A green square popped up and hovered at Cherry’s shoulder like a good idea: SEARCH.
“But first, our top story,” said Cherry. “Tonight an intensive search continues for five local high school students and their teacher reported missing in the Smoky Mountain National Park. Park authorities were alerted early this morning after a Yancey County resident found a sixth student near Route 441. The student was admitted to a local hospital for exposure and was released in stable condition earlier this evening. The Sluder County Sheriff says the group entered the park Friday afternoon, expecting to camp for the weekend, but later became lost. Rain, wind and heavy cloud cover have decreased visibility for the rescue squads. But with temperatures staying well above freezing, Park rangers and Sluder County Police stay optimistic the others will be rescued without injury. Our hearts go out to all the families and everyone involved in the search.”
Cherry glanced down at the blank piece of paper on the plastic blue desk. She looked up again.
“People are horsing around at the Western North Carolina Farm Center with the arrival of a brand new pony.”
“But this is no ordinary horse, of course, of course,” piped Norvel. “Mackenzie is a Falabella Miniature Horse standing a little over two feet tall. Curators say the pony originates from Argentina and is one of the rarest breeds in the world. You can go see Little Mac for yourself at the petting corral.”
“It happens every year,” said Cherry, “and its success depends on you.”
“Later,” said Norvel, “details on Operation Blood Drive.”
By the following morning, Sunday, my fly-by-night infatuation had congealed into obsession. And it wasn’t just the news I was anticipating, yet still had not heard — that rescue teams had at last found them, that Hannah was alive and safe, that Fear (renowned for its hallucinogenic qualities) had conjured everything I’d heard and seen. There was something undeniably gripping about Cherry and Norvel (Chernobyl, I called them), a quality that forced me to withstand six hours of talk shows (one theme of significance, “From Frog to Prince: Extreme Male Makeovers”) and cleaning commercials featuring housewives with too many stains, kids and not enough time, to catch their second segment together, Your Stockton Power Lunch at 12:30. A wide and triumphant smile elbowed through Cherry’s face when she announced she was the sole anchor this afternoon.
“We’re power lunching today with breaking news,” she said, frowning as she arranged the blank papers in front of her, though visibly thrilled to preside over the entire blue desk, rather than merely the right-hand side. The white piping of her navy suit, edging around her shoulders, patch pockets and cuffs, delineated her petite frame like white lines marking sudden swerves of an unlit road. She blinked at the screen and looked grave. “A Carlton County woman was found dead this afternoon by rescue workers searching the Smoky Mountain National Park. This is the latest development in the search for five local high school students and a teacher that began yesterday. News 13’s Stan Stitwell is live at the rescue center. Stan, what are the police saying?”
Stan Stitwell appeared, standing in a parking lot, an ambulance parked behind him. If Stan Stitwell had been wine, he wouldn’t be robust or full bodied. Stan would be fruity, acidic, with a hint of cherry. Limp brown hair hung into his forehead like wet shoelaces.
“Cherry, Sluder County Police have not yet made a statement, but we hear they’ve positively identified the body to be that of Hannah Louise Schneider, a forty-four-year-old teacher at the St. Gallway School, the well-known private school in West Stockton. Park personnel had been searching for her and the five other students for over twenty-four hours now. Authorities haven’t yet told us what condition the body was in, but minutes ago, detectives arrived on the scene to determine if there was foul play.”
“And the five students, Stan. What’s the latest on them?”
“Well, despite the bad conditions out here, rain, wind, heavy fog, the search continues. An hour ago rescue teams managed to get a National Guard helicopter into the air, but they had to bring it back due to bad visibility. But, still, in the past two hours or so, at least twenty-five more civilians have joined the volunteer search effort. And as you can see here behind me, the Red Cross and a medical team from the University of Tennessee have set up operations for food and aiding injuries. Everyone’s doing what they can to make sure the kids get home safe.”
“Thank you, Stan,” said Cherry. “And News 13 will continue to keep you updated as the story unfolds.”
She glanced down at a blank piece of paper on her desk. She looked up again.
“Up next, it’s the little things in life you take for granted. Today, as part of our ‘Wellness’ series, we’ll show you a lot of time and money goes into designing that little thing your dentist wants you to use twice a day. News 13’s Mary Grubb has the story of the toothbrush.”
I watched the rest of the news, but there was no further mention of the camping trip. I found myself noticing all the Little Things about Cherry: her eyes scurrying across the teleprompter, the way her facial expressions morphed between the Look of Restrained Dismay (salon heist), the Look of Deep-seated Sorrow (infant dead in apartment fire), the Look of Quiet Community Consciousness (battle revs up between motocross riders and trailer-owners in Marengo) with the ease of trying on slips in a dressing room. (Staring at the blank papers in front of her seemed to be the switch that prompted this mechanical expression-wipe, similar to shaking an Etch A Sketch.)
And the next morning, Monday, when I dragged myself out of bed at 6:30 to catch “Waking You Up in the Morning!” I observed the maniacal way Cherry unilaterally leeched all attention from Norvel, rendering him an appendix, a hubcap, an extra packet of salt one misses at the bottom of a bag of fast food. Norvel, if one visualized him with a full head of sandy hair, had probably once been competent, perhaps even commanding in his news delivery, but like a Dresden church with Byzantine architecture on the eve of February 13, 1945, he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Paired with Cherry, prey to her Ways to Upstage by Way of Large Plastic Earrings, her Modes of Stealing Thunder Via the Application of More Eye Makeup than a Drag Queen, not to mention the Art of the Indirect Castration (i.e., “Speaking of toddlers, Norvel has the story of a new Montessori day care center opening up in Yancey County.”) — it had left him in ruins. He spoke his allotted portion of the broadcast (forgettable stories about mayoral appearances and farm animals) in the uncertain, rickety voice of a woman on a diet of pineapples and cottage cheese, her spine emerging from her back like a banister when she bent over.
I knew she was bad news, that it wasn’t the most wholesome of affairs.
I just couldn’t help myself.
“Five local high school students were found alive this morning by rescue personnel in the Great Smoky Mountains following an intensive two-day search,” said Cherry. “This is the latest development in the story after the body of their teacher, Hannah Louise Schneider, was recovered yesterday. We’re live outside the Sluder County Hospital with News 13’s Stan Stitwell. Stan, what can you tell us?”
“Cherry, there were cheers and tears here as Park rescue squads brought to safety the five high school seniors missing since Saturday. The heavy fog and showers tapered off early this morning and K-9 rescue dogs were able to track the students from a popular Park campsite known as Sugartop Summit to another section more than twelve miles away. Police say the kids had become separated from Hannah Schneider and the sixth student found on Saturday. They tried to locate a path out of the park but became lost. One of the male students is allegedly suffering from a broken leg. Otherwise, they’re all confirmed in stable condition. A half hour ago they were admitted to the Emergency Room, which you can see just behind me. They’re being treated for cuts and scrapes and other minor injuries.”