Bird

by Crystal Chan

  But something bothered me, and I drew my hand back. “Eugene,” I said quietly, “it’s my fault you’re here, you know.”

  Eugene looked away.

  “If I hadn’t climbed up the boulder, you wouldn’t have followed me and none of this would have ever happened,” I continued. “I was being stupid. You could have died.” My throat tightened. “Every night since the accident, I’ve had awful nightmares.”

  Eugene opened his mouth to say something, but just then a nurse came in and checked his pulse, made some notes in a chart. I hated when the nurses came in; they talked to Eugene like he was a baby, like he wasn’t supersmart or strong or daring. I was surprised Eugene didn’t seem to mind.

  After the nurse left, Eugene said quietly, “At first I was really upset at you. That was really dumb, what you did.” He paused. “But you could have been the one to fall.” Eugene’s eyes were dark and full. “I’m glad you weren’t.” Then he looked away, and we both breathed a little easier. “Besides,” he said, “you helped me realize something.”

  My brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Maybe being an astronaut wouldn’t be the best thing after all. I mean, wouldn’t it get lonely?”

  I grinned. “Nah, there’s lots of rocks to talk to, from what I hear.”

  “Then maybe you should be the one to go up.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Forget it. My family’s got a thing with heights.”

  Eugene laughed until it started to hurt and we had to calm down. “What’s today’s date?” he asked.

  I told him.

  His face lit up—not like before, because he got tired easily, but still. “The Perseids. They start tonight.”

  I turned out the lights and ran to his window. I only had to watch for a couple minutes before I saw a streaming flash of light arc across the sky.

  “Oh, my God!” I cried. It took my breath away, it was so beautiful.

  “Did you see one?” Eugene asked, straining from his bed.

  Before I could answer, I saw another. Then another. “And this is only the beginning,” Eugene added. “The best time is in the middle of the night, when we’re facing the forward side of the earth’s rotation, plunging into space.”

  But believe you me, it is not easy to convince a nurse that two kids in a dark room by themselves are actually trying to watch a meteor shower—not until the nurse sees a meteor and gasps, and not really until Eugene starts spouting off the difference between meteors and comets does she believe us and let us watch the Perseids. Of course, it’s still only with Eugene’s parents’ permission and then with the door open.

  Grandpa seemed calmer around Eugene at the hospital—I’m not sure if he felt bad about being so mean or he realized that duppies can’t have X-rays and decided he was wrong. Or maybe Grandpa realized that Eugene somehow had something to do with lifting his curse, so he can’t be all that bad, even if he is a duppy: He might be one of those good ones. Whatever the reason, Grandpa was whistling when we got home that night the Perseids started, and he didn’t even need to ask me if I wanted to, he already knew—we sat on the bumper of the Buick and watched those meteors careen through the sky, going from one infinity to another.

  I slapped at a mosquito on my neck, but I was too late; it got me. I dug under my T-shirt and scratched.

  Grandpa watched me scratch my neck, and he must have seen the necklace, because he nodded and said, “That’s Granny’s, you know.”

  When he saw the shock on my face, he added, “Granny wore it all the time. I put it behind her picture in the living room.”

  It must have fallen off when the picture fell.

  “But why did you put it there?” I asked.

  Grandpa’s eyes crinkled. “I put it there,” he said, rubbing his arm with his other hand, “so it could still be close to her.”

  Another meteor flashed through the sky. The night air anchored itself inside me.

  “If it’s Granny’s . . . is it a talisman?” I asked.

  Grandpa shrugged. “She said the necklace was for good luck, but I think she really wore it because it was beautiful.” And the way he looked at me then, I knew he was telling me that it was beautiful on me, too.

  I threw my arms around him and we watched the Perseids until our hearts were too full to take any more. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence I found that chain and good luck came my way, even though it didn’t seem like it at first. Or maybe it was sheer chance and the necklace was just a necklace. The truth was, I didn’t know anymore what was what, if it was coincidences or luck or duppies or spirits or God or other mysteries, but I did have the good sense to open my arms and say yes.

