The Meaning of Birds

by Jaye Robin Brown

  “Oui, mademoiselle, je parle français.”

  And . . . words gone. This totally cute girl, who’d pulled me, BY THE HAND, to this table and fed me creamy potato goodness, just spoke to me IN French. Hot did not even begin to describe it.

  Vivi paused, laughter in her eyes, then leaned closer with a whisper not whisper. “You’re really cute when you’re nervous, you know.”

  This was ridiculous. It was time to pull it together.

  “I’m not nervous,” I squeaked out, my mind circling around the words, you’re really cute.

  She laughed so hard she spit out some of her casserole. “Right,” she said once she quit laughing. “Why are you nervous, by the way?”

  She was toying with me and I knew it, but I couldn’t tell if she was flirting or messing with me. I looked around. Maybe someone was filming this and it was all a colossal joke to be made viral before the bell rang. Sort of a let’s see how nervous we can make the queer girl or, remember how Jess Perez used to be in middle school? Maybe we can do something to make her break her focus. But, we were all alone.

  This was it. My moment to branch out. Because even if she wasn’t into girls, it would be nice to expand beyond Cheyanne, especially since I never saw her anymore.

  “Have you ever been to Stan’s?” I looked into Vivi’s eyes, then looked away. It had been a year and two really bad attempts at crush confessions since I’d felt this conflicted over a girl.

  “You’re avoiding my question, but okay. Who’s he?”

  This made me laugh. “Not a he. A place. Stan’s Diner. Pretty much everyone from Grady hangs out there on the weekends after games and stuff.” Which I guess was true, but I only went there because it was right behind my house and usually only after school for shakes or on Sundays for breakfast with Mom, but that’s what Nina had told me anyway.

  “Oh. No, I haven’t. We just moved here over the summer from Raleigh.”

  That explained why Cheyanne hadn’t known who I was talking about when I’d mentioned this cool girl named Vivi who was also into vintage style.

  “Do you want to go?”

  Vivi threw a piece of potato to a small sparrow pecking around in the dirt near the base of the tree. “Where? Back to Raleigh?”

  Ugh. She was not making this easy.

  “No, to Stan’s.”

  “Oh.” She watched the bird peck at her offering. “I mean, I guess, one day. If that’s what people do.”

  The term headdesk came to mind.

  Then she glanced up at me and I saw the trickster in her expression.

  “Ugh.” I said it out loud this time and brought my palm to my forehead.

  “Are you asking me on a date?” Vivi drew the sentence out, adding a singsong lilt to her voice.

  This was a live or die kind of moment. Would she kill me with rejection or would this be the moment I’d been dreaming of?

  She giggled and spared me from answering. “I mean, I kind of got the feeling that maybe you wanted to, and if you did, I would probably say yes.”

  I sat up a little straighter. “Probably?”

  “You have to try first.”

  I looked around again for the hidden cameras but there was nothing and Vivi sat there, a grin playing on her lips and her eyes waiting. I ran my hand through the long part of my hair and worked up the nerve to spit it out. Finally, I went for it.

  “I was wondering, do you want to come hang out with me and my best friend, Cheyanne, who you should really meet, and then, you and me we can go to Stan’s and get like milkshakes, or burgers, or whatever you want, and it’d be extra cool if it was a date but it’s okay if you don’t want it to be either because you know, I get it that you might not be into girls or whatever and I don’t want to freak you out, you’re just a really good math partner and I like hanging out with you and—”

  She cut me off. “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, I’ll go with you to meet your friend and to get a milkshake. And yes I like girls. And yes . . .” She finally seemed as flustered as me judging by the way she shifted her hands under her legs, then back out, then back under again. “It can be a date.”

  I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face for the rest of the day.

  7

  Now: One Week, One Day After (Night)

  It wasn’t so long ago that the prospect of hanging out with my friends would have been the highlight of my day. But now . . . life feels pointless. I pull on layers anyway, a T-shirt, a flannel, a hoodie. It may only be early October but there’s a chill in the night air. Unusual for the Piedmont at this time of year. In my pocket, I stuff my phone, a ten-dollar bill, and my dad’s old Case pocketknife.

