The Meaning of Birds

by Jaye Robin Brown

“But it’s not okay what happened.”

  Vivi thought for a second. “I don’t really see it as that different from my asthma. It sounds like it’s something you can’t help. A part of you. I mean, yeah, it’s kind of scary, I’m all sparrows and chickadees, so it’s hard for me to relate, and I don’t want you to slug me with your backpack or anything again.”

  I reached my hand halfway across the gap between us. She brought hers to meet mine and we sat fingertip to fingertip. “You can help me,” I said.

  “I can?”

  “Remind me of my tools. It’s why Cheyanne was so nonchalant today. She knows about my song, my breathing techniques. She’s had a couple of years of practice of helping me refind my center.”

  Vivi frowned. “I’ll try, but I’d rather be your girlfriend than your therapist.”

  She had a point.

  “Maybe you could just say something like ‘use your tools’?”

  She thought for a second. “Yeah. Okay.” Then, “Does your art help?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, the doodling really helps.” I put my fingertips on top of hers. “I also use focus memories. Like this one Christmas from way back when my dad was still alive. We had such a great day. I remember being happy and calm.”

  “Do you have others?”

  I felt heat rise into my cheeks. “Yeah.”

  She twined her fingers into mine. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”

  I looked at our joined hands, too nervous to look in her eyes. “I think about you. Your smile. Your eyes. That day we hugged at the park. You do calm me. You’re like a Vivi balm.”

  “Huh.” Vivi gripped my hand tighter. “I like that.”

  Across the lake there was a “Hoo, hoo. Hoo, hoo.”

  “Great horned owl,” Vivi said. “Like the one you drew for me. That seems like fate, doesn’t it?”

  It called again and I listened to the sound in a new way. Vivi wasn’t running away from me. I’d told her my truth and she was still sitting here, holding my hand.

  She pointed across the lake. “There.” In the moonlight, I saw a great span of wings darkening the reflection on the water. “You know,” Vivi said. “They are fierce protectors of their territory. Maybe instead of you thinking you have to protect me, I can help protect you?”

  I squeezed her bicep in a “my, your muscles are strong” sort of way.

  “Not like that.” Vivi swatted me. “Like this.” She placed her hand slightly above my heart. “I’ve got you, Jess. You’re safe with me.”

  I knew the only person who could really help me manage my issues was me. But her intentions were pure and even though it was too soon to say it, I was in love with her. So I smiled, incredibly grateful for the chance to make things right, and laid my head on her shoulder, letting her wrap her arm around me as we sat watching the moonlight and the stars until her parents called us to leave.

  13

  Now: One Week, Two Days After (Afternoon)

  A sliver of white moon hangs above the horizon as I walk out from the buzzing lights of McGovern’s classroom, into a warmer October afternoon. Instead of the bus I was instructed to take, my sister waits in the parking lot.

  “Mom told me what happened.”

  I get into the passenger seat, moving her papers and books to the back. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Is it bad? Who’s in there with you?” She looks over to where a bunch of the guys are filing onto the short bus. “Those guys? Jesus, Jess. How’s sticking you in with a bunch of hooligans going to keep you from being one yourself?”

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence.” But I can see how she’d think that. The guys are a combination of ankle bracelets, tough expressions, and bad haircuts. With the exception of a couple of ISS kids like me, they’re all alternative school lifers.

  She keeps staring. “I’ve got your back. But Mom’s freaking out that you’re on a rewind to ruin. And I’m kind of freaked out, too. I mean, I know you lost Vivi, but we can’t handle losing you.”

  Using my thumb and forefinger, I press against my temples to keep myself calm. My sister’s flair for the dramatic is undeniable. Sure, I’d had a moment or two of dark thoughts, but it wasn’t because I was actually thinking of ending my life, I was just so sad I couldn’t imagine how life was going to go on. But I guess it’s right for her to worry and check in.

  “I’m grieving, Nina. I’m not suicidal. I swear.”

