By Lance Colet
At the fake forest, in the zoo, they called him Bruno. Bruno the Brown Bear. That was many years ago, though. The zoo had run into financial difficulties and had to let him, and many other animals, go. He was in the real forest now, back where he belonged.
Bruno liked the fall here. He liked the way the cold breeze rustled his fur, the way fiery-orange leaves—cool with the promise of winter—crinkled and crunched under paw. Sniffing the air, he liked the crisp, sharp smells of sycamore and oak. A jolt of alertness with every breath.
Meandering around, he caused great commotion throughout the forest. Squirrels scattered and scurried up trees when he lumbered by searching for a spot to nap. Birds took to the sky when he scratched his back against the trunks of their trees and shook their world.
It made him sad. At least at the zoo he was liked.
Today, it was cold enough that a light spattering of snow had sprinkled down to the forest floor, forming a spotty white canvas. Bruno frowned. The sun had only just begun to rise, but there was a foreign smell in the air. Human. He hung his head and his strides became gloomily slow. The humans were always the most afraid of him. Sometimes their limbs turned to wood, and they remained rooted in place, wide-eyed and silent until he left out of boredom. Other times they would scream “Bear!” and run away faster than he thought them capable of.
Still, Bruno followed the scent. He knew it wouldn’t lead to a companion, but nonetheless, humans were a rarity in these woods, and rarities were intriguing. Perhaps he had just been unlucky so far and had only met the bad apples that wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe this one would be a friend.
Bruno pursued the scent, his pace picking up to a leisurely padding between the trees and strings of hope lifting the corners of his frown. What a nice thought, that this human could be a friend.
He found her in a treeless clearing. She had a lined face and frazzled gray hair, an oversized plaid jacket, and a big blue backpack slumped on the ground beside her. She was sitting on a fallen log, a book spread out on her lap, eating some sweet, salty, smoky-smelling combination of peanut butter and honey stuck between two fluffy pieces of bread.
Bruno paused at the edge of the clearing, a safe distance away, and sat on his haunches and crossed his paws. Engrossed in her book, she never looked up.
So he waited, watching intently.
She was still reading after her sandwich had long since been eaten and the sun had grown in confidence, now looming proudly in the sky, golden-white light spilling through the branches and the dying leaves that still clung to them. The air was brightly lit and frigid. She was exhaling misty clouds of cold air and shivering slightly. Bruno wondered how similar that big jacket of hers was to fur. Not very.
Finally, she looked up, seemingly finished with the book. Tired but kind eyes met Bruno’s and lit up with surprise. Bruno didn’t move, not wanting to startle her. He had been patient for this long.
“How long have you been there?” she asked, her voice lilting and curious.
She had said something that Bruno didn’t understand. He closed his eyes and remained still as stone. Was she startled? Had he spooked her?
“Oh, did I say something wrong?”
He looked again. She was still there and making sounds. An amused smile had crept across her face.
“Come here, I don’t bite.”
She was beckoning him forward. Bruno furrowed his brow and scratched his head, backing up now. If he entered the clearing she would freeze up or run, but from here she seemed unafraid. The distance was a balancing act, taut with tension as if any more weight put on the encounter would crinkle it like a fallen leaf. Bruno did not move forward and risk ruining it.
She sighed. “Am I really that scary?” Her hands reached into the big blue backpack on the ground, and Bruno scrambled backward. One time, when he had tried to approach a human, they hadn’t run or frozen up. They pulled out a can from their bag and out came a hiss and a spray of pepper. Bruno hadn’t expected the attack, and the fiery mist assailed his eyes. That was the last time he had roared. It hadn’t been a roar of anger, more like a mournful howl. And of course, when his vision returned, the assailant had fled the scene.
But this one didn’t pull out the evil can. She pulled out a jar of peanut butter. Bruno paused his retreat. Next, she reached in and withdrew a small golden bear filled halfway with honey. The furrowed expression on the golden bear’s face made Bruno hum in amusement—it looked like it was trying to smile, but was fuming deep down for being used as a vessel for sweetness. With the peanut butter and honey set beside the woman, on the log, she withdrew some squished pieces of bread and a dull plastic knife, beginning by spreading layers of the smooth peanut butter across the two slices. Then, the golden bear farted and honey was drizzled from its noggin onto the sandwich. The lady nestled the two slices together, smushing peanut butter and honey in the middle, then set down the square in front of her and crossed her legs patiently.
It looked like a tasty sandwich. Bruno was confused as to why she wasn’t eating it. Another silence ensued.
“It’s for you, silly. Stop being so shy.” She pushed the sandwich farther away from her, towards him. The white bread looked soft and fluffy, the peanut butter-rich and creamy, the honey oozing out and glistening in the sunlight.
Bruno put one paw into the clearing. A leaf crinkled underneath and he cringed, waiting for her to run away. If she did, perhaps she would at least leave the sandwich.
