The Meaning of Birds

by Jaye Robin Brown

  I grunt in frustration and Mom turns away from us, washing her glass, then with a goodnight kiss on each of our cheeks, leaves for her room at the end of the hall.

  Nina hands me the rest of her milkshake. “She’s right, you know. You were always hanging out with Vivi.”

  “You think I don’t know? I wouldn’t change that, not for a minute.”

  “But you need a car.”

  I slump into a chair and suck up creamy chocolate sweetness through the straw. “Yes. Greer can’t pick me up for work because it will cut into her time, and even though I could do work study back at main campus, I have to have transportation to get there.”

  Nina thinks about my dilemma for a minute, then holds out empty palms. “I’ve got nothing.” She drops one hand onto my shoulder. “But, I can promise to give you a ride over to Greer’s on Sundays. We’ll have to make it fit around my work schedule though.”

  I think about Greer’s offer to work on my own pieces and I think about the chandelier waiting to be transformed into a nest. It’s another peace offering from my sister, who’s turning out to be much less of a pain in the rear than I like to pretend she is. It won’t help me get a car, but it will help me as I try to figure out the post-Vivi Jess.

  “You’d do that? Consistently?”

  She pinches my shoulder. “Don’t be a nudge. I said I would, and I will.”

  “Ouch.” I brush her hand away. “Okay, okay.” I pass back the last of her shake. “Thanks, Neens.”

  At least it’s something.

  44

  Now: Six Weeks After

  I talk Nina into swinging by the Bea’s Donuts drive-through on my way to work. When I walk into Greer and Eliza’s, I’m loaded down with hot, glistening donuts and three lattes.

  “Oh, you little goddess.” Eliza takes the drink tray from my hands and I slide the box onto their kitchen table.

  Rufus sticks his nose under my hand and I oblige him, scratching the bony area at the top of his head. “I’m afraid it’s a goodbye gift.”

  “A goodbye gift?” Eliza lifts an eyebrow, then glances at Greer.

  “I didn’t fire her. I swear.” Greer grabs a donut from the box.

  “What’s the story then?”

  I explain about the end of my suspension, the lack of a car or a ride, and no way to connect with Greer to ride here from Cabinetworks.

  Eliza thinks for a minute. “What about one of those fund me campaigns?”

  I shake my head. “My mom would kill me. She doesn’t understand the whole crowd-sourcing thing and sees it as charity. Hard work is the only way. She reminded me about it a few nights ago—dangling the fact that my sister saved money to buy her own.” I lift a shoulder. “She’s got a point. I didn’t work until now.”

  Eliza pouts. “Does this mean we won’t see our baby homo at all anymore?”

  This makes me laugh. “Sundays. Nina agreed to drive me over here on Sundays. But, I will have to get another job. For a car. I’ll need it next year.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Greer says.

  “Settled?” I ask.

  “Sundays you will do a little quick work for me, then we dedicate some time for you to make your own projects. In the meantime, I’ll keep an ear open for cheap cars. Sometimes the guys at the shop are selling them.”

  “Same,” Eliza says. “We’ll try to help you out if we can.”

  Out in the shop, I do welds on the lawn ornaments and grind the joints. When I finish the stack Greer has for me, she motions toward the chandelier.

  “Okay, here’s your baby. Do you have sketches?”

  I dig in my pocket and pull out the crumpled sheets of sketch pad paper. There’d been a moment of hesitation as I lifted my pencil. Fear that the sorrow would once again leak onto the page. But I’d thought about what Mom said, about greeting grief as an old friend, and it had worked. I’d drawn. It had been okay. Maybe even better than okay.

  Greer studies the drawings and my notes. “I think this is doable. And you’re on the right track. But you sure you want to cut off the hanger and make it a standing piece? Wouldn’t it be interesting if it still hung, like a nest in a tree?”

  I can’t believe I didn’t think of it that way, but I’ve been so busy helping her with her grounded pieces that my mind got stuck there. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Okay, so first step is the handheld grinder and safety glasses and a mask. Take it out back and grind the finish down till you’ve got raw metal. We can put some kind of lovely patina on it when it’s all finished, but for now you don’t want to be dealing with that flaking paint surface. I’ll be thinking on how to approach the birds while you’re working.”

