The Meaning of Birds

by Jaye Robin Brown

  “You guys are my crew today?” The woman’s voice is a normal voice, not the toughness I thought I’d hear; if anything it’s a soft contrast to the hard metal and hot coals surrounding her.

  Deuces nods. “Yeah. This is Jess, she’s new.”

  The woman takes off her leather glove and pushes the bill of her Cabinetworks ball cap up, then down. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  I shrug. “Bad I guess. But, whatever.”

  The woman looks me over and it’s like being naked under a microscope. Like she’s trying to figure out what I’m made of at a cellular level or something.

  Then the woman turns her attention to Deuces and the other anklet boy, whose name is James. “James. You and Matt can make the small hooks today since you know what you’re doing. Kid,” she addresses Deuces. “Why the hell did you wear those bright new shoes on Cabinetworks day? I don’t want your attitude. Tell Mac that Greer sent you back over into wood shop.”

  “They’re boss, boss.” He wiggles his foot at her. “But I’m cool with wood shop.”

  I suspect he wore them to get out of whatever it is I’m about to get stuck doing.

  “Just go.” She glares and points in the direction we came from, but I can tell she’s not really mad at him. He has that effect on people.

  Deuces high-fives me on his way out. “See you later, lady lover.”

  I flinch out of habit. You never know how people are going to react to the gay thing, but Deuces seems to have no qualms about outing me whenever he gets a chance.

  The woman, Greer, seems unconcerned by Deuces’s jab. “You. It’s Jess, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I straighten up. If there’s one thing my mother has pounded into my head, it’s the old-timey Southern value of ma’ams and sirs upon first meeting someone more than a decade your elder. My cousins in Texas laugh their asses off every time I say it to my grandfather, but he always grins and pats me on the knee, so I don’t stop.

  Greer scratches at her pulled-back hair. “Though I appreciate the courtesy, if you call me ma’am again I’m going to put your pretty head on the anvil and have a go at it. Just Greer. Hartman if you need a last name.”

  “Uh, okay.” Then, “Greer.” The other thing I’ve learned is some people get pretty touchy about it.

  “Follow me. I’m going to teach you some basics of the forge today. Let you get the feel for it, see if you can do it, and then we’ll go from there. Ever worked in a forge before?”

  “No, ma . . . Greer.”

  She sighs like this is the worst news she’s had today. But then she seems to get over it and smiles. “I hadn’t either when I was your age, but I like it. It’s good work.”

  “What do you make here?” I look around. It’s gritty yet organized. Tools in neat lines. Anvils mounted on massive tree stumps. Fires going under metal vents.

  “Hooks for coatracks and hall stands. Door pulls for cabinets. Part of the business’s marketing is the whole ‘all parts made in America’ thing. Pretty damned expensive stuff, but then, we do have free high school labor.” At this Greer winks and throws me a leather apron and a pair of gloves to match hers. “Put those on. I’ll walk you through making a coat hook.”

  She shows me to a rack with a bunch of pieces of metal on it. “Steel, eight-inch piece of three-sixteenth round.” She holds up a rod. “Tongs.” She grabs these oversized tweezer things, grips the metal rod with them, then hands them both to me. She leads me and my extended arm over to one of the fires. “Let that rod heat up till it’s red-hot.”

  The fire is sweltering and sweat beads at my hairline.

  “What’d you do to land in the clink with McGovern?” Greer moves my arm so the metal I’m holding lies deeper in the coals.

  “Fights.” For some reason, I feel the need to explain myself fully. “I, um, lost my girlfriend.”

  “Breakups suck, kid, but not worth fighting about.” Greer motions for me to move the red-hot piece of metal over to an anvil, then hands me a massive hammer.

  I lift the heavy tool, its weight grounding my arm.

  “Put it on the edge here, now hammer so that top bit is flat.” Greer points to the red tip of the piece of steel. “Whack the heck out of it. I want you to see how soft it’s gotten.”

  “The fight wasn’t over a breakup.” I’m not sure why it feels important to correct Greer, maybe because I don’t want her judging me like I’m just another wrong-track kid. “She died.” The words leave my mouth as the hammer falls onto the searing tip. The metal moves like butter under the weight of it. It seems impossible for something so solid to move so fast. Impossibly fast. Like how Vivi died.

