Sparrows For Free

by Lila Felix

  “You can’t do that in front of people,” he whispers harshly in my ear. He’s pulled me into a hug, but this is nothing like his friend’s hug. My nose is buried in his chest and he smells like Ivory Soap and Satsumas. How does a boy get to smelling like Satsumas?

  “Do what?”

  “Look at me like that.”

  “Okay,” I sputter out. I know what he speaks of, but I didn’t know he’d actually call me out.

  “If you wanted to go somewhere you should’ve called. I was going to call you tonight and see about going on an actual date tomorrow.”

  “Gray called me,” I say. As he pulls away, I don’t realize my eyes were closed.

  “Oh, okay. Good. I’m glad she has another girlfriend. She only hangs out with us all the time. Where are y’all going?”

  “Shopping,” Gray interjects from behind Ezra.

  “Shopping for what,” he asks me or her. I don’t know which because our eyes are locked again. A smile plays on his face, but he never breaks his stare.

  “Lingerie,” Gray says, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door.

  Dauber chimes in, “I’d be happy to come help.”

  “Um, no;” Gray answers, and before I can say goodbye or anything, we’re out the door and in her tiny silver BMW.

  “Nice car,” I say in passing.

  “Yeah, parents were trying to make me get better grades. They had it all wrong of course. I had the nice car, why make good grades? There’s nothing to work for.”

  We got to the mall, and she was right, even though I’d hoped against hope that she was joking. We shopped at Victoria’s Secret and her dirty little sister, Fredrick’s of Hollywood. The first one was okay, and I actually ended up falling for that ‘Do you want to save ten percent on your total purchase today?’ ploy and got a credit card. I bought four matching sets of bras and panties and a scandalous pair of pajamas and then made myself leave, ignoring the pull of the body spray display.

  Gray, on the other hand, well, Victoria’s Secret was too tame for her. So while I stood near the front, Gray perused Fredrick’s, but still never bought a thing. After three hours of watching Gray touch every single shirt and dress in every single department store and shop, I relented to my body.

  “Gray, I’m done. Seriously, I’ve been up since five this morning.”

  “Okay, let’s stop for coffee and rest.”

  “Yeah, caffeine is good.”

  We both order lattes, pumpkin spice for her and cinnamon dolce for me. Halfway through, I’m coherent again.

  “So, tell me about your date with Ezra.”

  Right off the bat, her tone and facial expressions strike me as off. I try to shake off my normal suspicions and answer her. But the back of my mind still buzzes with apprehension.

  “Well, I kinda ruined it. I don’t think it counts. I had a weird day at work, and he just stayed with me and helped.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him. I’m sure it was fine.”

  She turns the conversation around to herself and Trevor. I now know the reason behind all the new lingerie—she’s planning on sleeping with him soon and spares no details in how far they’ve gone to date. I think my latte has spoiled milk in it—or the conversation has curdled it.

  “Well, let’s go,” she coos at me. I don’t bother going in after we get back to their apartment. I don’t want to seem absolutely desperate to see Ezra, regardless of whether or not I am.

  I change into my new racy sleepwear and get into bed. I almost drift to sleep when my phone rings and it scares me to death.

  “Hello?”

  “You didn’t come in. I wanted to see you again.” His voice edged on vulnerable.

  “Oh, I was beat. Gray sure can shop.”

  He clears his throat, “She, um, came in with some interesting bags.”

  “It was interesting. I stood by the front of that store while she shopped. I’m a Victoria’s Secret kind of girl.”

  A masculine huff is the only response I receive.

  “So, tomorrow? I’m assuming you want more than a pew visit or to insult me by the slide?”

  I giggle. How annoying.

  “I don’t know. That sounds tempting.” I swear, he rumbled the word tempting, and I felt it down to my toes.

  “I’ll see you at church then?”

  “I thought you were the one all brave on the phone. Come on, tell me what you’d like to do.”

  I hums some thinking tune and then answered, “How about dinner?”

  “Dinner is good. But dress up, I’m bringing you somewhere nice.”

  I felt the bravery rise, “What if I’m one of these contemporary women who want to meet you there and pay for my own meal?”

  He grumbles out a laugh, “Then you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m coming to pick you up, and I will pay. Otherwise, I’ll see you in church.”

  I kinda like this side of him.

  “Fine. You pick me up, you pay. Just fine.”

  “Ok, I’ll be there soon.”

  “See you then.”

  He hangs up first. And now instead of going to sleep I’m up, flustered about what I’m gonna wear.

  Ezra

  I texted her during lunch and instead of her texting me back, she called me. It was the best lunch break in the history of lunch breaks.

  She must’ve asked me if I was sure about our date fifteen times.

  It makes me want to take her by the elbows and shake the history from her.

  I get home later than usual and hurry up to shower. But coming out of the bathroom, going into my room, I hear whimpers coming from Gray’s room. I run into my room, throw on a pair of shorts and make my way to her room. I don’t even bother knocking, I just go in. And though these days usually only come around Mara’s death anniversary or her birthday, Gray is on her bed, surrounded by pictures of Mara, falling apart in front of me. She doesn’t even notice me coming in.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looks up and gasps, “Oh, sorry. I just saw someone today that looked just like her. I almost called her name. It was crazy. I’m just having a bad night.”

