The Meaning of Birds

by Jaye Robin Brown

  39

  Now: Five Weeks After

  There’s no more putting it off. I text Levi. You want to hang out?

  The immediacy of his affirmative reply makes me feel like a dick. I should not have kissed him. I should not have held back on what I wanted to say that night when we were leaving the tracks. Cheyanne’s right. I know how he is and if I’m honest with myself, I did string him along. Not consciously, but with my sad inner self who wanted someone to comfort her. We make plans to meet again at the tracks after lunch.

  Mom’s studying at the kitchen table when I walk out from the back.

  “Will you be here later?” I ask. Figure if I plan on laying down truths with Levi, I might as well lay down truths with her as well.

  “I will. Is there something you need, sweetie?” She pauses her highlighter and looks up.

  “Want to have a talk, that’s all.”

  Mom closes her book and motions for me to sit in the chair next to her. I hadn’t planned to do this now, but the opportunity is presenting itself.

  “Remember how I asked you about staying at the alternative school and doing online courses for next semester?”

  Mom frowns in response. “I don’t remember any such thing. You might have hinted you liked it there, but staying?”

  “Please, Mom, listen. You of all people have got to understand. I’m comfortable there. My grades haven’t sunk too much lower and it’s not like any of the classes I had scheduled for next semester matter besides the last science I need. And it’s available online.”

  “Jess. You can’t avoid life forever.”

  “No, it’s not that, please, listen. I love working at Cabinetworks. It helps me be in the moment and not be sad and not be thinking about Vivi every second of every minute.” Working with my hands, being covered in soot and sweat with the ring of a hammer in my ears, is the only thing since Vivi died that gives me a purpose I feel good about.

  “You can’t run from the grief, love. It doesn’t work that way.” Even after all these years, a tear still springs to the corner of my mother’s eye.

  “I’m not running.” My voice is a low whisper, maybe because even as I say it I’m wondering if it’s true. It seems like that’s all I’ve been doing for the past month, pumping my arms away from pain toward any other emotion I could find.

  Mom sighs. “I’ll be honest. I don’t want this for you. I’m digging in, trying not to be judgmental about the types of kids over at that building, but I’m struggling. I don’t want you messed up with drugs or more fighting or whatever emotional problems that are sheltered there.”

  At this I get angry. “Mom, I have emotional problems.”

  Double sigh. “Please let me finish.”

  I nod.

  She folds her hands together on the table, her future lawyer pose. “I am open to considering this.”

  I sit up. “Really?!”

  “On one condition.”

  I sit back.

  “You need to apply to State, as planned, along with at least four other four-year programs that fit your test scores and GPA. I don’t expect you to be unrealistic in your choices, but I want you to have them. Even your sister plans on going back to get her four-year technician degree after she’s worked for a couple of years.” She reaches out and cradles my cheek. “And Jess, I do know how hard it is to walk through the grief of losing a loved one. But what choice do we have? Life is a gift. Don’t turn a blind eye to it.”

  A few weeks ago, it seemed like I had limited choices. Alcohol. Fights. But now I feel as if I’m getting a clue. And I’m not wrong about staying at the alternative school. I know I can make it work and stay on track. Besides, most of those guys, except for maybe Levon, are hoping to stay on track, too. “You know, it’s kind of disrespectful to assume I would cave so easily to peer pressure. And disrespectful to assume all the guys there are on a path to trouble. Maybe by staying at the alternative school, I’d be part of the solution. Someone serious about graduating and doing their work. Dad always said a good work ethic was a person’s golden opportunity.”

  Mom smiles. “He did, didn’t he?”

  I smile back hoping for the yes.

  Mom spies the subtle manipulation. “Though I love sharing memories with you, and though they do make me feel warm inside, I don’t plan on changing the conditions AND even if I come around to your way of thinking, we will still need to meet with the school and your guidance counselor to see if it’s even possible.”

  It’s my turn to sigh. “Fine.” I stand up and kiss her on the forehead. “Thanks for thinking about it.”