  “I’m going out, Mom.”

  “Should I worry, Jess?” She stands and walks to me, then runs both hands back from my forehead to the crown of my head. “Your hair’s getting kind of long on top. Bieberish. I like it.” Then she rubs the buzz cut sides. “And I like these, too.”

  “So does . . .” I trail off, the unspoken Vivi hanging on my breath. It doesn’t feel right to say did, the past tense, as if she’s gone, but she is, isn’t she? I move out from under my mother’s hand. “I’m meeting Cheyanne and Levi. At the tracks.”

  “Not too late. It’s a school night. And please, be careful. If you’re not home by curfew I’m sending Nina after you.”

  I grimace. My mother knows the fastest way to annoy me. A quick hug and I’m out the door. Outside the night is cool, the sky lit up by the strip mall that backs up to our street full of tiny brick ranch houses, mostly rentals like ours. I shove my hands into my hoodie’s pocket and walk down the sidewalk, glancing occasionally into brightly lit windows to see televisions flickering and families living. At the end of the three-block street, Cheyanne’s car is waiting. She sees me and cuts the engine, unlocking her doors and getting out. We clamber over the dead-end’s guardrail and walk a well-worn path through the woods. Freedom. Given how strict Cheyanne’s parents are, it’s something of a minor miracle she manages to sneak out so frequently.

  “Where are you tonight?”

  “Practicing with the quartet.” Cheyanne slings an arm over my shoulder. “My parents are so proud of my civic involvement and my desire to further my musical aspirations.”

  “How you never get caught at any of your shenanigans is beyond me.”

  “They care, yet they don’t care. And I’m very careful and never do anything stupid like forget my phone or tell my brothers. Besides, my string quartet knows I’m in high school and sometimes I have to call and bail for extra study time. They’re very understanding.”

  “Is that what we’re doing tonight? Studying?”

  Cheyanne fishes in the pocket of her long tweed coat that makes it look like she walked through the door of some British country manor, and pulls out a bottle of vanilla vodka.

  “Whoa, Chen. That’s unlike you.”

  “Having my friend, but more importantly, your girlfriend, up and die from the flu, before flu season, calls for extreme measures.”

  “It was her asthma. Complicated by a flu-like illness.” For some reason, it’s important for me to say it out loud, that by verbalizing it, I’ll understand.

  “Right. The result is sadly the same and requires numbing. Somebody gave this to my dad and it was buried in a liquor cabinet they rarely even open. Believe me, they won’t know it’s gone.” She untwists the cap and hands the bottle to me.

  I tip it to my lips and let it scald on the way down. A cough follows. “That is nothing like a vanilla latte.”

  “Would you prefer we go to Starbucks?” She gives me the classic head tilt and evil bitch stare.

  “No. This’ll do. Numb might be nice.”

  “That’s the way.” Cheyanne nods in approval. “Come on, let’s go dangle.”

  We walk to the railroad bridge. The vodka soaks into my bones and a lovely numbing sets in. Cheyanne leads the way out onto the concrete ledge, just wide enough that the rare train will
still set my heart racing even though I know I’m safe. Below us cars drive, their headlights bouncing off graffiti as we sit with our legs hanging in space.

  “You brought her here that first day.”

  “Yep.” Vodka gallops down my throat and I know tomorrow’s gonna hurt.

  “I hated her then.” Cheyanne has said this before.

  “You could have been my girlfriend. You had the option. I asked that one night in eighth grade.” Though it’s true I asked, it’s not true we would have successfully dated. Though Chey’s never labeled herself, my guess is she’s aromantic, maybe even asexual. She has no interest in anything other than friend outings and never talks about wanting to hook up with anyone. Take Levi for example. He’s been smitten with her since she sat her string bass down next to his but it’s been a solid no-go on the romantic front. I’m such a hopeless romantic it’s hard for me to understand, but then I guess it’s hard for some people to understand girls being attracted to girls.

