by Abra Ebner
It was muddy and wet, and instead of elation, I felt the fresh sting of rejection. I threw it across the room, where it hit the closet door, ricocheting into the laundry basket.
“Leave me alone, Mother.” I fell into the pile of feathers and began to cry, crying myself into a trance that led me to the depths of my nightmare.
* * *
I woke to the sound of footsteps walking past my bedroom door. I heard them stumbling along and pausing for a moment, only to stumble some more until the door at the end of the hall slammed. I sat up, rubbing my face and picking what feathers I could from my hair. My heart was still racing, my dreams a blur of death and fire. Hand on my chest, I tried to calm myself. Moonlight streamed through the open window, the light of a full moon.
I swallowed and threw my feet off the bed and onto the floor. I quietly tiptoed to the door, unlocked it, and sneaked down the hall to the bathroom. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights, not wanting my father to notice and come searching for me. My fire was dying, and I was vulnerable.
Walking back a few moments later, my footsteps felt heavy and tired. I was sick of the world, tired of the letdowns and the mysteries. In my room I shut the door and refastened the lock. Sitting on my bed in the dark, I listened to the crickets outside. The room was a midnight blue, the color monotone and sad. In the distance there was a rumble of thunder, a spring storm slowly descending on the fields, a necessity this time of year. As the sound of the storm and the light of the moon played on my senses, I thought about my mother. I pictured her sitting under a light as I was now, taking her last breath before death.
I twisted my head to the side, looking at the laundry basket. The dull, blue light shone vaguely across the hilt of the key atop the pile. It glimmered despite the mud, shone despite its age. Mother was trying hard to make me notice.
I rolled from bed once more and walked slowly across the room. Standing over the basket, I looked down on it with my hands resting limply at my sides. I reached for the key, my thumb rubbing over a bit of mud that crumbled and fell away. The cool weight of it in my hand was divine, and I thought to try to use it once more.
I went back to my bed and knelt to the ground. I put the key atop the mattress and reached for the box. Both hands cradled the rough, weathered wood. Setting it in front of me, I gingerly took the key, fitting it into the lock and feeling it slide in with a leaden clank. The satisfying noise came as a relief to me. I twisted the key, and the catch disengaged. There was a soft ruffling against the wood, already melodic. Holding my breath, I slowly opened the lid. The room was suddenly filled with the overwhelming sound of a hundred gentle ladybug wings. They fluttered like music, a mild, harmonic beat that brought order to my thoughts. With love, they covered my arms and face. Each wore a single spot.
I smiled, watching as they flew through the air, only to dissipate slowly like a cloud of smoke. The music faded to a sprinkling of soft harmonics. The moment was over. The box was empty, but the key remained. A smile lingered softly across my lips. I shut the box and withdrew the key. I placed the box on the nightstand and held the key tightly in my hands.
I rolled onto the mattress, holding the key to my heart, making a small prayer to no one in particular, just the world. I promised to change my life, and I promised that one day all this misery would be forgotten. Never again would I allow myself to be mired in sadness. I would unlock myself and begin again, just like a ladybug could.
I opened my eyes, strung the key onto a new length of yarn, and tied it around my neck. I then rolled onto my stomach and grabbed my sketchbook off the desk beside Ladybird’s cage. Outside my open window, I saw the moon flecked with tissue-paper clouds. I began to draw. Soon, finally at peace, I fell asleep again to better dreams.
* * *
When I awoke, the sound of rain had replaced the song of crickets outside. Thunder crashed overhead. The storm had arrived. Finding myself once again in the dull, clouded light of my mother’s last breaths, I felt an overwhelming sense of renewed comfort in the sound of rain, like my mother’s tears against the roof outside the open window.
My head rested on the cool sketchbook, and the wet chill in the air crept over me. I shivered, too tired to move. I took a few breaths, waiting, listening, and the sketchbook below my face somehow slid away. I was frightened by the movement, chilled by the storm as another roll of thunder rumbled around me, but it was soon replaced by wet warmth sliding up against me. I should have been scared by the pressure of a hand on my arm, the weight alongside me in my bed, but I wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Leith’s voice whispered.
The rain on his clothes soaked through my shirt until it reached skin that thirsted for it.
“Things for me aren’t right, right now. Doing what I did was uncalled for. I should never have left.”
His soft voice tickled the skin of my neck. I twisted to face him, my nose against his. His unexplained emotions earlier had no merit. The feelings I had developed for him over the past two days refused to falter because of it. “How did you get in here?” I asked.
Rain dripped from the bill of his hat onto the feathers that lay where my pillow had been. He reached up and removed his hat, placing it on the mattress above my head. “Farm boys are good climbers.” He nestled his body closer to mine in a natural way, looking for refuge from the wet chill he surely felt. In the dim light, the paleness of his face was smooth and certain.
I let out a low laugh, not wanting to alert my father, though I had my doubts about his level of consciousness. I felt certain that there was no need to worry.
“Again, I’m sorry.” Leith placed his thumb on my chin, index finger resting along my jaw line.