  “Okay, I just, I was telling Benny how sad you are and how sad that makes me, and he was so sweet about it, such a comfort you know, saying I’d be okay.” She backs out of her parking spot. “And I thought, you’re right. I’ll be okay, but not if my sister’s getting into fights and stressing out Mom.”

  I reach for my phone, an automatic response to text Vivi and shout in all caps, SHE’S DOING IT AGAIN. And then I remember, no Vivi. I type anyway, but don’t hit send. My fingers curl around my phone and cover the screen as I withdraw into myself and look out the window. Sorrow waves lash at the corners of my face. Vivi would type back and tell me it was okay and to cut Nina some slack, that she dealt with being a fatherless girl in her own way, which involved martyrdom and male approval, and somehow, I was her bellwether mark for martyrdom. I’d type back, I KNOW BUT SHE STILL BUGS THE SHINGLES OUT OF ME. And then Vivi would send me laughing emojis at my clever use of a non-curse word curse word on her behalf. The sorrow wave pummels me. There will be no more texts from Vivi. Ever. Again.

  I click through the ones not deleted. They’re nonsensical. Nothing of substance. Just meet me in the hall after 2nd block and k and a few pictures of her shoes, or her fingernails, or whatever other random shot she’d taken in the moment. It’s the last one I read repeatedly. Mom’s picking me up early, I feel like crap. And my subpar response. K, feel better, I’ll call you later. Not even an I love you.

  Nina interrupts my thoughts. “FroYo Mama? I got a coupon for buy one get one free.”

  I drop the phone in my lap. “Sure.”

  I’m not hungry. But sometimes it’s easier to roll with Nina. And maybe, if I’m in a public place, I can keep the tears and anguish at bay.

  When Nina brings our cups back from the toppings bar—hers piña colada with almonds, white chocolate chips, and pineapple, mine chocolate with crushed Oreos and strawberries—she slides into the booth across from me. I halfheartedly poke at my yogurt with the spoon she hands me. “I have an idea. Something to cheer you up.”

  How do I explain to her that grief is not really something you cheer up from? It’s a quarry of dark rock walls and even darker water. It’s the Upside Down or Shadowvale. But I just say, “Oh yeah?”

  “I think we need to have a sister spa day. I’ve saved a bunch of money from work and we can go over to Asheville on a Saturday. We’ll get a mani-pedi. I can take you to all those cool stores on Lexington that are more your style. We can eat from food trucks and go hang out at that hippie park and watch the drummers. I’ve already asked Mom, because she told me you were grounded, and she said it sounded like a good idea once you weren’t grounded.”

  “You don’t need to spend your money on me, Nina. I know you’re saving that to help with your tuition.”

  She grabs my hand. “Don’t be silly, sissy. This is totally worth it. Besides I would love a day in Asheville.”

  Of course she would.

  “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

  She claps and grins and then pulls out her phone to answer texts to Benny, the boyfriend, and picks a date for a few weeks off. “We can always change it if the weather’s crappy.” Then she’s off on a verbal adventure filling me in on all the minutiae of her job at the chicken place and how she can’t wait to finally get to do clinicals for her dental hygienist degree and how the extra year of hair stylist classes may have put her behind for graduation but at least she’d have two life skills. I play with my yogurt and insert a well-placed yeah, and uh-huh, until finally she’s ready to leave.

  When she drops me at the house before taking
off for her job, I’m ready to collapse into a never-ending cry.

  Emma Watson waits for me.

  “Hey, cat.”

  Blink.

  “Scoot over.”

  I climb under the covers and pull her to my chest. She’s in one of her more helpful moods because she starts purring and kneading her paws against my sternum. With each press, I feel myself releasing. And with each release, I know it’s coming. I roll sideways, still hanging on to the cat and let the sobs go. Emma Watson does not want to be in close range for that and wriggles away to the floor. I grab a pillow and hold it in my arms, squeezing and sobbing, until I’m spent. I can’t believe this has happened. One minute, Vivi was there. And the next minute she was gone. Is this how my mom felt with my dad? Does she regret the things she didn’t say?

