The Meaning of Birds

by Jaye Robin Brown

  I shut up because she was right. It would be cool to see bald eagles in the wild, but if I’d been smarter, I would have just downloaded the news section I saw and shown it to her on my iPad. Some other ornithology geek besides Vivi had no doubt blogged all about them, including coordinates to find the bloody birds.

  The trail took a steady uphill turn. Vivi climbed ahead of me and suddenly her breath became labored.

  “Hey, Viv. Slow down, you sound like a freight train.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Shit. What was I thinking suggesting we hike on such a hot day? We were at least three miles from the house and in an area of undeveloped lots and conservation land. Not a good place to be if she had an attack.

  Her breathing got worse and she stopped and bent forward. “Jess.” Her voice was strangled and harsh.

  I rushed to her.

  Vivi kept her hands on her knees and gulped for air.

  I dug my hand in Vivi’s pocket praying she’d remembered her inhaler, then breathed out a sigh of relief when I felt the hard-plastic edge against my fingers. I pulled it out and held it up toward her mouth. “Here.”

  Vivi grabbed it and sucked in as she pumped. After a minute, she stopped gulping and took a couple of real breaths. She crumpled into a cross-legged heap in the middle of the trail.

  “Super fudge. Are you okay? Look at me.”

  Vivi looked up. Tears tracked her cheeks and with a ragged voice she answered, “That was scary.”

  I sat next to her and pulled her into my arms. “I was so stupid. I should have known.”

  Vivi cried. “Don’t be mad. I hate being a fragile flower. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to find the eagles.”

  I wiped tears from her face. “Shhh. Are you crazy? You think I’d be mad because of your asthma? You can’t help that.” I paused. “But can I be a little mad when you know you’re pushing yourself too hard? If you don’t tell me it might be too much, I won’t always know. I want to keep you around for a long, long time.”

  Vivi shrugged. “You’re just so . . . naturally athletic . . . and I don’t know, sometimes I want to best you. To get up the mountain first. To be the one to make the discoveries.”

  “Really? Are we going there? Because if I recall when we lined up our report cards you’d bested me on every single line. And when we had that fake cooking contest with your mom and dad as judge, you totally won. And you can water-ski in circles around me.”

  “But you’re totally healthy.”

  I squeezed her. “Yeah, my body. But what about all my therapy? My tendency to use fists instead of words? That’s not totally healthy.”

  Vivi snorted back tear snot. “Oh yeah.”

  “See?” I pushed the loose strands of hair back behind her ears. “I love you. Heavy breathing and all.”

  Vivi’s eyes held light again and danced as they looked at mine. “Now about that heavy breathing . . .” She waggled her eyebrows flirtatiously. “If you help me find these eagles, we might be able to work something out on the anniversary front.”

  I groaned. “I can’t even believe I’m going to say this, but there’s no way I’m letting you hike anywhere but very, very slowly back to the lake house. So, it’s a hard pass on finding the eagles.”

  “But don’t you want a special anniversary prize?” Vivi pecked me on the lips and pocketed her inhaler.

  I took her hand and twined my fingers through hers. “You’re already my prize. I don’t need a thing from you until you’re truly ready. What we have is about this.” I placed my palm on Vivi’s heart. “Not about this.” I dropped it to Vivi’s breast, then pulled my hand away, laughing before growing serious. “I love you, Vivi. I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

  “Don’t worry,” she replied. “We’re going to be like those eagles. Mated for life.”

  I wanted to believe her, but the memory of her struggling for air stayed stuck in my mind the whole way back to the lake house.

  30

  Now: Three Weeks, Six Days After

  I’m at the lake, walking through the woods, stepping over fallen branches, and my throat starts to close in. There’s a beeping, but I can’t find my phone, and I’m immobilized by my lack of air. The beeping gets louder. My air constriction tightens.

  I startle awake from the dream, but even though my eyes open, there’s no light. Only an opaque gray. Like I’m going blind. I panic for half a second, then . . .

  “Emma Watson,” I mumble. “Get off my face.”

  There’s another beep.

  My actual phone.

