A Charm of Finches

by Suanne Laqueur

  “Yeah.”

  A moment passed, both of them staring into space, alone with their thoughts. “You ever think of telling your story?” Jav asked.

  “What, like write a book?”

  “A book. An article. An art show. Producing something.”

  “Maybe a radio story?”

  “Sure,” Jav said, as an idea he’d been kicking around suddenly crashed into a new idea. A great idea.

  “Uh-oh,” Geno said. “I think The Thing just showed up. You got that look going.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Better write it down.”

  “No,” Jav said. “No, this isn’t a story. This is a phone call.”

  Geno came through the warehouse lobby, heading from the art room to dinner. Jav and Stef stood by the security booth. Their laughter echoed off marble and the sunlight from the front doors etched them in gold.

  “You moron,” Jav said, putting a palm against Stef’s chest and shoving him. He looked up and saw Geno. “Ah-ha,” he said, pointing. “You. Come here. Got something for you.”

  “For me?”

  “I’ll be outside,” Stef said, and with a wave, he left.

  “Two things,” Jav said. “One educational, the other not so much.” From his messenger bag he took a small, buff-colored paperback, Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World.

  “Nice,” Geno said, laughing. “I will definitely read this.”

  Then Jav took out a small, leather-bound book out. “And this is also for you. Because every man should have one.”

  Geno ran a thumb along the blank pages, strangely touched. “Thanks.”

  “Careful, don’t lose the bookmark.”

  A business card was tucked in the spine.

  Camberley Jones

  Journalist & Storyteller

  National Public Radio

  “She’s a friend of mine,” Jav said. “I didn’t give her your name or any details. I only said I knew a guy with an important story to tell. She said to give you her card. So I am.”

  “Wow,” Geno said. “Okay.” Important rolled around his head. Shedding its skin. Unfolding, unwinding and opening up.

  I have an important story to tell.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Jav smiled and came in high for a handshake. Their palms smacked together, fingers folding down. A beat. Then Jav hugged him.

  “Eres el más valiente,” he said, rubbing Geno’s head.

  Geno was lying in bed that night when out of the dark, like a shooting star across Nos, he remembered Seth and the roller coaster that fell four hundred and fifty-six feet. Straight down.

  “You must’ve been shitting your pants at the top,” Ben said.

  “Worse,” Seth said. “I was so scared, I had a fucking erection.”

  Followed by the memory of Natasha, with her pink hair and piercings. “Maybe fear’s another form of arousal.”

  Geno stared open-mouthed at the ceiling as pieces of his past joined hands with the present.

  Was Natasha right?

  As one, every particle in every fiber of his being replied, Yes.

  Why else would the memory have imprinted on his brain, gone dormant and then revived right here, right now, when it would link up with everything Stef taught him and become truth?

  It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault. It had nothing, zero to do with sex.

  He believed it now. His body believed it.

  Fear was another form of arousal. Fear and excitement were equal parts removed from normal.

  And your dick doesn’t know the damn difference, he thought.

  You didn’t get hard for him. Your body reacted without your brain’s permission because you had all that shit in your bloodstream. Enough to kill someone with a weaker heart.

  You survived because your heart is strong.

  Geno floated in the serenity of long, slow easy breaths. The immaculate joy of believing your own thoughts. Feeling every square inch of his forgiven body press into the bedclothes. Aware of his skin and bone and muscle and hair for the first time in nearly a year.

  It wasn’t your fault.

  His hand slid tentatively down the waistband of his sweats. It curled around his penis, small and cool and shy.

  It’s okay.

  You’re allowed.

  His breathing stayed long and measured as he felt himself grow larger. Warm and tactile, with a give. Then harder, but still uncertain.

  You’re allowed.

  His bottom lip retreated behind his teeth a little as his mind searched around for an image. It had been so long, nothing came to him. No female face from his past, no celebrity fantasy, no idealized dream-girl musings. Just his hand. The feel of him holding himself. Like coming home. His head quiet. No voices at his shoulder. No memory. Only bright golden light spilling out of his pores. Soft like soap. Luscious like butter. His skin glowing pink then red. Then with a pop, a bright marigold of yellow and orange behind his eyelids.

  It was the tiniest orgasm he ever had. A squeezed hiccup. A weak spurt, barely anything.

  But it was his.

  And it had been so long.

  He laughed weakly in the dark, the heat flowing over his skin and the bright light in his veins.

  To: BMarino@gmail.com

  From: Geronimocaan@gmail.com

  Dear Ben,

  It’s been a while and I know there’s a shit-ton to say after I disappeared.

  You helped save my life and I never said thank you.

  I told you a whole bunch of lies and I never said I’m sorry.

  If it’s not too late or too damaged, and you’re not too weirded out, I’d love to meet up and tell you some truths. You deserve them. You were a good friend to me and I’d like to say so in person.

  Take care,

  Geronimo Caan

  (FYI, most people call me Geno)

  To: ChristopherMudry@gmail.com

  From: Geronimocaan@gmail.com

  Dear Chris,

  Yeah, I know, I got some balls reaching out, after everything I said to you.