But she remained. As did the sandwich. So Bruno took another step. And another. More leaves crinkled under paw as he went. Soon he was a leap away from the sandwich. He paused again.
She gestured. “Go ahead. I shouldn’t be eating all this junk myself anyway, bad for my blood sugar, you know?” Then she laughed, and it quickly turned into a ragged cough. Once she recovered, she managed a soft, “Not that it would matter anyway.”
Without the allure of the sandwich, Bruno might have retreated at the human’s cough. He had never heard the raw and throaty sound; it frightened him. But overpowering the fear were the scents. The nutty aroma of peanut butter mixed with the sweet smell of the golden bear’s honey pulled him in until he was looking down on the sandwich, only a couple of feet away from the stump where she sat.
Bruno looked up at her. She nodded, amusement lively in her eyes, and so he scooped up the small sandwich in one paw and ate it whole.
It melted in his mouth. Fluffy bread cushioning his tongue and letting the nutty-oily flavor of peanut butter mingle with the floral sweetness of the honey. When he swallowed, peanut butter and honey stuck to the roof of his mouth. He sprawled out belly-up on the forest floor with a grunt of satisfaction, looking up at the sunlight filtering through the trees while his tongue licked lazily at the remnants of wonder.
“That’s my favorite combo, you know? Peanut butter and honey. Always has been.” Her voice was closer now, Bruno lolled his head lazily to the right. She was belly-up on the ground now too, staring up at the same sparse-leafed forest ceiling.
She sat up and turned to sit facing Bruno, snow and dying orange leaves clung to her hair. “I’m Amy.”
Bruno stared blankly, still smiling at the lingering taste of the sandwich.
“Amy,” she said, jabbing two thumbs at herself. “Amy.”
Bruno rolled over too now and sat up. That gesture was familiar; it meant name. The only other human name he knew was Master from the zoo.
Bruno tried to say Amy, but it came out as a two-syllable grunt.
“Yup.” Amy laughed again. “Close enough.”
He was staring longingly at the big blue backpack. Amy seemed to notice and leaned over to once again withdraw the jar of peanut butter and the golden honey bear and the plastic wrap with two more slices of bread left. “Sure. Hungry today, are we?”
Bruno watched her hands as she worked, expertly wielding the white plastic knife in putting together the sandwich. She talked as she worked. “It’s nice, sharing my sandwiches. I wish I had shared more, you know? Wish I had given more to my friends and family. I guess I thought relationships were just a waste of time, but they’re wired into us humans. We’re meant to be social creatures, you know? But I sacrificed relationships for success. And now look at me, not even having anyone to burden with my bad news.”
She paused to hand Bruno his sandwich. He took it appreciatively in his two great paws. “And, you know, it feels good to do what we’re wired to do. It’s a little late for me to learn that now, but,” she shrugged “better late than never.”
Bruno attempted to savor the sandwich this time, trying for three bites, but after the first bite, there was once again no sandwich and the lingering stickiness of peanut butter and honey-coated the roof of his mouth. Soon, he was looking at the big blue backpack again.
“Sorry.” Amy looked sad. It made Bruno sad. “No more bread. If I had the time I would come back with a truckload of sandwiches for you. But, you know, time isn’t really on my side. The doctors call it advanced heart disease with a heaping side of ‘we dunno why it got this bad this fast.’”
Bruno nodded thoughtfully. She had made a lot of incomprehensible sounds, but he did
understand one. Heart. Long ago, the zoo had a Hearts for Bruno day because apparently his mother had died. His mother hadn’t actually died—just an old bear named Buttons—but pity brings in revenue, so it was decided that Buttons was Bruno’s mother and Hearts for Bruno day was a way for zoo goers to show Bruno that he was supported. Bruno didn’t understand any of this, of course, but he had learned to associate heart with the outpouring of love and support from hundreds of people beyond his cage—warm smiles and waves and kind eyes. It was a nice, fuzzy feeling, but the cage had dulled it.
Now, when Amy said heart, he felt that same outpouring of love and support from her. Without a cage between them, Bruno padded over and licked her, smearing the rest of the honey and peanut butter across the side of her face and matting the tasty goop into her hair. Amy laughed, Bruno did too, his tongue lolling and panting.
Remembering the original gesture that Amy had used on him, Bruno beckoned for Amy to follow him. An idea was forming, he knew exactly the thing to dispel the sadness from her eyes and repay her for the two sandwiches.
So he took off bounding through the forest, heavy strides scattering leaves and squirrels and birds alike. The leafy rustle of his excited hustle shattering the quiet of midday. Filled with childlike vigor, Amy snatched and zipped her bag before taking off after him. But, after a minute of Bruno darting between trees with deceptive agility, he came to a halt. He looked back. Amy was leaning against a tree, eyes distant, swaying precariously. Bruno began to make his way back to her. She shook her head. Even through the oversized jacket, Bruno could see her whole body shaking. She made a horrible choking sound, then vomited violently at the base of the tree, muddying the crisp orange and white floor with a waterfall of chunky green vomit laced with blood. When she finished, she gave a wavering smile and a weak thumbs up. Bruno smiled back, giving his best attempt at a thumbs up, then he continued on. He had once thrown up after eating bad honey from a hive he had found. Vomiting had made him feel much better, but Amy still seemed shaken so he went slower now, padding alongside her and steering her in the right direction, letting her stroke his fur as they walked.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice quivering. “I used to run a lot, you know? I ran all the way up to my diagnosis. Then I had to start walking. It was still nice to get some fresh air, though.”