  Hey, girl. Been hoping I’d hear from you. Still grounded?

  I stare at the screen, hit with a weird combination of feelings—partial fear, partial excitement, partial curiosity. What do I say to her? How do I proceed? I think about my conversation with Samantha and what she said about people coming into your life when you need them. With Cheyanne currently gone from mine, and Levi an odd substitute, maybe a new friend wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just because we’re texting, and just because she said she was interested, doesn’t mean that’s the way it has to go down.

  —Yeah, but I might be able to talk my mom into a reprieve.

  —So, there’s this new gay club that opened on the south side. Eighteen and up. The bouncer’s from my neighborhood. We’ll get in no problem even if you’re not eighteen yet. You in? Please say yes, I’ve never been to one and I really want to check it out.

  I must be the first queer girl her age she’s ever met. She’ll be plenty disappointed when she figures out that I know gay clubs about as well as she does. Vivi and I had each other, Cheyanne, Levi, and a handful of other peripheral friends. We didn’t do much scene.

  —You still there? You in?

  —Yeah. I’m here. Let me check with my mom. But, I should let you know, I’m not really thinking about this as a date, if that’s cool with you.

  I see the dance of bubble and dots appear and disappear and then a text finally comes through.

  —Yeah. That’s cool. What? Do you have a girlfriend or something?

  —Just keeping it single for now.

  —But you’ll still go?

  I can’t believe I’m even thinking about it. But I guess there’s a teeny, tiny part of me that even though I’m not interested in being with anyone else now, thinks someday I might be. Besides, dancing seems like an excellent way to be in the moment, instead of the past.

  —Yeah, I’ll still go.

  Mom agrees to unground me, not that it’s been too strict anyway, and in a rare spurt of generosity, even offers up her car if I swear on her life I will not drink. It turns out Sahara lives in an apartment complex not far from Deuces’s community center. What would Vivi think about all this? Samantha’s right. Vivi would want me to live. To be happy. It’s just so hard to figure that part out when it hurts so bad. I take a deep breath.

  Vivi was always an optimist when it came to people. I should be, too.

  When I pull up and park, I get the stare down from a bunch of guys shooting hoops. Sahara emerges from a door and the guys’ heads turn and though I can’t hear what they’re saying through the closed window, I can tell there’s an exchange of smack talk going on. A nervous wave ripples in my stomach. Maybe there’s the tiniest smidge of attraction, coupled with outright terror.

  “Hey.” Sahara jumps in. “This is your car?”

  “My mom’s.”

  “Nice.” She laughs and kicks her feet up. Her toenails are painted a glittering bronze that looks good with her skin tone.

  I quell the impulse to tell her to take them off the dashboard. “So, do you have directions to this place?”

  “Yeah.” She punches them into her phone and I pull out onto the road. Since I don’t drive a ton, I have to concentrate, which seems a good enough excuse to keep the small talk small. I learn that Sahara goes to Jefferson Christian, that’s kind of a surprise, and that she hates it, not so much a surprise if she’s actually questioning her sexuality.
But then she starts asking me questions.

  “How come you’re not looking for a girlfriend?”

  And here I am again. Do I tell the story or let it lie? “I’m just not.”

  “What, did somebody break your heart?”

  “Something like that.”

  “My friend Zach told me girls like you are kind of soft inside and that might be why you said that to me over text.”

  Girls like me. What the hell?

  She keeps talking. “I told him I bet you weren’t that soft. That you were just using that line to keep me at a distance. I get it. That’s cool. But a girl like me won’t wait around forever.”

  Holy cats, this brave adventure of mine is starting to feel like a wrong turn down a bad road.

  “Once you see me dance, you’ll be all in.” She winks at me when I make the mistake of glancing her way. “Next road on the right, and we’re there.”

  The bouncer waves us in when she sees Sahara, even going so far as to give her a little booty pop as she walks through the door. Then she bro-nods at me and raises a fist for a bump. I don’t raise mine.

  “You want a drink?” Sahara asks.

  “Um, yeah, sure. Coke, I guess.”