  I’m sorry.

  Under the shitty circumstances, I took aim and fired at the first thing I saw, trying to bring it down as low as I felt. And I’m so fucking sorry it was you. You trusted me with something and I used it as a weapon. You didn’t deserve it. I’m really sorry.

  If you weren’t my friend, if you weren’t sleeping over that night, if you hadn’t put your backpack in my car, who the fuck knows how long it would’ve taken them to find me. You helped save me and I need to say thank you.

  And I’m sorry.

  I hope you’re doing okay in Oregon. I hope it’s a place where you can be yourself.

  Take care,

  G

  After sending the two emails, Geno looked up the website of the Stockton Police Department, hoping their chief had an email listed. He did, and Geno started typing.

  To: Chief@StocktonPD.com

  From: Geronimocaan@gmail.com

  Dear Captain Hook,

  Discovered something interesting today. In stage productions of Peter Pan, the part of George Darling and the part of James Hook are traditionally played by the same actor. Two sides of one man. I know that seems random, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. I never forgot that you got to me when my dad couldn’t. That night and the days after, right up until the arrest, you were there.

  I’ll turn twenty-one on July 20, 2010. I’d like the first legal beer I buy to be for you. I hope this can happen.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Caan

  To: Geronimocaan@gmail.com

  From: ChristopherMudry@gmail.com

  G,

  Thanks for your note. It was great to hear from you. I don’t think a day goes by that
you don’t cross my mind one way or another, wondering if you’re okay. Hoping to God you’re okay.

  Yeah, what you said that day hurt, but the circumstances were beyond shitty and it wasn’t hard to put into context. I understand where it was coming from. But I also appreciate the apology. Not just for my own feelings, but because it shows me you’re still the same decent guy I knew. Anyway, it’s accepted and you’re forgiven. We’ll move on before it gets awkward. Wait, it’s already awkward. Oh well.

  School is awesome. Oregon’s amazing. It’s a whole other world and I feel like I found my people, you know? Like I can finally breathe and I’m ME for the first time in my life.

  Let me know if you ever want to visit. There’s a cool vibe out here on the West Coast. It’s healing. If that makes sense.

  Really good to hear from you, G. I hope I’ll hear more. My number’s the same so call or text if you want.

  Be safe.

  Chris

  To: Geronimocaan@gmail.com

  From: Chief@StocktonPD.com

  Dear Mr. Caan,

  It’s on the calendar. MacClellan’s Pub. Bring ID and don’t be late.

  Best wishes,

  Capt. Daniel Hook

  P.S. My twin brother is James Hook. He’s a captain in the US Coast Guard. True story.

  A street fair was happening in Chelsea and the Bake & Bagel had a front row seat. Micah and Geno got up at three in the morning to make extra batches of bacon dough and the upstairs crew was double-staffed. Jav came in to work behind the counter with Stav.

  “I finished that book about Genghis Khan,” Geno said to Jav during a rare lull.

  “How was it?”

  “I liked it. You know anything about him?”

  “Only what I learned in school. Emperor of half the world. Badass motherfucker.”

  “When he was about fifteen, his father died, and the tribe kicked him out. Him and his mother and brothers and sisters. They wandered around in exile, starving. Then he was captured by his father’s friends and they made him a slave.”

  “Wow.”

  Geno nodded. “I was surprised to learn how much of his youth he spent being hungry and a captive. Anyway, he finally escaped, and the escape earned him a reputation. Men began to join with him. They became his generals. That’s how it started.”

  “With escape,” Jav said.

  “Yeah.”

  “And being known as something other than a slave.”

  They were quiet a little while, then Geno asked, “Do you believe everything happens for a reason?”

  “I do,” Jav said. “But not everyone gets the privilege of liking the reason. Of feeling the reason was worth the ordeal or the experience.”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  Jav looked at Geno a long moment. “You’re going to be a huge voice in the world.”

  “You think?”

  Jav nodded. “I think your story has a lot of power. It can be the kind of thing that builds an empire.”

  Micah came upstairs from the dough room. “Komo etash, habibis. What can I do?”

  “You kill the average guy,” Jav said.

  You have no idea, Geno thought.

  Conversation turned to one of Jav’s favorite subjects, names and the stories behind them. He was born Javier Gil deSoto but changed it to Javier Landes after 9/11.

  “Because the voices told you to?” Geno said.

  “No,” Jav said, laughing. “Because I— Shh. Wait.” He glanced up to the ceiling. “Did you hear that?”

  “You’re ridiculous,” Geno said.

  “I was born Michalis,” Micah said. “Day I landed at JFK, an immigration officer pronounced it Micah. I liked the way it sounded. Liked the idea of having a new name. It’s a reset button.”

  “New name, new you,” Jav said.

  “It’s actually a practice in Kabbalah. Jewish mysticism. Changing your name after a serious illness or injury.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I’ve heard that,” Geno said. “You change your name to confuse the Evil Eye, make it hard to find you.”

