an adventure" or "what will my destiny be?" and I'd invent tales about that famous pineland villain, the Jersey Devil; or about the dogs or the eventual occupation of my brilliant daughter.

That night I remember was more than unusually humid and still, even for New Jersey in September. Sweat tickled our spines and frizzed our hair. The hum of mosquitos was constant and we reeked of repellant.

A scary story was on order tonight, and I watched the darkness for inspiration for a minute or two.

Then said, "so the dogs were on their way to the park one day….".

"No, Mom." She said instantly. "None of our dogs in scary stories!"

"Okay… Let me think." And I pondered just a few seconds before inspiration struck.

"Paige… did you hear something? Rustling over there?"

"No! Nothing out here, or to me!"

"Gosh, sweetie… I'll try again. First, I need a soda. I'll be right back."

It didn't take long to grab a can from the fridge and return to the screened door, but in just those seconds I heard her give a squeal and then yell, "Mom! Mommy! Come here!"

"I'm here, sweetie—what's wrong?" I hastily joined her on the step, eyes scanning the darkness.

"I-I saw something…"

"What?"

"I don't know! It was… a bird? Maybe?"

"Where was it?" My eyes on her face, looking for a prank, found nothing but bewilderment and alarm. Alarm about a bird?

"Up there… right under the moon."

I stood on the step, can already sweating in my hand. Between two of our many pin oaks was a slim gap displaying a thinner sliver of moon.

The sky was never black, here in suburbia, and nothing flew against its dark blue surface now.

I spoke soothingly, sitting back down and tugging her hand to get her to join me. "You probably saw a bat or a bird, honey. They look weird in the dark…" That sounded lame, so I repeated briskly, "probably a bat."

"No, Mommy," she said, again reverting to the name she'd discarded the year before in favor of the more grown up version.

"Honey… ".

"It wasn't a bat," she insisted. "We see them all the time and this wasn't one."

"You sure?" I asked after a long drink, the acidic diet cola slaking my thirst.

I still wasn't convinced that Paige wasn't trying to trick me.

"Well, if it wasn't a bat, what do you think it was?"

She sounded near tears in the darkness, and her frustration threatened to spill over. "I don't know! But it-it flew, and it was… furry."

"Furry?"

"Yeah… I think. It was really fast."

"Where did it come from? And where did it go?"

She pointed a finger at the top of an oak, then hesitated, hand falling into her lap. "I didn't see where it went… it was too dark."

"Okay," I said soothingly.

"I'm not lying, Mom!"

"I know, sweetie. But we do like telling stories to each other…"

"I'm not, I swear!"

"Okay, okay…" I stood up. "Ready to go inside? Catch up on some TV?"

She stood reluctantly, eyes on the trees before she looked up at me.

"I know what I saw. I know what I saw, Mom! I'm serious!"

She was past reassurance, a tear sparkling on her dark lashes when we went inside. I wasn't surprised that she immediately disappeared into her room. With a little sadness and some humor, I told Mike about it. "She insists she saw something outside… something strange."

"Like what? What are you talking about?"

"Like a critter that flew."

"Probably a bat." He was turning the air conditioner to the coldest temperature, and the old machine roared even louder, rattling in the window.

I raised my voice, "She said 'I know what I saw, Mom'. I thought she was pranking me, making up one of our stories, but I don't think so now. She was really stubborn about it."

"Oh well," Mike shrugged. "Small flying critters don't sound too threatening. Maybe you'll never solve the mystery."

"I hope we do, for her sake. She's pretty frustrated."

And indeed, aside from a quick good night, we didn't see our girl again all evening.

I'd forgotten all about Paige's sighting of the night before as I moved through the next day, a typical mixture of work and errands, checking homework and fixing dinner. As I recall, it was a Friday, so tasks weren't as anxiously crammed into the evening.

Paige had had an after-school band practice, and I was watching out the front window for the late bus when the phone rang.

"Hey Dad," I said with a smile. Paige's Grandad, my stepfather, was devoted to the kids and indulgent in a way that was completely foreign to the grouch who'd raised us.

"Deb," his gruff voice greeted me. "How's everything? And everyone?"

My eyes were still on the street. "Fine—everyone's fine. I'm waiting for Paige now to get off the bus. It was her first band practice." I recalled her "I know what I saw" of the night before, and chuckled uneasily.

"Matter of fact, I think she's a little upset with me. She saw… something or other, in the yard last night. We were going to do some stories, but never did get around to it. She was so serious, but said it was flying something, with fur."

"How close was the damned thing for her see its coat? In the dark?"

"It flew right between two trees in the moonlight, Dad. Or so I gathered."

"Well, what did it look like?"

"She said it looked like a bird, but it had fur. She was pretty adamant about the fur."

Dad was quiet for a moment.

"Flying squirrel," he said.

"What?"

"Southern Flying squirrel. You've got 'em in the Pine Barrens. Little fellas, big eyes, furry tails. They don't really fly, they glide. Tree to tree."

I was silent.

"Deb? You still there?"

"Yeah. I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"About how absolutely certain I was that Paige was making something up."

"Well," he said, "there's a first time for everything."

I could hear the grin in his voice.

We talked a few more minutes, and I hung up just as the bus lumbered to a stop outside.

Paige came through the door carrying her book bag and flute case, looking hot, tired and still just a little offended by the previous evening's events.

"Paige," I said. "I owe you an apology."

She regarded me suspiciously.

"Grandad says you saw a flying squirrel."

"A WHAT?"

I explained what he'd told me, about the furry little creatures that lived in the woods and sailed through the darkness on folds of skin stretched between their legs.

Her expression changed as I talked. First astonishment, then delight, and finally something that looked suspiciously like triumph.

"I TOLD YOU!"

"You did, honey. You absolutely did."

"And you didn't believe me!"

"No," I admitted. "I didn't."

She thought about that for a moment, enjoying her victory.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time I tell you I saw something, will you believe me?"

I promised I would.

And I meant it.

Almost thirty years have passed since that sticky September night. I don't remember what we had for dinner, or what was on television, or even whether Paige ever saw another flying squirrel.

But I remember her face when she realized she'd been right all along.

And I remember something else.

That night, after everyone was in bed, I stepped outside for a moment.

The air was still thick and warm. The moon hung between the pin oaks, and the woods beyond the yard were as dark as ever.

Something rustled overhead.

I looked up.

Nothing.

Then, somewhere in the darkness, something moved from one tree to another. Too quickly for me to make out its shape.

Probably a flying squirrel.

I went inside.

After all, I'd promised Paige I'd believe her.

I hadn't promised I'd be brave about it.