Drawing Blood

by Poppy Brite

  He remembered what Birdland had meant to him when he was small. It had been the place where he had discovered his talent, the place where he could work magic, where no one else could touch him. Trevor believed in magic more than ever. But he had learned that living in a place where no one could touch him was sometimes dangerous, and always lonely.

  Birdland was a mirror. You could shatter it and cut yourself to ribbons on it, you could obscure it with blood. Or you could be brave enough to look into it with eyes wide open and see whatever there was to see.

  He realized Zach was awake, had been watching him for some time. The moonlight turned his green eyes a strange underwater color. He did not speak, but smiled sleepily at Trevor and reached for his hand. The night was silent but for the distant shush of the sea on the sand and the sound of their breathing. The air smelled of flowers and salt, of their bodies’ unique chemistry.

  Yes, Trevor thought, he could have ripped himself apart on the jagged edges of Birdland just to learn how Bobby had felt doing it. He probably could have dragged Zach down with him. And he could have deluded himself into believing he did this without choice, that it was his destiny.

  But it was all choice. And there were so many other choices to make. There were so many other things to learn. He wouldn’t mind living for a thousand years, just for the chance to see a fraction of everything in the world.

  Trevor could not be grateful to Bobby for leaving him alive. But he could be glad he had not died in that house, with all those possibilities untapped, sights unseen, ideas unexplored. He could make that choice. He had made that choice. It was all up to him. The boy whose hand he held was living proof. Zach had shown him that anything was possible. Zach was the one who deserved his gratitude.

  Trevor found ways to show it straight on through till morning.