  “Oh.” Greer’s mouth hangs open, as if she’s unsure what to say next. I hold the hammer in the air. Then—“Sorry, kid. Hit it again.”

  I hit it. And hit it again. And a fourth time. It feels surprisingly good.

  “Not bad. Now we reheat and repeat.”

  The boys are hammering on an anvil across the concrete pad but I stay focused in the circle of forge, Greer, anvil, hammer, forge. The red glow of the iron mesmerizes, then amazes as it becomes malleable.

  “You’re handy.”

  I swipe at a bit of bangs that threaten to get in my eye. “Handy?”

  “Yes. You have a knack. You listen to the metal. You sure you haven’t done this before?”

  I shake my head but swell up inside. Then tamp it down. Nothing should feel good. Not even compliments.

  “Sucks to be stuck in alternative school. Hard to get a leg up that way. But I’ll tell McGovern I want you on the forge from now on if it suits you. It’s hard to keep rotating these guys every week. They forget how to work the metal between shifts. Besides, it’d be nice to have female energy around. It’s testosterone heavy here at Cabinetworks and I could use some solidarity.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Then because I want her to understand I plan on doing my time and escaping McGovern, “I’m only here for a few weeks, so it’s probably not worth it for you.”

  “Well, that’s a drag. But leave the decision of what’s worthwhile up to me. Or at least let me have my little fantasy of teaching another woman a male-dominated trade. Who knows, a few more weeks of whacking iron and you may be begging me for an apprenticeship.”

  I smile, and surprise myself by thinking she could be right. Something about the power over what, at first glance, seemed so immovable. When I was hammering, I wasn’t thinking about anything other than the fluidity of my movement. It’s like time stood still and every memory, every spiraling thought, simply disappeared. It’s exactly what I need. A short circuit for grief. A channel for my rage.

  19

  Now: Two Weeks, Three Days After

  The rightness of working the forge has drained out of me the further I’ve gotten from it. It was a fluke and with a week down on my ISS sentence, how many times will I actually even get to go to Cabinetworks? Loneliness drives me to think about Cheyanne. I poked the worst bear of all by teasing her about Levi and I should know better. But I guess that was the point of it. Find the thing to piss her off bad enough she’d leave me alone. It’s the only place that makes sense to me. Alone. Miserable. Or at least not hanging out with people who are going to want to go deep into Vivi dying.

  I’d rather lie in bed and keep taking tiny puffs of this joint Levon gave me on the sly. “My bro is starting a business,” he’d said as we walked out of school. It’s good and the mellow buzz is already spreading through my body but it doesn’t block the bell ringing out a warning song. “Jess, you’ve been drinking a lot of booze since Vivi’s gone. Jess, you’re not into weed, remember.” But my stupid period started and I have cramps and it’s this or ibuprofen and at least this is natural. That’s my justification anyway.

  I scroll through the music on my phone but everything reminds me of Vivi. Nina and Mom are both at work. I have no homework. It’s torture Emma Watson or find something to do. I can’t text Vivi. I’m choosing not to text Cheyanne.

&n
bsp; On a whim, I text Levi. He’s a stoic guy and will respect my not wanting to talk about the deep issues. Besides, miserable, alone, and stoned seem like a pretty awful combination.

  —What’s up?

  I hold the phone until it’s obvious I’m not getting an immediate reply, then I get up and go rummage in the bathroom. I find an unopened jar of hair sculpting wax and twist it onto little strands of hair until I look like a hedgehog. Or maybe a brunette Bowie. I look pretty badass when I’m done. I find a tube of bloodred lipstick and finish off the look. I purse my lips and vamp through hooded eyelids and laugh at myself before rubbing off the lipstick. I leave the hair though. It’s cool. Then I hear my text chime.

  —Jess? You okay?

  —I’m so bored. Let’s go do something. Unless you’re with Cheyanne.

  —Like what? What do you mean about Cheyanne—she’s not here.