  Cheyanne blows out a huffy breath. It’s quickly followed by a whistle coming from the dark on the opposite side of the crossing.

  “Your boyfriend’s here.” I nudge her in the side knowing I’m pushing her buttons and about to get a lecture. A figure emerges onto the tracks.

  “How many times do I have to explain that I have no interest in having a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.” I know I irritate her, but I like Levi. And I like Cheyanne. And it’s my natural tendency to play matchmaker even when I know I shouldn’t. Except . . . the blade of my grief presses in . . . I don’t want them to ever feel like I’m feeling now.

  “Too many. Sorry for the disrespect.”

  Cheyanne flicks my thigh to both scold and accept my apology.

  Levi bypasses Cheyanne and comes to sit on the other side of me. I lean my head on his shoulder. “Thanks for coming out tonight.” I hand him the bottle.

  He wraps both arms around me and side hugs before taking my offering. “This is some shit, huh.”

  “Shit sure enough.” I pull out of his arms. “Can we go somewhere else? Tracks are making me sad. Too much Vivi.”

  “Like where?” Cheyanne takes the bottle from Levi after he swigs, but only to put the cap back on. Part of her never getting caught where she’s not supposed to be, is never drinking and driving.

  I bounce on the balls of my feet. “Somewhere dark that doesn’t check IDs, or, I don’t know, let’s just walk. Get more booze. Break stuff.”

  The overpass takes on the slightest vibration.

  “Train,” Levi says. “Let’s go before it gets here. I’ve got the place.” He leads in the direction he came from and we follow, hands out to our sides like we’re balancing on a tightrope. We’re an unlikely crew, the dyke, the fierce California girl, and the Southern gentleman, but for some reason it works. We follow each other in a line and slide down the wooded slope and step through the busted chain-link fence on the west side of the overpass.

  “More vodka for the grieving one,” Cheyanne says.

  Levi nods. “That would be all of us then.” He motions for us to cut through behind a Laundromat and down an alley between a tropical fish store and a used furniture place. We skirt over a block and stop outside of a gas station liquor store where Levi gives a homeless guy in the shadows money for two fifths.

  “One for us. One for you,” he says.

  “You got it, boss.” The homeless guy is back out in a flash and hands over one of two paper bags in the shadows next to the building. “Appreciate it, boss.”

  Levi gives him another five dollars. “Get some food, too.”

  He’s always been a good guy that way.

  I think briefly about my mom and how she’d maybe have the tiniest bit of freak-out if she knew we were over here, threading into the sketchier neighborhoods, on a ten-cent school night bender. But the vodka is killing the pain and the motion is keeping me in the now and that’s good enough to forget the rest.

  “Here.” Levi slips behind a dilapidated wooden fence. Junked cars stretch out for several lots. The only sound is traffic. He picks up a rock and hands it to me.

  “Won’t someone hear us?” Cheyanne asks.

  “Folks around here don’t budge for gunshots. A little broken glass won’t matter.”

  The weight of rock in my hand is soothing—something about the press of metamorphic layers—and I wonder if I have the strength to crush them. The rage of loss and the fury of alcohol build inside of me and before either Levi or Cheyanne are ready for it, I let the rock sail straight into the back window of a battered minivan. A dog barks somewhere in the night.

  I pick up another rock from the ground and throw.

  I hold out my hand and Levi hands me another. I throw and throw and throw. Minutes, an hour, time stands still as I lose myself in the crash of hard rock against brittle glass. I only stop when the minivan’s rear window is totally shattered.

  My arms drop as I stare at the loss of reflection. “I’m hungry now.”

  Cheyanne holds out the bottle and I shake my head. The breaking glass cleared my mind and I want to keep it that way for a moment.

  Without consultation, we turn and head back the way we came. We recross the tracks and head for the bright lights of Stan’s Diner.