  She opens her book and waves me out the door.

  The next talk won’t be so easy. What’s Levi going to say? He can’t admit he was thinking about it because then he’ll look bad. Which makes it weird for me to say anything. But if I don’t say anything, then it will linger, even if Cheyanne doesn’t make a big deal out of it. For as much as I have no problem jumping into a physical fight, hurting someone’s feelings, especially someone you like and respect, is way tougher.

  Of course, he’s waiting for me since I stopped to talk to Mom.

  “Hey.” I sit down next to him on the tracks and damn if his expression isn’t all soft and hopeful. I drop my face into my palms and rub my thumbs on my temples, then look back up. Do this quick. “Levi . . .”

  One word and his expression shifts and I feel like the biggest heel on the planet. What was he supposed to think? We went from never hanging out just the two of us, to suddenly being buds and confidantes. He’s straight, why wouldn’t he think I was into him? It’s no different from when I used to crush on straight girls. Better spit it out. “You know what I’m going to say. I tried to say it the other night but you stopped me. I’m a lesbian, Levi. I’m not into you.”

  He plinks rocks down onto the road below. “Yeah. I figured.”

  “But you’re hurt. I can tell.” It’s too bad Cheyanne’s not into him, I’d love to be able to give him some sort of hope.

  He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll move on. It’s just . . .” He looks up at me. “The kiss was good, right?”

  I smile and put my hand on top of his. “You are an excellent kisser, Levi. Soft lips, fresh breath. You’re not even pushy with your tongue. If it hadn’t been for the shave stubble, I might have thought you were a girl, your technique is so impressive.”

  “Pshew.” He leapfrogs with his hand so his rests on top. “At least there’s that. If I ever actually find a date, can you testify to my prowess?”

  My eyes go wide. I don’t really want the world to know about my lapse in judgment.

  “Right,” he says. “Then you’d have to say you kissed a boy and didn’t like it.”

  “Going for the gold star, you know.” I nudge him, then gasp as a car emerges from under the overpass as I let a rock fall. We both hold our breath, but luckily it misses the trunk by a hair. “That was close.” I grow serious. “It was good though. Hanging out with you. Getting into the community center situation. Buzzed bike riding. You’ve helped me a lot.”

  He squeezes my hand.

  I keep talking. “After Vivi died, those first couple of weeks I felt like my insides might self-combust. I couldn’t be around my mom, or Nina, or Cheyanne without a zillion reminders. I hated bursting into tears all the time. You steadied me. I hope you don’t think I was using you because, seriously, you have helped me so much.”

  He lets go of my hand and puts his on the railing, leaning his head sideways so he faces me. “Naw. It was good for me, too. I think my crush on you, which I knew was cursed from the beginning, helped me shake free my crush on Cheyanne. We helped each other.” He winks. “Besides, I passed my vocabulary quiz, thanks to you.”

  We sit in the comfortable silence I’ve come to expect from Levi until there’s the slightest vibration in the bridge.

  “Train,” we say at the same time as we both start nervously laughing. “Come on.” I stand up and wipe the gravel off my jeans. �
�Let’s go to Stan’s and get milkshakes. My treat. Maybe we’ll find a cute girl for you.”

  “Or you,” he says as we turn in the direction of my house.

  I take a deep breath. “Too soon,” I say. “Way too soon.”

  40

  Now: Five Weeks, Two Days After

  Greer and I have found a steady rhythm in her studio. She does all the design and forging work, and I’m the welder, grinder, fetcher, toter. Her show is a holiday fair at a downtown arts center, so we’re focusing more on the garden art and small things for tabletops, rather than larger sculpture. When we take a break, she hands me a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

  “Got a note from McGovern that your time at Cabinetworks is almost up.”

  Technically, this Thursday, two days from now, my four weeks of in-school suspension is up. But McGovern already told me I was with him through Friday because of a technicality and because main campus thought it better if I saw the week through to the end.

  “I’m working on staying.”