  I nod and grab the equipment. My heart flutters in my chest. It’s the first thing that’s felt right since Vivi died. Because it’s about Vivi. Birds were her thing until they became our thing. It only seems natural that I would carry on her interest, just incorporated into my own interests. As I start grinding the ivory paint off the metal, I feel a few of my own layers shed away. Stepping forward doesn’t mean I let her go. It means I take her with me. Every piece I create can contain some piece of the Vivi I knew and loved.

  When I’m done, Greer explains her ideas to me about how I’ll create the birds I want to put on the piece. It won’t be done in a single Sunday, but if I don’t screw up, I think I’ll be able to have a photograph of the piece in time for the Carbondale deadline.

  “You could also take photos of the work you did with me,” she says.

  “You don’t think that’s cheating?”

  “Well, you’d have to attribute me as well. But there’s nothing wrong in collaboration or helping a future lady blacksmith get into the college of her dreams.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “And,” Greer adds. “We can put the nest piece in the show. You might not want to sell it, but if it turns out as cool as I think it will, you should be able to charge a pretty penny for it. An amount that will go a good ways toward your mom’s matching funds. And if you have a car, you’ve got work study at Cabinetworks and a standing job with me whenever I need some extra help.”

  I grin. “Which, after the world sees your art, you’re going to need a ton of extra help to fill all the orders.”

  She high-fives me just as Nina honks her horn from the front of the house.

  “See you Sunday,” I say.

  “See you then.”

  As I push through the gate, I feel the smile creasing my face. I feel a warmth inside of me that’s been gone. The cavity and gravity are still there, but they’re more compartmentalized. Sure, they break through when I least expect them to, and they never fully go away, but I’m learning to live with them. I’m figuring out how to fill the spaces around them. I know it’s what Vivi would want.

  45

  Then: The Hummingbird

  It was a lazy Thursday evening. I’d picked my mom’s backyard hammock because of the way my body filled the spaces around Vivi when we lay in it together. Vivi had her favorite book of Mary Oliver poems, Owls and Other Fantasies, open to shield her face from the sharp setting sun. She read aloud, pausing in all the right places, painting pictures with the words. Poems about catbirds, and herons, and small silvery hummingbirds. She took deeper breaths than usual though, slightly thick with the encroachment of a cold.

  “Do you need your inhaler?” I asked, winding my fingers through hers, taking the pad of each finger and rolling it between my own as I explored the world of Vivi’s hand.

  “I’m okay. Just getting a cold or something.”

  “Read me another one.”

  Vivi read a poem titled “September” about walking in pinewoods and encountering a nighthawk lying along a branch. Then finding it again the next year in the same place.

  “Can we make a date for a year from now to lie in a hammock and you read poetry to me? Just like the poet and her bird friend?” My other arm was wrapped around the top of Vivi’s head and I gently lifted strands of her h
air. Languorous calm coated my bones. Love was way better than anger.

  Vivi snuggled closer in answer. “Poetry September. I like it.”

  After Vivi left for home, I opened my sketchbook. I remembered the lines from the poem about the hummingbirds. The poet climbing the tree, disturbing the small nest, hummingbird faces blinking in surprise. I loved the imagery of the silvery bursts and the pale-green dresses, so I drew Vivi there among branches, using the tiniest tipped pens. When the outline was to my satisfaction, I opened my inks to mix the perfect shades for the leaves. Inside my heart hummed with the love coursing through my veins. Things kept getting better and better with Vivi. I finished the touches on a pale-green dress, blending into the leaves, and snapped a picture of the impromptu drawing to check the composition. Satisfied for the moment, I put it to the side and sent Vivi a quick I love you before drifting into sleep.

  The next morning, Friday, I saw her response. I love you, too.

  I hunted for Vivi at our morning break meeting spot at school, but she didn’t show; instead she sent me another text saying she wasn’t feeling well and was leaving school early.

  On Saturday, Vivi wasn’t answering her texts. I tried to call at noon and two, and then at four, Abigail answered Vivi’s phone. She was whispering. “Vivi’s sleeping, Jess. The doctor says she’s got the flu.”