  Even still, I was stunned when I found a glossy, hardcover geology book on my bed one day, featuring the major minerals, gems, and fossils of North America. It was beautiful. I gingerly hugged the book to my chest and was going to go to Grandpa’s room to ask if he had given it to me when I saw my parents in the living room, sitting in silence, all peaceful.

  I didn’t have to ask them, and they didn’t have to tell me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Mom nodded. Dad’s lips pressed together in a proud smile. “We thought you would like it,” he said.

  “I do,” I said. Then my throat got tight. “But I can’t keep it.” I almost choked on my words. I extended the book back to them.

  Mom cocked her head. “Why not?”

  “We don’t have the money for this. And I’m not interested in rocks anymore.”

  The room went silent. A different kind of silence.

  How could I say that when I tried to be me, everything went wrong?

  My parents looked at each other for a long time. Finally, Mom cleared her throat. “It was really hard to walk out of my job, to stand up to Mr. Robinson. But I knew that was the right thing. If I hid who I was, I’d never be able to live with myself.” She shifted on the couch. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nodded. My heart felt thick as I peered at her. There was still a heaviness in her eyes. She was still sad. But it was different this time.

  “And then there are times to compromise.” Mom nodded to a corner by the kitchen window. “Dad and I have been talking. That’s where the coconut trees are going to be in the winter,” she said. “If the saplings live through the season.”

  “Of course they’ll make it,” Dad said. The corners of his lips curved up, just how Grandpa’s did. Then he cleared his throat. “And the cliff, Jewel.”

  I waited.

  “The soil is pretty good over there.”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “We can plant some rosemary bushes out there for you. To protect you.” He rubbed his nose. “And I have some holy water. It’s strong. Take it with you when you go.”

  It was then that I realized they still didn’t understand about the cliff—maybe they never would—but they were trying. We were all trying.

  And that had to be enough.

  Grandpa was trying too, the way the kitchen suddenly filled to bursting with smells of curry and garlic and thyme. And he wouldn’t let us help him—we would sit at the table, and he would serve us. He always served Dad first. It’s funny all the things you can say the way you put down a plate in front of someone: You can say I’m sorry or Let’s start over or I love you. Even though Grandpa was speaking now, for some things he still didn’t need any words at all.

  One evening after dinner, no one moved to clean up the table, which was strange. They just glanced at each other. I was going to stand up to clear the dishes, but Mom said quickly, “I’m so sorry you had to listen to Dad and me fight, Jewel.” She fidgeted. “That was not meant for you to hear. When you’re fighting and in a lot of pain, you can say a lot of things you don’t mean.”

  I waited. Even though I was still mad at her and didn’t want to understand, I realized that I kind of did. When I found out about Eugene’s real name, I was in so much pain too that the words just ran out of my mouth. Maybe that’s wha
t Mom was talking about.

  “When you’re angry, you don’t say things as clearly as you want.” Mom looked away for a good long moment and exhaled, like she had an elephant on her chest. “What I meant to say, Jewel, was that I wish I had been giving birth to you without having to worry about Bird,” Mom said. “Your coming into this world should have been one of the most joyful moments of my life.” Her eyes got bleary.

  I looked down and picked at a piece of dirt on the table.

  Mom took a wobbly breath and sipped her coffee. “Nevertheless,” she said, “it must have been awful to hear.”

  Mom looked at Dad, and Dad cleared his throat. “It’s easy to forget about others when you’re hurting,” he said. He shifted in his chair. “We didn’t mean to hurt you, Jewel. We’ve never meant to hurt you.”

  Grandpa brought out the cassette player that he was hiding on his lap and placed it on the table. He looked at me and smiled ever so slightly, then pressed the button.

  My brain was all mushed up. Were they saying that I was right to be angry? Either way, I wanted bad to press that stop button because the last thing I wanted to hear was yet another happy time with them and Bird.