  —Forget I said that. Some guys from my new class were telling me about this community center they’re going to be hanging out at. On your side of the tracks. I can find cash for booze if you want to go with me.

  —Yeah. Okay. I’ll see you in twenty at the tracks.

  Levi may look like a straight arrow but he’s just as up for anything to relieve his boredom as the rest of us. We’ve never hung out, just the two of us, but then I’ve never been without Vivi since Cheyanne brought him into our world.

  I scrawl a hurried note to Mom and filch ten dollars from the cash envelope at the back of the silverware drawer. It’s wrong, but I never needed much spending money with Vivi. She had a car and she’d take me anywhere. She had French grandparents who sent her cash and her parents were ultra-generous with us. At first it felt weird, letting her always pay, but over time we were such a couple it felt like ours not hers. So I’d never gotten a part-time job like Nina had at my age. But now, with my mom’s hard-earned dollars in my pocket without her knowledge, I think I might need to remedy that.

  I throw a hoodie over my flannel, tee, and jeans. I grab the forest green Docs that are my worn-in, favorite thrift gift from Vivi and then pause. Why is it like this? Why does every little thing stop me and threaten to break me down? I put the boots back in my closet where they don’t threaten my emotions. Then I grab them again. It’s stupid to attach feelings to objects. I tell myself they’re only shoes, push my feet into them, and head out the door.

  I bump my bike across the tracks to where Levi is waiting. Maybe a job wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. A car would be nice. But for now, my old Diamondback will have to do.

  “Hey.” He lifts a hand in greeting. “Glad you called.”

  “Yeah. Needed out of the house.” Out of my head.

  Levi stares at me.

  “What?”

  He lifts a hand to his head, then drops it, and I remember the Bowie look. “Oh, yeah, I was messing around out of boredom. Working a look.”

  “Wish mine would do that.”

  “Please. Come on.” I jump back onto my bike and take off, Levi following. We skirt neighborhoods much like mine—small redbrick ranch houses with single-car carports, the occasional chain-link fence with ballistic dog behind it. We climb a hill and the pump of pedals burns my thigh muscles in a way that makes me feel useful and alive.

  Finally, we end up at a squat cinder block building, a single light bulb over the door, a few scattered cars in the gravel-covered parking lot.

  “Is this the place?” Levi asks. There’s no sign on the street or above the door.

  I look at the GPS on my phone. “Siri says yes.”

  We push through the metal door and faces look up. Mostly guys, a couple of girls.

  “Wassup, kids?” Deuces prowls over and claps us on the back. He’s strong with aftershave. “The hooch is out back with my man, Charles. Can’t bring it inside. Come on.”

  He leads us through a tight hallway, lined with posters about upcoming community action meetings and a couple of people waiting on restrooms, to a small covered back patio. Charles, a guy I recognize from the regular campus, is holding court at a picnic table. Two girls, one with big boobs, one with braids, flank him.

  Deuces points at us. “These two are with me. Hook them up.”

  Charles looks us over and I swear I can hear his mind scoffing about who let in the white dude and the dyke but I just look back, needing the shot he’s about to pour.

  He tilts one of those industrial-sized thermoses and pours brown liquid into cups for the two of us, himself, and the two girls by his side. We lift our cups. “To getting turnt!” Deuces laughs and watches us get ready to slam our shots.

  “You’re not having one?” Levi asks.

  Deuces points at his ankle. “Two more weeks. There’s nothing going to get in the way of me getting this bad boy off.”

  I admire his dedication but all I want is the burn and the numb that will follow. It goes down hard. “Fuck.” I was not expecting the smack of cinnamon and raw burn of whiskey. “That’s good.” I hold out my cup again. Four shots in and a soft, liquid heat settles over the mellow of my earlier high. The tension in my face leaves and I lean against Levi’s mass. He drapes an arm over my shoulder.

  “Feeling it, kid?”

  “In the best way. Let’s play some pool.”

  Somebody starts whistling across the room and I close my eyes tight for a second. Remembering not to remember. I can barely feel the lake anymore. Can’t hear the whisper of birdsong or see the porcelain dish slipping from my hands to be swallowed by the murky blue-gray water. I push any lingering sadness from Saturday out to the furthest reaches of my mind.