  “Is she all right?” Something about Abigail’s voice was tighter than normal.

  “Don’t you worry. We’ve got a close eye on her. Sleep is the best thing though so I’m going to be turning off her phone for a bit.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “I’ll be sure and tell her you’ve been trying to reach her when she wakes up. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Abigail hung up.

  I decided to work on the sketch to quell my worry. Besides it would make Vivi smile when I showed it to her once she was feeling better.

  I went in with the finest pen yet and added delicate strokes to the hummingbirds’ feathers. I darkened the background of trees so the birds and Vivi popped in the foreground. When I’d reached the point that I feared overworking the scene, I put in the finishing touches, a mixture of silver-and-green-colored ink on Vivi’s wings. By then it was late and I crawled into bed. I picked up my phone one last time, checking to see if maybe I’d heard from Vivi and missed it, but there was nothing. I sent off a quick kiss emoji and an “I’m thinking of you.” Even if her phone was still off, she’d see it when she turned it on.

  I dreamt we were in the hammock again, nested in each other’s arms. Vivi’s hair was a wild cloud around her head and she squeezed me tight, her eyes focused intently on mine. Vivi opened her mouth to speak and instead of words, birdsong came out, the pretty trill of a wren. As she sang, she transformed.

  She began to rise, her arms turning to a blur of wings, her body taking on a shimmering green plumage, her hair turning from its dark hues to a softer green. She continued to sing and trill as she darted around the hammock. I tried to reach for her, but my arms were heavy, unable to move, and all I could do was watch.

  “Vivi,” I said. “Why are you flying?” A low-level panic vibrated under my skin.

  Dream Vivi darted about in her hummingbird wings and disappeared into the sky, then darted back, lingering just out of my reach before laughing and saying, “Oh, Jess, you wouldn’t believe it. It’s magnificent. I can go anywhere I want in the blink of an eye.”

  As she zipped away, her bright wings growing smaller and smaller against a cerulean blue sky, I cried out.

  The hammock grew cold, its webbing cutting into my skin.

  I stared at the spot, waiting, waiting for Vivi’s return.

  “Vivi,” I cried, trying to summon the hummingbird back. “Vivi.”

  “Jess.” The voice sounded so far away.

  I looked to the sky and saw nothing.

  But then I felt myself being shaken. My mother at the edge of my bed, a warm hand on my temple stroking me awake. “Jess, hon, I need you to wake up.”

  “Mom? I had the weirdest dream.” Then I saw the tears streaking down Mom’s face and Nina lingering in the doorway and in that moment, I knew.

  “What?” Then as I looked at their stricken faces I shook my head. “No, no.” I hugged my comforter to me and stared at my mom, willing her tears to be something else. But my heart knew. It was the hummingbird, just like in Vivi’s story. Just like in the poem. Just like in my dream.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said and came to me, cradling me in her arms as she whispered into my ear. “They rushed Vivi to the hospital late last night. She’s gone.”

  Vivi.

  Gone.

  In the blink of an eye.

  Like a hummingbird.

  I grabbed my pillows, my blankets, and balled them all around me, and screamed. I screamed until my voice was gone and then I screamed in silence. Mom and Nina didn’t leave my side, but it didn’t matter. I was gone, too.

  46

  Now: Eleven Weeks After

  Gone.

  Five weeks I’ve been gone from McGovern’s.

  Five weeks of no Cabinetworks and life on the main campus.

  Lucky for me, some sophomore boy got caught up in a viral meme scandal online and I’m old news. No one looks at me anymore. I’ve become invisible and it’s fine with me. Swaley, in a fit of feeling sorry for me, somehow managed to convince the art teacher to let me take double classes with her in combination with my one science and an online art history course for next semester, but it still doesn’t fully mitigate the sting of not getting to go to Cabinetworks.

  But, as luck, or unluck would have it, I haven’t been able to find a job close enough to walk or ride my bike to. I even begged Nina to see if I could work at the chicken shack with her, but they weren’t hiring.