  “Don’t you have plans tonight? Trevor?”

  She gathers the pictures, stacking them like playing cards, “No. We’re not together anymore. He was always on his phone. It pissed me off.”

  “And the Friday night group sessions?”

  “Ugh, I hate those. They look at me like I’m some kind of freak because I’m hanging onto a death from years ago. I can’t handle those people. Can’t we just hang out?”

  Her request burns in my chest. How can I choose between the person who I’m liking more and more by the second and my best friend, whose life I basically ruined? I want to choose Aysa, I do. Gray knows Aysa and I have a date tonight. We’d talked about it this morning before splitting ways to go to work and school.

  It’s not like she can pick when the bad days will hit her.

  But I can’t choose.

  So my guilt chooses for me.

  “I’ll call Aysa and cancel. She’ll understand.”

  She springs from her bed, fear plastered on her face, “You can’t tell her the truth. She’ll never understand. And what will she think about the whole thing?”

  She’s right. Aysa could never understand such a monumental mistake, no one really can. Even the counselors and my parents can’t even cope with it.

  She’d think I’m a horrible person.

  She’d think I’m deranged.

  She’d think I’m a murderer.

  “I’ll say you’re not feeling well.”

  “If you think that’s best,” she whispers. I feel like dirt. That’s what I feel like when I see the ramifications of what I’ve done to not one, but four lives, at minimum—dirt.

  “Yeah, I’m always here for you. You know that.”

  I call Aysa. She answers after several rings.

  “Hi!”

  Oh God, she sounds excited. But only half as exci
ted as I was until about five minutes ago.

  “Hey, Aysa.”

  I hear the music in the background stop, “What’s wrong? You sound so down.”

  “Gray isn’t feeling well and no one else is available. I’m kinda worried about her.”

  “Oh no.”

  “I really think I should stay with her. I’m worried. I’m so sorry.”

  How many times am I gonna say I’m worried?

  “No, it’s fine. Can I bring you something? Soup or orange juice?”

  “I think we have everything we need. Thanks. How about I make it up to you on Sunday?”

  “She may not be better for Sunday. Why don’t you just call me when she’s better?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She made a ‘pshh’ sound; “It’s fine. Take care of her and call me if you need anything.”

  “Hey! While I have you on the phone, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

  “Oh, I’m house sitting. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Yeah, this is what being buried in shit feels like.

  Aysa

  As skilled as I am at hiding from people—I’m even more polished at pretending. I’ve gotten so good at it, sometimes I fool myself.

  Or maybe I’m just a fool.

  Like right now, when I’m staring myself in the mirror, making my eyes convince their reflection that it’s okay. That even though I detected dishonesty in the tone of his voice, I could be imagining it. Already dressed in a cream colored Grecian style dress, I grab my forest green pea coat, throw it over my dress and change my flats for some knee high furry boots.

  Since he cancelled on me, and I’m lame, I decide to resume my regularly scheduled programming. I haven’t eaten yet. I had planned to eat on the date. So, on the way to church I decide to stop in the local Cajun place and warm my body with a bowl of Gumbo. The waitress sits me in the back of the place away from the front where the Fais-do-do dancers are. Somehow she knew what I preferred. After finishing my hearty soup, I stay put, just enjoying the people watching.

  Near ten, I leave, making my way to the church. It’s the Friday night before Thanksgiving, and the place is more crowded than usual. My usual spot in the back is now occupied by a red haired man who looks more enamored with the pew than I am. I may have to change where I sit from now on. He’s caressing the back of the holy bench with his outstretched hand. It’s tainted now. I take the back stairs up to the balcony and slyly duck under the barrier which blocks certain pews from being filled.

  Side-swaying down to the corner, above the left arm of Jesus, I can see the entire church from here. I pray my standard, run of the mill offering. I spend the rest of the time desperately keeping reign on my tears.

  One day—probably when I’m old and gray—I will adopt that attitude I so envy in others. You know the one I speak of. The one where you just spout out whatever words come into your brain when others do or say something to you. The one where you can go home at night after reaming someone or calling them an idiot and just sleep like the dead.

  But until then I feel like a moth. I fly around like I don’t have a care. I look free, but really I’m trapped by the things that capture and keep my attention, like fire and pain.

  You know what happens to moths when you hit them?

  They turn to dust.

  Powder under your palm.

  I pull on the edge of my pristine dress, picked out just for him and the date I’d never go on. I’d been so fixated on getting just the right dress. How fucking stupid of me.

  I was the moth he covered with his palm—now disintegrated.

  Will I ever grow an exoskeleton?

  Or maybe just a spine?

  Tears are now hanging from the cliff of my jaw, so I reach for the ever present tissues in front of me. I mop up the tears non-gracefully. A shimmering from the ground floor catches my eye, and that’s when the thrumming of my heartbeat in my ears beats to the drum of, ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

  I try to watch the scene from a stranger’s point of view. That’s how I begin the process of rationalizing the scene. I pretend I don’t know these people. It makes it easier when I see them take the pew on the right in the back. I feign ignorance as I see him look around to the pew that once belonged to me and then around the rest of the church nervously.