  Deuces leads the way again and we get lucky. A game is breaking up at the back of the room. “Come on, we’ve got a table.” He racks the balls and calls over another guy to play with us. “This is Monte.”

  Monte flips a coin and I call “tails” but it lands on heads and Deuces takes the break. He pockets a striped ball.

  “Solid,” Levi says. “That’s us.”

  Solid. That’s you, I think. The flare of annoyance rises again at Cheyanne. Or is it at myself for being such an ass to someone who was only trying to help?

  Three balls in for Monte and Deuces and they finally miss a shot. Levi nods for me to shoot first. I line up the cue ball with the red solid and make the corner pocket. “Nice.” Levi lifts a high five.

  “You two boyfriend and girlfriend, or what?” Monte’s scooted back onto a stool and is checking me out as he asks the question.

  Deuces laughs. “No man, that girl likes girls, like us.” Only Deuces can get away with sticking his tongue out and wiggling it for effect. The last guy that did that I just about clocked.

  “I like girls.” Monte’s face screws up. “But that shit’s nasty. The only going down happening is on me.”

  With the confidence of Vivi by my side, I’d have launched into a righteous debate about how you have to give to get in relationships.

  Then he coughs in Deuce’s direction. “And bro, if you’re using your tongue, it ain’t on no puss. You’re all about the dick. However it’s cloaked.”

  Deuces stiffens and I’m kind of taken by surprise, but when he only responds with a shake of his head, I keep my mouth shut and line up the next ball. I figure Deuces will tell me what I need to know and I damn sure don’t want this dude ruining my sweet buzz.

  But Monte’s not done with me. He hops off the stool and comes to stand by my side. Too close. “So for real, you get it with the ladies? How do you hit it? You have a secret weapon?” He edges closer so that my elbow can’t even move to line up the stick for my next shot.

  “Get off me.”

  Levi adds a weak, “Yeah, man, leave her be.”

  “Naw, man. I want to know. Are you packing?” Then the asshole reaches his hand right up between my legs from behind and squeezes to see for himself if I have the fruit.

  I. Am. Done. The building tension of the week busts through my control. I swing the pool stick back to the right, colliding with Monte’s chest. Th
en I push against it and shove him back across the room and I hear words coming out of my mouth, obscenities, slurs, whatever my flip-switched mind grabs until I feel hands on my upper arms pulling me back. Deuces pulls Monte back. Somebody’s yelling to get that crazy-ass bitch out of here.

  And then me and Levi are outside by our bikes and I’m breathing hard and he’s breathing hard and then he starts laughing. “Girl.” He shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here before we get our asses kicked.”

  “I want to break shit again.”

  We pedal off into the night, the sounds of the community center party fading away, leaving me with the circling thought of I can’t believe that guy fucking did that. I can’t fucking believe I did that.

  Once we stop at the same store for the cheapest bottle of vodka and two jumbo Slurpees—mixed, bottle tossed, right there in the parking lot—Levi leads the way on his bike out past the tracks, past the junkyard of the other night, to vestiges of what must have once been an old farm. There are “No Trespassing” signs and a single strand of barbed wire surrounding the field, but he motions for me to follow him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. This is my papaw’s old place.”

  Levi, on occasion, lets his Southern roots show. And we’re far enough out on the edge of town that a few of these old places still exist, just waiting for the right stack of bills from the right developer.

  “Your papaw?” I grin as I finally suck down a big draw of Cherry Coke and vodka Slurpee. “Seriously, you call him that?”

  “Shut up. Are you coming, or what?” He unhooks the wire and lifts it so we can get our bikes underneath. We walk them across the field toward the old house and barn at the far edge. The windows are boarded up and there are more signs affixed to the structures. Levi heads toward the barn and puts his bike inside. He pulls out a bat and a ball and a glove. “I know you wanted to break shit, but maybe we can pitch a few to each other?”

  I shrug and lean my bike next to his. “Yeah, sure, why not.” There’s a security light on the far side of the house that gives us just enough visibility to see each other out in the field.