  I was getting all worked up when the first words popped out of the cassette player.

  “Hello, Jewel.”

  My jaw dropped. This was an old tape, with Mom’s younger voice. How—?

  “Hey, sweetie. This is your dad. How are you doing in there? Are you ready to come out?”

  I looked at my parents, then to Grandpa. My bottom lip trembled. They were smiling at me across the table. I shifted my gaze back to the cassette player, my eyes glued to it as if my life depended on it.

  “Nah, she’s not coming out yet,” said Grandpa’s voice as the cassette rolled on. “She’s still reading the newspaper, I bet, learning how to be a future president.” A pause. “Hey, Jewel, we love you, and we’re waiting for you, okay?”

  My throat got thick. I could nearly see them crowding around the tape recorder, talking into the speaker. Just for me.

  “You’re going to love Grandpa’s stew,” Granny was saying. “You’ll probably want it the day you come out. Forget about milk.”

  “Oh, Gloria, stop that,” Grandpa said. “It’s not that good.”

  “Stop being bashful. You know it is,” Granny replied.

  Then, a young voice: “You’re gonna be my little sister.”

  I gasped.

  “But remember that I’m gonna be your big brother and you’re gonna have to do what I say,” Bird said.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Oh, Bird,” Mom said, “is that all you can tell her?”

  “Hmmmm . . . ,” Bird said, thinking. “No. We can play Superman. You can give me your ice cream. And you’re gonna be my best friend. Forever.”

  Eugene’s parents took him back to Virginia a couple weeks later. He was still moving really slow, and he was wrapped in casts and slings, but they made sure to get him a nice seat on the plane. And anyway, school was starting up for him soon. It was the night before he was to leave, and he was at my place, in the living room. I was drawing on his cast.

  “Is that another flower you’re drawing?” Eugene said, twisting his head, trying to see.

  I smiled, grabbed a red marker, and continued drawing on the back of his arm.

  Eugene groaned. “Look, I don’t want to go to school plastered with flowers.”

  “I’m putting fangs on it. See?” I said.

  “No, I can’t see it, that’s the point. I have no idea what you’re drawing.”

  I grabbed a blue marker. “Then you’ll have to use your fancy science to figure it out. Or just wait until the girls start talking.”

  The good thing about having your best friend in casts is he can’t chase you very far.

  But Eugene was in a different mood when his parents came by to pick him up. Everything was packed and ready to go home to the East Coast. Eugene shifted uncomfortably. “You really taught me something, you know that?”

  “Like what?”

  “I figured Iowa would suck. But there’s a lot more here than I thought.” His face got tight.

  I thought I knew what he was trying to say, and that made me feel embarrassed for some reason. “Event Horizon is going to miss you,” I said. “The boulder, too.”

  He nodded.

  Then I got an idea, ran to my bedroom, and came back. I placed my rock collection in his hands.

  “These are all my erratics,” I said.

  “Irregulars,” he said.

  I met his eyes. “Everywhere.”

  I wore his binoculars when we went with his family to the airport, and those binoculars crushed into my chest when he gave me the fiercest hug good-bye. I used those binoculars to watch Eugene in the sky as long as I could, to hold him in my vision until my eyes ached, until his plane dissolved into the blue, blue distance.

  As we were driving back to Caledonia, I panicked when I felt the porcelain Xolo dog still in my pocket—I had planned on trying to give it to him, one more time. But then I realized that forgetting to give it to Eugene might not be a coincidence: Maybe the Xolo dog was really meant to be in the earth, just like how Eugene had thrown it there. Except it wouldn’t belong to a pile of leaves. I’ll bury my Xolo dog at the cliff, I thought, and that thought rang loud and clear. A strange calmness washed over me. I dug in my pocket and held the little dog in my hands. Its fierce face looked back at me, ready for anything.

  “It looks like you’re supposed to be close to Bird,” I whispered to it, and then I had to smile. Because the Xoloitzcuintli dog protects against intruders and evil spirits, and it helps guide its master in the afterlife. Just in case Bird needed extra help finding his way home.