  “That’s it? I bet I can get us some alcohol.” She scans the room and it doesn’t take more than five minutes before she’s pushed herself up against some older lesbian with a ball cap and piercings, batting her eyes and motioning for me to hand her my money. Here I thought I was going to be like the Greer and Liza of first gay experiences but Sahara obviously doesn’t need me to figure her way around the room.

  “What do y’all want?” The woman places a hand on Sahara’s hip and tilts forward to listen to our answer.

  “I’ll have a White Russian.” Sahara leans into her hand.

  “And you?”

  “A beer is fine.” I’m not a huge fan of beer, but I swore on my mother’s life I wouldn’t drink, and with a dark bottle, I can fake it.

  The woman returns moments later with our drinks and a beer for herself. “Sorry, girls, my risk, your tax.” She doesn’t hand us any change.

  Sahara’s already sipping through the miniature red straw and looking around the room with big eyes, so I let the money thing go. “Come on.” I push my way toward the stage. A girl band is tearing at their guitars, but most of the club seems like they’re waiting for the DJ to take over and get things pumping.

  Sahara is suddenly close. In my comfort zone close. She’s staring at me with a half smile, practically begging for me to check out the details. And they’re there. Massive liquid brown eyes, hair slightly shaved at the sides with tight cornrows that disappear into a high ponytail, a shirt that dips low enough to show the slight swell of breasts underneath a black bra. The girl is definitely pretty. But she’s also not Vivi.

  “What’s your deal?” I figure the direct approach is best. I take a fake swig of the beer.

  “What do you mean, what’s my deal?”

  I have to get close to make sure she hears me—the guitars are shredding. “Wanting to hang out.”

  Sahara turns it on then. Leaning in so her chest rests against my arm, grabbing my wrist with her non-drink hand, being all coy and flirtatious. “I’ve been curious about girls, you know, like you. That’s why I told Deuces to hook us up. You’re glad he did, right?” She does some kind of ponytail flip, chest out move, that I’m sure works on guys, but seems a bit too calculated for me.

  I don’t answer her last question. “So, you think you’re queer? Is that what you mean when you say girls like me?”

  “All I know is I think you’re cute. Labels are stupid.”

  It sounds like what Vivi would have said. All kinds of feelings assault me. Embarrassment, the warmth of flattery, need, hunger, the want for warm lips and soft arms, but she’s also not the girl I want. All I manage to squeak out is, “Thanks.” But I don’t tell her she’s attractive. One, she already knows it, and two, I don’t want to do anything about it.

  The band is wrapping it up and the DJ seamlessly flows into the space and the dance floor fills. Sahara pulls me into the crowd of bodies. At first, we’re kind of awkward shuffling, but then the song changes and Sahara jumps and squeals and plants her feet firmly and starts shimmying her ass. She turns and backs it up to me and the music is good and dancing feels safe enough, so I open my arms wide and shimmy forward with my hips. I’m not really thinking about it when my hands land on Sahara’s hips. I don’t mean anything by it other than dancing, but Sahara leans her head back against my chest and moves her body so I feel it against me.

  Suddenly, I’m so aware of Vivi. She’s like a shadow, standing in the corner of my mind, watching this all go down. Whatever release the music was giving me ends. I jump backward away from Sahara.

  She turns. “What? Why are you stopping? Am I doing it wrong?” In that second, Sahara looks vulnerable and uncertain and I feel like shit. She’s at a Christian school. That’s got to be hard if she’s uncertain about her sexuality. The desire to protect her and validate her questioning surges inside of me. But it doesn’t last long, because she comes back at me all sexed-up. “You know you like this.”

  It’s too much. It’s the opposite of sexy. It’s the opposite of anything I want. I exit the dance floor. Sahara follows me, grabbing at my arm.

  “What’d I do? Why are you acting like this?”

  I walk into the bathroom hallway, where the music is slightly subdued.

  “It’s not you, okay?” I pace in the confined area, avoiding Sahara’s eyes, freaking out inside, needing to leave. The only thing Sahara could possibly have come into my life to teach me is that I’m in no way ready to be out on a Saturday night with a girl at a club.

  “You seriously don’t like me?” Sahara grabs my hand and tries to pull me close. “I thought this would be easy?”