  “Oh yeah?” Greer wipes sweat from her brow. The forge area is hot, even though the temps have dropped to a more seasonal mid-forties.

  “Trying to convince my mom to let me do online classes next semester so I can stay with McGovern and keep coming out to do Cabinetworks stuff.”

  Greer chuckles. “You’re an odd bird, Jess Perez. There are not many people who would choose to hang out with McGovern five days a week.”

  “He’s all right. Once you figure him out. And I don’t mind the guys in class either. They’re not all as bad as their reputations.”

  She caps her water bottle and takes mine before chucking them into the recycling bin. “Well that’s good, because I want you to keep working here with me.”

  “Would one hinge on the other?” I swallow down my rising panic, since me staying is nowhere close to a done deal.

  “If you’re not with me at work, how will you get here? I don’t have time to come pick you up, drive back here, and still have the hours for getting my stuff done. It’s crunch time for me.”

  This is not good. If I’m only working on the weekend, I’ll never save enough money to buy a car so that I can get to work all the days Greer offers me.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say. “I’ll figure something out.” I don’t want to tell her there might be an issue because I don’t want her hiring one of the other guys in my place.

  Back at work, my brain stews as I grind welds and sand the edges of the plasma cut creatures. It figures the moment I let myself relax into the idea of blacksmithing, the whole opportunity might disappear.

  Last night, when I was working on applications per Mom’s ultimatum, including the school in Carbondale, I realized I’d really screwed myself by tossing my portfolio. Art is my hidden talent. Pretty sure Vivi wouldn’t want me to throw it all away. Even if drawing and using my inks is still too painful, I’d begun to think about blacksmithing in a new way. Like that lady at the art center who made furniture, and Greer who made garden gates. What if there was a way to still use my hands, but stay a little clear of the pure emotion of drawing and painting? Greer’s offer of letting me make a few personal pieces had planted a seed. I’d started to consider cobbling together a portfolio . . . to see what might happen.

  When we’re done for the day, I broach the subject, aware that it might be a moot point if I can’t get here, but I’m going to try to stay positive. “Remember when you said I could maybe try my hand at a few of my own pieces?”

  Greer perks up. “Sure do.”

  “I, um, of course I’d do it after doing what you need, but I think I might be into it.”

  Greer beams. “I’m so glad you’ve had a change of heart. Any idea what you want to make?”

  I shake my head.

  “I find it helps to combine things you love.”

  “Example?”

  “Sure. Take my work. It’s Dr. Seuss meets the woodlands. Or garden surrealism. There’s a cohesiveness to my pieces.”

  “Your style,” I say.

  Greer nods. “Yeah, my style, though I think it’s easier to develop style as you go.”

  “Hmmm. I’ve got nothing.” But as I say it, I’m staring at the same chandelier I noticed on the day Greer first gave me a tour. Now I see it. It’s a nest. For a multitude of birds, and even though it still feels like a Vivi betrayal to have a moment of excitement, it’s there all the same. “Could I use that old chandelier?” I ask.

  Greer turns to her scrap pile. “Don’t see why not. I kept thinking it was going to speak to me and tell me what it wanted to be but it never did. What’s it saying to you?”

  I shake my head because I’m not sure I can say it out loud.

  “I won’t laugh.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Then I figure what the hell, Greer doesn’t know the connection. “A nest,” I say. “It wants to be a nest.”

  Greer contemplates it again. “I see that. Can’t wait to see what you do with it. Quick sketch some ideas and I’ll help you figure out how to make it happen. Why don’t you take a few pictures of it, then we’ll get back to work for about another hour before I take you home.”

  “Sure thing.” The light’s not great, but I get a couple of clear shots from different angles and my mind buzzes with possibility. Vivi thoughts flood my brain, but this time the throat lump doesn’t lodge, just moves up and away, until it settles into a smile. She would love this.

  41

  Then: A Total Bluebird Enthusiast

  My mouth settled into a smile as I wagged my finger at Vivi. “No hiking today. No way. Nohow.” I wiped my brow and felt speckles of sawdust stick to my sweaty skin. It was late July and the heat was brutal and reminded me of that day we’d gone to look for eagles. Vivi would not have an asthma attack under my watch again.