Soon, another sound was audible over the crunching of their footsteps and the intermediate songs of birds. The hum of moving water.
“Pretty,” Amy said as the trees became sparse and gave way to a gentle river. White comet trails parted around glistening rocks jutting up from the water. The cold air sharpened the river’s fishy smell.
Bruno led Amy to the river bank. He leaned forward, sniffing, scanning the river. A glimmer of silver flickered at the edge of his vision. In one swift motion, his paw slapped through the surface, frigid water shocking through his fur. In his paw, he felt the salmon squirm, then get free. Bruno barreled forward into the river with his maw agape, fully engulfing himself in the exhilarating cold. Muffled by the barrier of water between them, he heard Amy’s laugh as the icy splash sprinkled her.
Underwater, his jaws sunk into the salmon’s tender flesh. The fish’s oils and blood filling his mouth tasted fresh and raw. He surfaced with the dead salmon flopping from an ear-to-ear grin and paddled back towards Amy.
“Impressive,” she said, smiling back and rubbing his head, sending droplets of water in all directions. Then she laughed again. “Look at you, so happy just being a bear. Doing what bears do, you know? I wish I’d met you thirty years ago.”
Bruno dropped the salmon onto the wet grass and slid it towards her feet with a slippery
squishing sound. She picked it up, wet blood staining the cuffs of her jacket. “What am I supposed to do with this, silly? You know I have to cook it right?”
Bruno sat on his haunches, patiently watching, not understanding. “Think fast—” Amy flipped the fish high into the air, red rain coming down in an arc as it reached its peak then came falling down towards Bruno. He leaned backward, catching the salmon in his mouth and falling onto his back with his feet in the air. He let his momentum carry him into a roll, tumbling away, and after one rotation he once again sat on his behind with his stubby legs out facing Amy. He had already swallowed the salmon.
Amy laughed and closed the gap between them, collapsing against his flank, facing the river. Bruno tried to say heart. It came out as a satisfied mhmm. Amy gave a comic “mhmm” back and—despite its soaked state—snuggled up to his fur. They sat for a while, watching the river’s leisurely flow. There were more glimmers of salmon in the water, but Bruno remained still. He was full now, in more ways than one.
“Time flies, you know?” Amy said, hours later. Bruno nodded. He didn’t understand what she had said, but he was thinking the same. The sun had dipped below the treeline, the world aglow in an orange filter. He yawned. She yawned too, then put her hand up to her mouth and coughed. There was glistening red blood on her palm when her hand came away. Bruno wondered why it hadn’t dried yet, their salmon dinner was hours ago.
“It’s cold,” Amy mumbled. “Really cold, you know?” She huddled against Bruno and his now dry fur, he could feel her body shivering. Sometimes, he shivered too. When it got cold and time for hibernation. Amy didn’t have fur of her own to keep her warm, maybe it was time for her to hibernate.
His cave was nearby. He grunted and got up. Amy slumped down and hit the ground with a thud and a poof of snow. Concerned, Bruno prodded her with a paw. She didn’t move. He licked her, warm, slobbery drool melting the snow away from her face. She stirred.
“I’m cold,” she said and began shivering again.
Bruno knelt and scooped her up gently. Standing on two legs, he paused a moment to get his balance, then began an awkward bipedal shamble down the river towards his cave.
Walking on two legs was a slow, swaying process. The sun was almost gone now, the orange world-glow had faded into a dark and dead grey one, and it had begun to snow. The first snowflake landed in Amy’s hair; Bruno craned his neck upwards. They were floating down in droves, a procession of miniature white angels—small by themselves but conglomerating into thick clumps of snow on the ground and in his fur. As he shambled along, Bruno hunched over to cover Amy as best he could. Soon, his brown fur had a soft coating of white over it.
His cave was up ahead. He entered, stooping low to avoid hitting his head, and gingerly placed Amy down in the back. Bruno shook the snow from his fur and lay down beside her, his back to the entrance of the cave, blocking the cold.
She slept in utter stillness. Bruno guessed that humans began their hibernations earlier in the year than bears. It didn’t matter though. He was tired and full. He could begin earlier than usual this year in order to wake with Amy in a few months. Bruno smiled at the thought. They would, together, catch the dawn of Spring.
Lance Colet is a member of Penn State’s class of 2023 and is majoring in economics with a minor in psychology. In his free time, he likes to mash words together until they form into passable stories. He can also juggle, which he thinks is an incredibly fun fact.