  The truth was, losing Eugene a second time was like being hollowed out all over again. But this time was different. Stars in close binary systems are forever changed by their companion star, just like Bird changed me, and then Eugene, and Grandpa and probably people in the future too, who I haven’t even met yet. Or take Mrs. Jameson, even, who called Mom that very evening to let her know she needed help in the bakery and asked if Mom would want to work with her. They’re not close binary systems, her and Mom, but it sure made a difference to Mom, with how happy and excited she was to have a job again. I’m sure Mrs. Jameson doesn’t know a thing about Mom’s cooking, or Reservation Chicken, and it’ll be interesting to see what Mom will do with hot ovens and food, but I’m sure Mom can learn new things, or at least unlearn her old cooking in order to learn the new. It made me wonder just how much we’re all connected, how we touch each other without even knowing it. And when we’re lucky, we do.

  I was thinking about this as I sat on our back porch with Grandpa, smelling of bug spray and eating ice cream that Mom got to celebrate her new job. Grandpa and I snuck some extra scoops after Mom and Dad went to bed. The Perseids were over, but they’ll come again, Eugene had said. They always will.

  “Grandpa?” I asked.

  “Yes, Jewel,” he said, digging into his ice cream with his spoon. I loved the way he said my name.

  “What do you call that music box you played?” The vanilla went down cold in my throat, stuck to the inside of my mouth.

  “A rhumba box, mi love,” he said. “Some call it a mento box.” I also loved the way he sat next to me; our legs almost touched, and I could feel the warmth coming off his skin, making me feel all safe and warm myself, even with the cooling night air.

  “And how old were you when you started singing?”

  He laughed, and by now his laugh was smooth and creamy. “I sang practically coming out of the womb,” he said. “My mom—your great-grandmother—said I was singing the night I was born.”

  “Really?”

  Grandpa nodded.

  Maybe it was because the moon was nearly full, watching us, that I suddenly felt brave. “Can you sing for me?” I asked tentatively.

  And to my surprise, he did.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS />
  I am standing on the shoulders of giants. These are the giants in my life:

  Kathi Appelt, for the best hug in the world; Emily van Beek, the ideal agent; Namrata Tripathi, for her compassion and editorial insight, and who saw the vision for this book in its infancy; Emily Kokie, for her wisdom and support; Silvia Gomez, who patiently answered all my questions about Mexico and never tires of reminding me who I am; Stacy Jaffe, who was there at the beginning and read that very first story; Tom and Kristin Clowes, who have the secret-chapter-zombie-ending; H.T. Yao, whose unfailing support rallies me on; Father Michael Sparough, SJ, who stands guard; Zach Lulloff, who will get the first signed copy; Brian Ballantine, who let me miss his wedding so I could follow my dream; Brenda Rodriguez and Miriam Hernandez, the two girls who first captured my heart; Christine Brown and Barbara Nelson, who read the entire story and gave valuable feedback on Jamaica; and Keron Blair, who patiently fielded my plethora of Jamaica questions.

  Additional thanks go to Timothy Smith, Kathy Kearns, Emma Ledbetter, Quinn Mark Steiner, Bill Goldberg, Jennifer Newton, Esther Hershenhorn, Bob Raccuglia, Karen Bruno, Thomas Lynch, Amy Zajakowski-Uhll, Judith Ierulli, Erica Hornthal, Roseanne Lindsay, Gayle Rosengren, and Darcy Pattison; the community at St. Gertrude’s Parish, who held me when I needed it most; and to anyone I might have forgotten to mention. Thanks to Molly Jaffa and Melissa Sarver, who found the passion in this book and multiplied it across the globe. To the librarians and staff at the Rogers Park branch of the Chicago Public Library, I thank you. Also, a special thanks goes to my family, for being the birthplace of all these stories. And finally, to God, the ineffable, the mysterious, the one who must be pursued.