  My phone rings. I’m not in the mood to answer it, but it’s Cheyanne and I figure I owe her.

  “Hey.”

  “Are you okay? Is your mom freaking out?”

  “Yes. And yes. I’m grounded because of the alcohol and she wants me to go back to therapy.”

  “Might not be a bad idea.”

  “Seriously? I thought you were on my side.”

  “Jess.” Cheyanne’s voice is scolding. “Of course I’m on your side, but that girl you jumped looks bad. You messed her up.”

  I take some small measure of happiness from this until I think about how Vivi would react. She would have left me over something like a full-on girl fight. Hell, I might leave myself over it. It wasn’t cool. I know that, but I couldn’t stop myself. It just burned its way up and . . . slam. Done.

  “My bad. I know.”

  “Alternative school for four weeks. Will that go on your high school record? Like for colleges and stuff? Will you have time to work on your portfolio over there? If I remember it’s due in six weeks.”

  What Cheyanne doesn’t know is I’ve tossed all my drawings. Deleted all the digital images. Released, feather by feather, until each bird has vanished to a sky I can no longer reach.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

  Might as well give her the moment of truth, let her know how much of a loser her friend really is. “I’m not going to apply.”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  Then.

  “Are you out of your mind? Do you know what your chances are of getting a decent job if you don’t have a bachelor’s degree at a minimum? You love drawing. It’s the one thing I always loved Vivi for, goading you into realizing you had a skill. NC State will totally accept you.”

  “Cheyanne, stop. I’m not applying. I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it. Vivi’s not going to be there next year, so why the hell should I be?”

  “Good lord, would you stop with the pity party. You are not the only one grieving Vivi, and though losing your girlfriend seriously sucks, she would NOT want you to stop living your life. She would want you to apply.”

  I snug the pillow closer and fling my leg out from under the covers. “Chey, it’s hopeless. Give it up.”

  “Not the answer I want to hear.” Then, silence.

  I try to outlast her but the mental image of her resting bitch stare pops up in my brain and I cave. “Fine. You can help me do college applications. But no NC State. No art portfolio.”

  “Better, but so weird, Jess. That artwork saved you from shit like last night. Listen to your mother and consider counseling. Then maybe you can talk to the guidance office, show you’re doing the work for your fisticuffs and NC State might give you an extension.”

  “Not sure how that all works, but I will take your advice into consideration.” I won’t, but like with Nina, sometimes it’s just easier to go along with Cheyanne.

  “Good. Now take into consideration me coming over this weekend. Since you’re grounded and I don’t get to see you at school. Your mother loves me.”

  “Yeah, okay.” An urgency to get off the phone and escape into the cocoon of my blankets strikes hard. “I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you later.” I don’t wait for her to say goodbye, just hit the end button. It’s too much. I know they’re all only trying to help, but it hasn’t even been two weeks. It hasn’t even sunk in yet that Vivi’s really, truly gone.

  14

  Then: The Patterns of Their Feathering

  I was cocooned in my comforter with my sketchbook and pens when my mom walked into my room. “I have something for you.” She slipped a white bag with string handles onto my bed. “They had a raffle at the office and I won. I could have chosen the laptop for your sister’s college, but . . .”

  I peered into the bag, not believing what I was seeing. It was not only an iPad but one of the big pro ones like illustrators used. It even had a digital pen with it. “Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe it.

  She sat down on the bed where I had my sketchbook open to a series of pencil sketches of owls in flight. She turned the paper toward her and smiled. “Of course I’m serious. It’s nice to see you so engaged in something.” She pulled me into a hug. “I want you to find your happiness. It seems like between having a girlfriend and your constant sketching you’re well on your way.”

  It was nice the way Mom had gotten so cool about Vivi, even if it had given her a moment of pause. I knew other kids weren’t as lucky as me, but ever since she lost Dad her whole outlook on life was what she called “now within reason.” Which I took to mean, as long as we were happy and fulfilled, and didn’t put ourselves or others in harm’s way, then she was all for it.

  “This is amazing, Mom.” I wrapped my arms tighter around her, hugging back. “I’m going to draw something for you.”