  “Geronimo,” Micah said. “Now that’s a name.”

  “Funny, you know what occurred to me the other day?” Jav said. “Geronimo is both a battle cry and a cry for help.”

  Geno blinked as his mind looked over this revelation from all sides.

  “Your boyfriend’s back,” Micah said, punching Jav’s arm.

  “I must be in trouble.” Jav headed out and Geno finished wrapping up one more sandwich before he went out front as well. The bakery was full of talk and laughter and eating. Beyond that, outside, the fair was in full swing. A brilliant spring day, filled with sound and smell and joy.

  Jav and Stef were huddled up on one side of a booth. Heads together, talking behind their hands and sneaking glances toward the far end of the counter. Geno followed the covert looks and saw Stav, standing with her arms extended over the bakery case, her hands caught up by a tall, sandy-blond man on the other side.

  Geno slid onto the opposite bench and asked, “Who’s that?”

  “My nephew’s father,” Jav said. “Roger Lark.”

  “The Treehouse Guy?” Geno said, a little too loudly and Stef swatted him.

  “Shh,” he said. “It’s on.”

  “It’s on?” Geno said, softer.

  “We introduced them last night,” Jav said. “It’s so fucking on.”

  Geno faked a yawning stretch and glanced back. Stav and Roger were lost in each other, fingers clasped tight like they could never be torn apart.

  “Look at them,” Stef said, his hand wrapping around Jav’s wrist. “Dude, I can’t believe we didn’t think of this before.”

  Jav leaned his head against Stef’s as he looked. “I’ve never seen her smile like that.”

  Filled with a sudden, pure happiness, Geno got up and went behind the counter. He walked up to Stav and tugged on the strings of her apron.

  “Why don’t you take the day off,” he said over her shoulder. He looked at Roger. “Hi, I’m Geno. Stav works for me.”

  The Treehouse Guy had grey eyes and an enormous smile beneath a big nose. “I’m Roger,” he said, shaking Geno’s hand. “Are you hiring?”

  Blushing and dazed, Stav turned back to look at Geno, who eased the loop of the apron over her head, then put it around his own neck. “Get out of here. I got this.”

  Geno stood in the shop doorway with a cup of coffee, watching the fair. Tired to the point where it didn’t matter anymore. Thinking about battle cries and cries for help. Names that hid you from the Evil Eye and voices that could build an empire.

  He heard the click of a camera shutter. Turning his head toward it, he saw a girl. As the camera lowered, her face came into view. She was Asian, with a teal-blue streak in her long, black hair. Tight jeans and a flannel shirt. Her golden arms tattooed and a ring in her nose. A smile that began at the corner of her upper lip, then bloomed downward across her chin when she saw Geno staring.

  She came closer, turning the camera around to show Geno the display. He leaned and looked at himself, posed in the doorway, strong-looking and contemplative. Ankles crossed under the hem of his long apron. Fit, tattooed arms in a black T-shirt. He looked good.

  He looked at peace.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “It was a nice moment. I went for it.”

  He minded. He would always mind cameras pointed in his direction. But it was a really good moment. He couldn’t stop looking at it.

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  Geno looked down at her. “What?”

  “It’s you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Her mouth parted in an incredulous laugh, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I don’t believe it.”

  “We’ve met?”
>
  “You don’t remember?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  “It was earlier this year. Back in January. At a bar on the Upper East Side. We both saw a guy slip a roofie into a girl’s drink.”

  Now Geno’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God.”

  “It’s you.”

  He touched his forehead, the night coming back to him. “Holy shit, I remember you.”

  “What’s your name?” she said.

  An impulse of the heart raced his brain to the finish line of his mouth. “Gen,” he said. With a hard G.

  “Gen?” she said. “Is that short for something?”

  “Genghis.”

  One of her perfect eyebrows raised. “For real?”

  Geno nodded.

  She crossed her arms. “Your name is actually Genghis.”

  Geno laughed at his feet. “No.”

  She laughed too, easily, as if this were an inside joke they had for years.

  “My name is actually Geronimo.”

  Her hand touched his bicep. “Okay, now you’re messing with me.”

  He took out his wallet, drew out his driver’s license and handed it to her.

  She looked at it, then back at him. “I stand corrected. So Gen is short for Geronimo?”

  “I was Geno for a long time. But I’ve been recently reinventing myself as Gen.”

  “How recently?”

  “About thirty seconds ago.” His chuckles were spilling out without control. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been up since three. I’m a little punchy.”

  The hand not holding his license extended toward him. “I’m Tai. It’s not short for anything and it’s the name I was born with.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. Again.”

  They shook. Both the grip and their eyes holding on.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Tai said. “I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve thought about you a lot all these months.”

  He wished he could say the same.

  She handed the license back, with one last glance. “Caan,” she said. “Genghis Caan. I get it.”

  “What do you think, too obvious?” He put the wallet back in his pocket.

  “No, I like it. Genghis and Geronimo. Both warriors.”