  “Got it, oh overprotective one.”

  “It’s only because I love you.”

  She leaned over and kissed me. “I know.”

  We were under the lake house deck working on Vivi’s latest project—bluebird houses. She marked lengths, while I used the Skilsaw to cut the boards. Then Vivi used a hole cutter bit to drill out a perfectly circular opening in one of the cut boards. We clamped the boards together to make nailing easier.

  “Why are we doing this again?”

  “You know why,” Vivi said through a mouthful of nails.

  “For nesting habitat, I got that.” I pushed up my safety glasses and motioned to the twelve birdhouses we’d already built. “Why so many?”

  Vivi sighed. “Because the ornithological club asked for members to help out, and because one of the summer lake house people is both a member of the club AND an ecology professor at State. I’m trying to kiss some apples.”

  I loved Vivi’s cuss alternates. But I was also getting pretty tired of sawdust sticking to my skin. “Can this be the last one? Then you’ll have a baker’s dozen and no one can see you as anything but a total bluebird enthusiast.”

  “What else do we have to do?”

  I looked toward the lake. “Swim?” I looked back at the rec room. “Air-conditioning? Let me draw you?”

  Vivi laid down her hammer. “Draw me?”

  Heat rose into my cheeks. I’d been secretly adding figure drawing into my sketchbooks when Vivi wasn’t paying attention. Just studies, fast line sketches to capture movements and angles. But the art teacher at the high school told me most schools want to see a broader array of subject matter and that portraiture and figure drawing would be a good enhancement for any portfolio. “Yeah. Draw you.”

  “Hmmm. Can you draw on the dock? We can swim, then I can work on my tan while you sketch?”

  “Deal.” I made the last cut for the birdhouse.

  Once we’d changed and put all our stuff onto the weathered picnic table, I ran to the edge of the dock and cannonballed into the water. “You coming?” I yelled back at Vivi.

  She executed a perfect surface-cutting swan dive. I raced her out to the neighbor�
�s floating platform. We climbed up the ladder and lay there, letting the sun soak us warm again. Vivi called out scientific names of birds as they flew overhead. “Do you ever think about your dad when you see birds?” she asked.

  I watched the clouds drift in the sky. “I guess. Since you told me the story about your grandmother. But I figure maybe his energy’s been reincarnated by now. I like to think of parts of him reborn in some way. Unless heaven is real, then he’s definitely hanging out up there with kids who died too early. My dad would have been a good teacher if he wasn’t in the service.”

  Vivi smiled. “That’s sweet.”

  A boat full of guys cut across the cove and headed toward us. When they got close, they whistled and catcalled. “Hey, ladies, want to go tubing with us?”

  “No, thanks. We’re good.” I lifted my thumb to prove it.

  A different guy held up two beers. “We have cold beverages.”

  A third guy flexed, then patted his abdomen. “More than one kind of six-pack on this boat.”

  Vivi whispered, “Stay calm, okay?”

  But I was already answering. “No, seriously, we’re not interested. Y’all have fun. It’s a beautiful day out there.” I waved goodbye to them.

  The boat’s driver cut left from the platform and motored away. The two “six-pack” guys made tear fists, then waved, before the boat picked up speed again. Soon the platform was rocking with the rippling wake left behind.

  “Wow,” Vivi said.

  “Wow, what?”

  “You. When I first met you, you’d have been standing up screaming at them and shooting them double birds. I’d have been grabbing your arm and begging you to calm down. It’s really cool to see how far you’ve come, that’s all.”

  I shrugged, but pride rippled up through me. I felt different. Little things didn’t bother me like they used to, and I knew that even though Vivi was part of it, she wasn’t all of it. It was my own progress. My work in therapy, my wanting to be less angry, my recognizing my triggers, and diving into artwork had all added up to make me a person I liked. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s swim back before those idiots cut this way again and I disprove your point.”