  8

  Then: A Rare Bird

  “You invited a stranger to the tracks and Stan’s? The tracks are our place. Best friend lair. Not some random crush-of-the-day.” Cheyanne was riding the bus home with me after school. I’d hoped she’d help my nerves and lacking fashion sense, but instead she was giving me grief.

  “She’s not a random crush-of-the-day. I like her.”

  “Oh, come on. What are the chances that the minute you don’t have me in class, you’d meet someone special?”

  The way she said it was super condescending, like I was pathetic without her. The barely beginning of a prickle under my skin was the first tell of a trigger so I took a deep breath in, then out. My hand opened and closed. Cheyanne, however rude in this moment, didn’t need me going ballistic on her. She was a true friend, aware that I occasionally lost it, not judging me for it, which made it extra important I maintain my calm in this moment.

  But I was super tense and badly wanted to blow. I took an extra deep breath and on the exhale pleaded, “Chey. Do I have to repeat myself? I like her, like her.”

  She rolled her eyes and shifted away from me, mumbling something about how she could have stayed home and practiced her string quartet piece if she’d known she’d be tossed to the side so easily and something else about people always wanting to hook up and how I was like the rest of the cattle.

  That’s when it hit me. “You’re jealous.”

  She whipped around and one of her braids whacked me in the cheek. “I am not.”

  “I don’t mean in that way. You’re friendship jealous. You’ve had me all to yourself for years now. Can I remind you about your band friends, your quartet, your favorite cousin in Mission Hill, and Stacey from the vintage store?”

  She crossed her arms and planted her feet against the back of the bus seat in front of her.

  I was right. I poked her in the side. “Aw, c’mon, Chey. You’re going to like her. She’s not like the rest of the cattle.” Throwing her words back at her earned me a slight harrumph and a softening of her arms.

  “Please,” I said. “Give her a chance.”

  Vivi’s parents were scheduled to drop her off at my house around seven. I bounced next to the front door, watching out the window. Nina was home from classes and she and Cheyanne made peanut gallery comments from the couch.

  “Oooh, look who has a crush.” This from my sister.

  “What happens when she finds out you beat up Beau Flaherty in the seventh grade?”

  I flipped the bird at Chey over my shoulder. But I did wonder. Beau Flaherty was that kid who always smiled and everyone loved and was president of the student council now and for some reason I can’t even remember, I’d made him the target of my outbursts. As
a result, I wasn’t really the most likable person in school. Right now, Vivi only knew the part of me working with her in math class and the part of me that blushed furiously any time she was around. What would happen when she really knew me? I’d learned to manage my anger issues, and Samantha assured me maturation and distance from triggering events would eventually move me away from anger responses, but how would I be in a girlfriend relationship?

  My deep thought time limit expired as a gray SUV pulled up in front of the house. I stepped out onto the small cement square that served as our stoop and waved. Vivi was dressed to impress in an off-the-shoulder orange shirt, denim shorts, and harlequin-patterned leggings, finished off with kneesocks and her all-the-time Doc Martens.

  Cheyanne appeared next to me. “That’s your type now?”

  There was no time to find out what she meant and why the tone, because Vivi waved goodbye to her parents and then practically bounded across the yard. “Oh my gosh, did you see the black-throated blue warbler on your neighbor’s tree?”

  By now, I was used to Vivi’s bird obsession from class, but it was brand-new to Cheyanne, who was already in a mood and prepared for BFF battle. “The what?”

  Vivi’s usual cheeriness didn’t dampen. “The little blue bird. Over there.” She pointed and we looked but whatever had been there was gone because her expression of joy faded. “Oh, I guess you missed it.” Then she recovered. “But wow! What a sighting. They leave this time of year to fly south and we were in its proximity.” She smiled and held out her hand to Chey. “Hi, I’m Vivi. Jess has told me so much about you. I love your Chloé Rouge jacket.”

  There was a slight tic at the corner of Cheyanne’s lip that told me she was impressed at Vivi’s brand dropping but that was all the ground she gave her. “Funny. I only heard about you today.”