  “Get off me.” I have no clue if Sahara is gay or bi or simply questioning, but just because I’m a girl, and just because she’s a girl, doesn’t make it easy. You can’t just text a girl and have instant romance. I feel it rising, the fury, my old friend anger. I start counting breaths. But then Sahara mashes herself against me in a weird combination hug, almost kiss. It’s too much. I shove her backward to the wall. “I said get off!”

  The drink dyke happens to walk into the hall as this is all going down. “Hey now. Don’t be treating your lady like that.” She holds me back with an arm across the chest and addresses Sahara. “You okay, darling?”

  Sahara’s eyes flash from super hurt to her own rage. “Yes.” She steps next to drink dyke. “As long as I leave this hall with you instead of this rank-ass bitch.”

  Drink dyke releases her arm from me and my anger drains, replaced by the tremble of spent emotion. “No hard feelings, right?” She winks at me, snugs Sahara around the waist, and leads her out of the hallway.

  “I need to give you a ride home,” I shout after them.

  Sahara turns. “You don’t need to give me anything. The bouncer will make sure I get home safe. Thanks for nothing.” Then she disappears back into the pulse of purple and blue lights on the dance floor.

  I slump against the wall. I can’t believe I shoved Sahara. I can’t believe she tried to kiss me. What girl just throws herself at someone else without an emotional connection? It’s not me. I can’t. I won’t.

  Instead, I text Levi.

  —You doing anything? Need a friend.

  —Tracks?

  —Yeah.

  31

  Now: Three Weeks, Six Days After (Late Night)

  Levi is waiting for me by the time I park the car in my driveway, grab my bike, and get to the tracks.

  “You okay?” He doesn’t stand up from where he sits, dangling his legs out over the road below, his head bobbing to whatever’s playing through his earbuds.

  “Extra weird night. What are you listening to?”

  He hands me the right earbud and I put it in my left ear. It’s something instrumental that has kind of a rhumb
a beat to it.

  He pulls a pipe out of his pocket. “Wanna blaze? It’s the weekend.”

  “I shouldn’t, but I will.”

  He lights the bowl and inhales, then hands it to me. “Cheyanne called me.”

  “Oh yeah?” I perk up a little, curious as to what they talked about.

  “Yeah, it was about something for the orchestra fund-raiser, but then she asked if I’d seen you. Told her we’d been hanging out more. She acted kind of surprised. Then she told me y’all hadn’t been talking since you switched schools.”

  I hang my arms on the crossrail and lean against it. “It’s my fault. I can’t seem to stop being angry at the women around me.”

  “Not really hard to interpret that.”

  We stop talking again, both of us getting into the groove of the drums, passing the pipe till it’s empty. We move our shoulders with the beat in a lazy swish and swim our hands against the air and I don’t think either of us really connects the vibration we’re feeling to anything other than the music until the roar gets louder than the tunes.

  “Train.” I twist quick toward the oncoming headlights. I know we’re safe, but it’s always scary as hell to be on the tracks when it roars past. Plus, it’s illegal and if the conductor notices us, there may be cops waiting at the end of the overpass by the time all the cars pass us by.

  “Duck,” Levi says and pushes me into a huddle.

  The engine is roaring up on us, the light not really hitting us directly, but making the woods on my side of the tracks glow. Levi grins at me from inside our huddle of shoulders and arms and hoodies and I start laughing. We keep hanging on to each other while the train rushes next to us, the sound blending with the music still playing in our ears, and the whole overpass rumbling with the tremor of train. The track switches on the album and the music plays in time with the train and Levi and I do this modified, cross-legged, hoodie-huddled, groove dance with just our arms on each other’s shoulders. Maybe about the thirtieth car is when things get weird. Levi’s arms circle me more fully, and because I don’t want to fall off the overpass or fall under the wheels, I scoot closer. Then he puts his forehead against mine and it’s like we’re in a bunker during a war or something with all the noise and spark. I lift my face a little and the next thing I know Levi’s lips are on mine. But instead of pushing him away like I did with Sahara, I kiss him back.