  She patted her fingertips together in an excited clap. “And I’ll frame it and hang it on the wall. Your artwork has definitely outgrown the refrigerator.”

  I was already pulling the cellophane off the box when she kissed me on the forehead and left the room.

  Cheyanne found me first the next morning. I had huge circles under my eyes because I’d stayed up all night long working with the paint program, getting the hang of the tools, and trying to make a piece worthy of my mother.

  “What are you doing?”

  I twisted the tablet so she could see the image of the great horned owl like the one Vivi and I had seen at the lake a month ago. Instead of going realistic, like the fine-pen drawings I’d already done of the owl in my sketchbook, I went for something wilder with the marker brush tool. I’d chosen purples, blues, and lime green, varying the line widths, so it was more painting than drawing.

  Cheyanne, who was rocking some serious cat eye makeup this morning, was speechless. Until. “Holy shit, Jess. When did you become a bona fide artist?”

  I cringed. I’d only shown Vivi, Nina, and my mom my work. Showing other people transformed it. Made it available for criticism or praise and both were kind of the same. If you believed one you had to believe the other, and mostly I liked my doodles being for me. It shouldn’t matter what other people thought, but a swell of pride filled me all the same.

  “It’s not that big of a deal. Well, my new tablet is a pretty big deal, but the drawing . . .” I lifted my shoulders in a whatever kind of move.

  “Nuh-uh.” Cheyanne took the tablet out of my hands and spent a long time looking at what I’d done. “I can adapt Bach cello suites to the string bass, but I could never do this.” She handed back the iPad, then pinched me on the butt. “Girl, you’ve got talent!”

  That was the moment Vivi chose to appear. She settled next to Cheyanne. “Right? I keep telling her she’s good, but she says I’m supposed to tell her those things. Girlfriend law, or some crap like that.” Vivi leaned across Cheyanne and scrunched up her face at me. “See, I’m not the only one who thinks you’re a real artist.”

  I did like my drawings. I liked learning about birds from Vivi and then learning more by studying how they were put together, the patterns of their feathering, the variations of the
ir beaks and wings. I liked finding out maybe I could do something after all. But still. “Y’all are kind of embarrassing me.”

  Cheyanne growled. “Get over it.” Then, “How are you learning all of this? You’re not taking art, are you?”

  Vivi chimed in. “You should listen to your best friend. Sign up for art next semester.”

  After our big talk at the lake, Vivi had decided she was going to win Cheyanne over come hell or high water. Her tactic was simple. Pay Cheyanne as much attention as she paid me. Tell her how awesome her ideas were. Let her know in no uncertain terms that Vivi understood Cheyanne had best friend status and was willing to keep that space available even though she and I were a couple. Also, she wanted Cheyanne to know that she, too, understood about my triggers and wasn’t going to run away from me if I backslid.

  Lately, even though at first I thought Cheyanne would think Vivi was pandering to her, it seemed like it was starting to work.

  “You know the makeup tutorials you’re so into?” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “There are tons of art tutorials online, too. I’ve been following a few different channels and learning.”

  “Makes sense,” Chey said.

  Vivi looked at Cheyanne. “Is that how you got your eyes to look so amazing? They’re cedar waxwing eyes.”

  “What the what?” Cheyanne looked at Vivi like she had lost it.

  I pulled up a photo on the tablet. “You should know by now, Vivi speaks in bird. This is a cedar waxwing.”

  Cheyanne leaned closer inspecting the bird’s black mask around its eyes. “Who knew, I always thought I was doing cat eyes.” She looked at Vivi. “Will you please tell me what the hell is up with the bird obsession? Though I like it in Jess’s art, it’s seriously nerdy on you.”

  “Nerds are the best people. You are in the band. You should know this.”

  I held my breath. Vivi’s teasing could go well. Or it could go south.

  Cheyanne pinched Vivi’s hip. A good sign. She only pinched the people she loved. “Answer the question.”

  Vivi shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe I was a bird in my past life.”