I searched his face, finding sadness and pain clearly displayed there. It was pain that wasn’t simply because of me. “What’s wrong? What are you not telling me?”
Leith’s hand slipped from my face, and he looked away. “I have a broken heart without you.”
I smiled. “But you hardly know me,” I parroted my earlier statement.
“Nor you, me,” he answered, gaze twisting back as he nuzzled his nose with mine.
His hair fell around his face, long in a way that pointed to the fact he wasn’t someone who liked to get his hair cut often. The tips were wet, creating a heightened sensation when they touched my skin. My lungs craved the air he occupied. He smelled like the farm—like wheat and grass, hay and dirt.
“I still really like you,” he repeated. “I hope you can just forget my wayward actions.”
I brushed my fingers through his hair, seeing a flash of lightning bring out the sadness in his eyes.
“I need you. I need your help.” His eyes searched mine.
“With what?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shivered.
I pressed against him, wanting to warm him from the chill of the spring storm, the blue moon, and the sadness he felt.
His breathing reacted to my nearness, eyes closing in comfort. “I just like the way you feel. Being close like this makes everything better. It’s like I need it for something, but what that is clouds my thoughts. The only explanation I can come up with is that I have to be with you, I have to hold you, protect you. My life depends on it.”
I felt overwhelmed by his words, but I’d felt the same way. Was it true that these things could happen this fast?
His hand slowly found its way under my shirt, searching for warmth. I jolted at a lost heartbeat as he caressed my stomach, thumb balancing on the verge of my breast. “Is this okay?”
Okay was a vague idea in my head. What was okay could be many things. In the spirit of not wanting to break the moment, I nodded.
His eyes washed over my face, filled with so much more that he needed to say. “I’ve never felt something like what I feel for you. I’ve never known what love is. I think that though this deep feeling was sudden, it is also the truest emotion I’ve ever felt. I’ve never been so certain of anything.”
His fi
ngers traced the arc of my ribs, the feminine curve of my body that I had always been proud of. I felt my whole being change under his hand, becoming a force I struggled to rein in, and he felt that too.
Timidly, he tilted his chin up, pressing his lips to mine with slow, small movements. I could tell he was trying to keep it simple, trying to navigate a terrain he had never experienced before, but there was nothing simple left between us. We had both reached a tipping point where words were not enough, simple embraces were not enough, and understanding each other required more vulnerability.
My fire burst forth almost immediately. Leith’s shivering ceased. His skin glistened with what now felt like perspiration, not rain. His body reacted to mine in a series of complementary motions. Arching toward me where mine arched away, gaps between us filled until there was no way to satisfy the distance I still felt. Even in the pale light, I could see his cheeks fill with color. I could feel his heart beating through his chest, beating with mine, hard.
I wanted to be lost inside that heartbeat. Something in it called to me, asking for something more. I traced his lips with mine, moving slowly to his cheeks and neck. Each kiss brought warmth to his body, heat so blistering that even I was sweltering from the inside out. The dew on his skin was sweet, russet from the dust in the air. He removed his shirt, looking demure doing so, but it was clear I wanted to be closer.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” he reassured me, but his hands made gentle suggestions his words wouldn’t, loaded with a firm, needy touch I could tell he subdued out of apprehension.
Neither of us knew what we were doing, but we didn’t need to. I let my hands trace the curve of his chest, made powerful by God’s work in the field. I knew my kisses on his skin were second only to the sun’s. Sighs lingered in breaths released, muscles tensed in touches too soft.
He stroked my cheek, tracing my lip with his thumb. “The closer I am, the better things are.” Speaking against my skin only made his words sweeter.
His hand circled the peak of my chin and trailed down my neck, his kisses following. Rough hands traveled landscapes held secret, scaling the length of my back until he lifted my shirt over my head.
I trembled in the act. “What things?” I quietly asked, wanting more of him.
He kissed my shoulder, sighing deeply against me as our skin met with sensations I had never dreamed could be real. “Everything.” He licked his lips, kissing mine as he pushed my hair away so he could arch over and behind me. All parts of his body guided me like a handful of grain in his hands. He kissed me from the base of my neck down to the small of my back, where his hands grazed slowly over the spot on my skin. He kissed it gently before guiding me back to face him.
I pressed against him in my shyness, afraid that being apart allowed him to see too much of me.
He paused for a moment, hand resting on my hip, fingers playing with the hem of my shorts. “I don’t know how to fix you,” he admitted. His hand found the string around my neck, following it to where the key lay against my chest. He stole a glance at it, only to find himself at a loss for words. He pulled me closer so he could speak. “But I know you can fix me.”
Gazing into his endless brown eyes, flecked with golden grains of color, I felt raw, but I loved the feeling of the burn. His hands wanted more of me, and my hands began to suggest things of their own. Unlatching the buckle of his rain-soaked jeans, I conceded to something I had only imagined. The touch of him was gentle and new, secret and safe. Removing what was left between us, he spent a long while caressing my skin, never going too far unless my hands and body allowed. His heat combined with mine made a fire so bright that inside it, we melted together like a song expertly written by the ladybirds of before. I wanted everything of this boy I had been granted the ability to keep, and in the dim light where my mother found death, I found life instead.