  When I get home that afternoon I’m surprised to see Mom’s car in the driveway. Over the sound of the “Jingle Bells” of our motion-activated Dancing Santa, I yell, “Mom? Is everything okay?”

  She comes out front with a stupid grin on her face.

  “What? Did you win the lottery?”

  “Something like that.” She grabs my hand. “Come on, I’m buying you a milkshake at Stan’s.”

  Suspicion takes over. “Ooookay.” But I follow her out the back door, past the hammock, between the cut-through at the back of the strip mall and around front to Stan’s. Parked in front of it is a familiar rusty-orange-colored Honda Element. “That’s Vivi’s car,” I say.

  Mom nods. “The Bouchards are waiting inside. Go on.” She pushes me along as I dawdle, unsure of what’s happening.

  “Jess.” Abigail and Henri stand and kiss me on either cheek, then do the same to my mother. I’m surprised at the flood of emotions racing through me, though by now I know I shouldn’t be. “We’re sorry to do this in such a public place, but we wanted to surprise you.”

  I look to Mom to see if she knows what’s happening, but she only grins bigger.

  Henri takes my hand and Abigail fishes a cream-colored envelope out of her bag. “Vivi’s letter came from NC State, and even though your mother has told us your plans have changed, we thought you might like to open this with us.”

  I take the creamy paper from Abigail’s hand and use my pocketknife to make a clean cut in the envelope. I reach inside. It’s thick, always a good sign. I pull out the top sheet.

  Dear Vivi Bouchard,

  We are pleased to inform you . . .

  I stop reading and look up. “She got in,” I say. Abigail’s eyes well with tears and she and Henri squeeze each other’s hands.

  “Of course she did,” my mom adds.

  “Thank you for this.” I hand the envelope back to the Bouchards. “She would be so excited.” Then, “It’s really good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, Jess, but this isn’t the main reason we’re here.”

  “It’s not?”

  Henri smiles. “No. We’ve spoken to your mother about
a holiday gift we’d like to give you and much to her credit, she feels it’s too much. Because we want to respect her wishes as much as our own, we have a proposal.”

  I glance again at Mom and she’s still grinning.

  “We’d like you to have Vivi’s car,” Abigail says.

  “What?” My mouth drops open.

  “This is where I come in,” Mom says. “You know how I feel about your having a car.”

  “I have to earn it.”

  “Correct. However, I do realize this is an unusual circumstance, so what I’ve proposed is you pay the Bouchards a certain amount each month that they will put toward a scholarship fund they’re creating in Vivi’s name.”

  Even though a part of me is wincing—whose mom turns away a free car?—another part of me is totally on board. I love the idea of contributing to something that memorializes Vivi.

  “Are you all sure?”

  Henri clasps my hand and hands over the keys, still on the Eiffel Tower key chain Vivi loved. “We are sure.”

  “And I’ve made the first payment with your matching funds. You and the Bouchards can work out the payment schedule for the rest.”

  Later, sitting behind the wheel, I fight the urge for tears. The Bouchards cleaned it—looking for scraps of their daughter, no doubt—but there are still telltale signs of Vivi. The Candle Company air freshener in Sunny Citrus that she bought from one of the fund-raisers at school, a hair tie they missed, looped around the turn signal bar, one strand of Vivi’s hair still trapped. I lean over and flip open the glove box and pull out the manual. Cradled in its pages is a note I wrote to Vivi.

  Love you most. Love you always. xxxxxxxxxxxxx and okay, ooo ~ J

  Shit. Weight and gravity press against my buoyancy.

  I shake it off and turn the key. The engine purrs right to life. I glance up at the sky. “Thanks, Viv. This is awesome.”

  Then I put the car in drive and head over to Greer’s.

  47

  Now: Twelve Weeks After

  The hall smells like evergreen and cider. Christmas music is pumping over the speakers set up in every corner of the cavernous space. Greer and I are rolling in her pieces on a metal furniture dolly while Eliza and Deuces, minus his ankle bracelet, work to hang drapery on the pipes that create the walls for our corner display space. Greer had done so well at the first show that she hustled to find a second one for us to enter and even hired Deuces to help with random muscle work. I’m psyched it’s going to be so easy for us to keep hanging out.