  No, I’m not seeing his arm around her shoulders. Her hand is not on his thigh as she grazes a finger across the top of his pec and then taps it over his heart.

  They are a couple. They act like a couple. They touch each other like a couple. He made a mistake. She wasn’t as sick as she thought. She came to church to pray for her sickness.

  This isn’t happening.

  They don’t light candles tonight, and no cool priest comes from the hidden panel to greet them. They just sit there. She cries. From this angle, or maybe in this state of mind, I’m inclined to believe it’s fake—the crying. Maybe I just want to nitpick her. Ezra continues to scan the place nervously, and though his arm is around her shoulders, he looks like this is the last place he wants to be.

  Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

  I can’t take anymore. This place, once a haven from my humiliation has now turned into another piece of sandpaper that chafes me. I shoot up out of my seat. The pew creaked in rebellion, and my eyes darted down to the couple, making sure I haven’t been spotted.

  I have been spotted by Ezra.

  The color drains from his face.

  His arm retracts from around her shoulders.

  He had to know I’d be here.

  Heat whooshes to my face. His eyes bear into me. I want to read apology in them. I want to find the regret I seek. And for a splice of time I find it. His right hand reaches in my direction as if it was long enough to get to me on the balcony.

  Gray sees his gaze and looks up to see what holds his attention. She waves a little and summons me with her hand to come down.

  So, I act like I’m going. I’m about to do the bitchiest thing I’ve ever done. It must be this newfound splice of spine. I get to the stairs and quickly make my way down. When I hit the bottom step, Ezra is looking at me while Gray whispers something in his ear.

  There’s a big difference in feeling bad about something you’ve done and feeling bad because you’ve gotten caught.

  I stop at the bottom of the stairs, shrug my shoulders and give him a curt smile that reads, ‘It’s no big deal.’ Then I take a sharp left for the side door, slip out and cut around the back of the church.

  I crouch against the cool bricks and look at the moon. In the distance, I hear the side door of the church open. My ears pick up on his voice, low, rumbling my name into the night.

  As soon as he stops and goes back inside, I make for my apartment. I call my mom and confirm that she’s leaving the next morning with my dad and my sister for their cruise. I also confirm that, despite my stand up attitude, she hasn’t called anyone else and still expects me to housesit for her.

  She knows I will cave every time.

  I pack my things, cursing the tears. We’ve never even gone out on a date. There was no reason at all to be even the littlest bit upset by him cancelling on me. He and Gray obviously had a strong connection.

  I think we had a spark of a connection, as well.

  I’m probably way off base.

  I shouldn’t have shown him my imperfections. I shouldn’t have let him in. It was a mistake, and I know that now.

  The lovely dress gets thrown onto the bed with its accompanying shoes. I’m not going to go over to my parents’ home looking like I was dressed for a date or even in a dress at all. It was just asking for more trouble.

  I look on it in mourning. It deserved a good first date.

  It’s a hell of a dress.

  I shove what I need into a duffel bag, enough for a week. I turn off all the Christmas lights and lock up behind myself. I turn off my phone and stick it in my back pocket.

  The walk-in closet in
my childhood bedroom should suffice for the night.

  Ezra

  The cemetery is empty of life and so is the slide in the adjoining park.

  She’s gone.

  Why did I let Gray talk me into coming here when I knew she’d be here?

  Because I’m a glutton for punishment—inflicted on myself.

  Back inside the church, I sit next to Gray, defeated. There’s a gnawing in the back of my mind that tells me something is off with her and it has nothing to do with Mara—or me.

  “Where’s Aysa?”

  “I couldn’t find her.”

  “Well, she probably has her feelings hurt because you cancelled your date. I don’t blame her.”

  I look at her like she was nuts.

  “You said you needed me.”

  “I did.”

  I’m frustrated beyond imagination with Gray right now, but don’t dare show it. She hasn’t cried a single tear since I went back to her room after cancelling my date. I don’t know what to make of the whole thing. It feels like I’ve committed betrayal.

  Turning my back on Aysa in favor of Gray feels like betrayal.

  And it shouldn’t. This is my best friend. She’s been with me through everything. Is tragedy the only thing holding us together?

  Would we be friends if Mara was still here?

  “I’m going to call her;” I skirt past her.

  Outside, phone to my ear, Aysa’s line doesn’t even ring, and there’s no voicemail. Gray comes out on my third attempt to call her and says she’s tired. I bring her back home. Something is changing in Gray. She barks at me to stop trying to call Aysa when we get home. I figure it’s just because she doesn’t have my one hundred percent, undivided attention anymore.

  But it’s wrong to think that way.

  This is Gray.

  After a few video games and her bath, Gray goes to bed. Aysa is still not answering the phone, and I desperately want to explain myself to her. But what would I say? Yes, I wanted to see you, but I chose Gray over you. No, she wasn’t sick—I’m a liar. Yes, she’s crying over something I did—three years ago.

  Yes, something deep inside me knew you would be at the church. Something inside me wanted to get caught by you. That way, maybe you’d run before I could ruin you too.