ELEVEN
In the morning I woke, wrapped in my blankets, all alone. I sighed, rolling onto my side where I saw my shirt and shorts on the ground. I picked them up, noticing something had been written over the picture I had drawn of the moon.
I need you.
The message was printed in a rugged, rough way across the paper, and a tiny heart had been drawn in the middle of the moon. It was a phrase he had pressed, but one I still didn’t understand. How could I help him?
As I rolled out of bed, feathers followed me onto the ground. They trailed out the rain-flecked window where Leith had left this morning. I smiled and quickly pulled my shorts and shirt on, finding his scent lingering on my skin. The air outside was chilly, and I approached the sill to pull my window shut. My eyes drew over the dewy hills toward the sunrise.
Everything felt new, but in the pit of my stomach, something felt dreadful. It was a rhythmic sensation, like a clock ticking down, each second lost adding to the sense of anxiety. I shook away the feeling, knowing it was just my conscience trying to ruin my mood. I had grown so used to pain, that happiness brought discomfort. It was something I told myself I was going to have to get used to.
Turning away from the sunrise, I noticed Leith had forgotten his hat. It rested on the mattress, peppered with feathers and dust, ragged with age. I walked back toward it and took it into my hands. I ran my palm over the roughened bill, threads pinched between my fingers. I brought it to my nose and breathed in Leith’s scent, surrounding me in the clothes I wore, the sheets where we had lain, and the air I still breathed. Happy again, I tucked the hat inside my book bag, not wanting to leave it where my father could find it.
I went to the door and pressed my ear against the wood, listening for any sign of movement. I heard nothing. I took a deep breath and stood tall, smoothing my shirt over my chest and running my fingers through my hair. I couldn’t look ashamed if I saw my father. Besides, there was no reason for shame. I loved Leith.
I unlatched the lock on my door and slowly twisted the handle. Poking my head into the hall, I heard and saw nothing. Father’s door was still shut, lights out. I tiptoed to the bathroom and quickly closed myself inside. Turning on the shower, I found it warm for the second time in two days. Mother was truly supporting me. It felt good to know I was doing something right.
I got in and quickly washed every inch of me, afraid of what my father would find of Leith on my skin. I was seventeen today, a far cry from the sixteen I had been yesterday in so many ways. I felt bad about the fact that I hadn’t told Leith that today was my birthday, but to me, birthdays were not something I celebrated. Father didn’t even acknowledge that the day existed. Today, I was certain I would not see Father leave his room. My birthday to him was only a reminder of the wife he’d lost.
I got out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror. The bruise on my face had faded considerably, though the remaining yellow-blue would still linger another five days. The key around my neck hung in the lowland of my chest, right where Leith had touched it and touched my heart.
Water streamed from my hair down my body, soaking the rug. I was older in so many ways, and already I saw the difference in the way I looked. I grabbed for a towel and roughly blotted the dripping strands of hair, smoothed some lotion over my skin, and wrapped the towel around me. Exiting the bathroom, I walked more confidently back to my room. After locking the door, I found a light pink V-neck T-shirt buried deep inside my closet. It had been a gift from my mother and a failed attempt for her to make me wear more cheerful colors. Today, however, I was feeling more cheerful.
For the first time in my life, I was making a decision. With Leith and Jacqueline by my side, I was going to run away from my father and finally start living the life I should have long ago. I was always afraid, afraid of losing Axon, my mother, and my pride, but things were different now. I could get emancipated, find work, board Axon. My mother would come with me.
The freedom in the song of the ladybirds last night had told me so. This was what my mother was trying to tell me all along. I’d never felt I belonged here, but I could see now that it was being with
my father that made me feel that way. Life to me had always felt like a necessary means to an end, a process to be endured, but Leith changed all that.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and grabbed my book bag off the desk chair. Reaching for Ladybird, I suddenly froze. She had fallen from her branch and was huddled in a corner of the cage, looking as frightened as a ladybird could. Her tiny feet flailed at the corner, wings fluttering in a desperate, disoriented manner.
The rhythmic feeling of a clock ticking down returned to me, and with it my happiness was wiped away.
I touched the corner of the cage, opened the lid and reached in, but it did nothing to calm her. Breathing deeply, I felt my whole world come crashing down, the feeling of dread now confirmed. I picked her up off the desk, bringing her to eye level, feeling the whole room compress with anxiety.
I paced to the door then paced back to my desk and set the cage down, only to pick it up again. I took a few deep breaths, telling myself that this was just a momentary thing, that nothing was wrong, though I knew better. Finally I threw my backpack onto my back, gripped the plastic cage harder, and sprinted for the door. I fumbled with the lock as my hand shook, not understanding why this event felt so pivotal. Barreling down the stairs and out the door, I ran to the end of the drive, praying for the bus to be early. I needed to see Jacqueline. Jacqueline could fix this.
“Come on. Come on!” I urged, all the while watching as Ladybird struggled and writhed.