Sparrows For Free

by Lila Felix

  “Do you want to see the secrets?”

  Her secrets? Hell yes.

  “Secrets?”

  “Yeah, the secret passages.”

  “Sure.”

  For the next hour, I follow her around, listening to her excitement over sharing all of this with me. It seems she knows the history of every dent in every wall—of every paint chip and each mangled door frame. All the while, bangs and slams resound above us. One of the bookshelves in the library opens up into one of those creepy hallways in the wall complete with pervy peep holes. The bathroom closet’s back wall pops open and reveals a secret stairway into an isolated room of the basement. And the only way into the cellar, is a door in the floor hidden underneath a rug littered with pink roses.

  I didn’t even know people had cellars in the South.

  And even though I think of Mara now and then, tonight she’s on the back burner for the first time in a long time. And I think Aysa is now front and center. I think this girl just could be the balm to my burns.

  “Do you want to go,” Aysa asks.

  “Sure. If you want to. Are you tired?”

  “Yeah, I am. Well, not really. I’m not really used to…”

  “Used to what?”

  “I’m not really used to being around people so much.”

  I look at her in complete shock. What in the hell was she talking about?

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just don’t have that many friends. I spend a lot of time by myself—oh no, don’t you dare give me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “That, ‘oh, what a pitiful thing’ look.”

  “That wasn’t the look I was giving you.”

  “Oh yeah? Then what?”

  She puts her hands on her hips and then cocks one touch worthy hip out. Damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest damned thing I’d ever seen. A firecracker, that’s what she is. A firecracker one minute and a breakable doll the next. A blast of heat comes from the old fashioned air registers on the floor and blows her hair around her.

  “That was an ‘I can’t believe a beautiful girl like her doesn’t have guys breaking down the doors’ look.”

  “Yeah,” she blows me off and heads out toward the car. After I exit the door, she steps up to lock it and make sure it’s secure. She presses a flattened hand to the door and closes her eyes momentarily. She’s blessing it or praying over it—maybe just wishing old Peg Leg eternal peace.

  We drive toward my apartment and out of nowhere, a deer darts across the road and she slams on the breaks.

  “What the hell, Aysa! Be more careful.”

  She cowers under the level of my voice, and I immediately feel like shit. She doesn’t speak the whole way back. Her hands jerk and pull at the steering wheel. I can hardly take the silence, so I decide to prod her. Yelling is better than silence any old day. As we pull into a space at my apartment building, I jump in full force.

  “Just be more careful, the road is a dangerous place.”

  “I know! I was careful. I can’t exactly control the deer!”

  “You should drive slower, pay better attention.”

  She turns, and her blush is now from fury instead of intimacy. But her voice never rises above regular speaking tone.

  “I saw the deer because I was paying attention. I slammed on the brakes because I was careful. Jesus, Ezra, it’s not like I killed anyone.”

  Her words are a sledge hammer, driving the nail in a little bit deeper than I thought possible. And I think it stings worse coming from her. I faintly register the fact that she doesn’t know the strength or depth of her powerful words. It doesn’t matter. I was too far gone to even try this. I should’ve known better.

  “Just go,” I bark at her, slamming the door after getting out of her car. She doesn’t call after me or come to the apartment. I’m grateful for it. By the time I hit my bedroom, I’m wound tighter than a spring. My insides wring and churn, refusing to let up for even a second. I relent to the feeling and I know the only way to get rid of it—run it dead into the damned ground.

  I did kill someone at that tender and invisible age of eighteen. I thought I was damned near invincible at that age—thought I was so grown up. I killed two people. Distracted and concerned about them both, I lost focus for a moment and horseshoed us around a tree. I wish I’d died in that accident. I wish I’d died tonight.

  While I pound the pavement, it’s not Mara’s face that haunts me—it’s Aysa. How could I yell at her like that? I’d taken a person and a relationship that had no connection to Mara and in one instant sealed them together. Like I’m not satisfied until everything in my life revolves around something that happened to me four years ago.

  When in the hell am I ever going to learn?

  After my run, I make for the shower, hoping the sound of the water and music blaring from my iPod will muddle the sounds of me groaning and mumbling to myself. An hour and a whole tank of hot water later, I come out feeling scattered and shredded. I was wrong to even try to get in a relationship with anyone.

  After Kylie, I really stopped trying. I would go on a date here and there, mostly at the prompting of Gray or one of the guys. But I knew it would go nowhere fast. The first time I had an outburst. The first time I fled from a date after being triggered. The first time I called her by Mara’s name even though in hindsight, I had no real romantic feelings toward her. Knowing that in my head—shewould always be an afterthought—after someone who’d been dead for so long.

  Aysa

  Most things are my fault. They’re not really, but I take them onto my shoulders anyway. And I’ve tried to shoulder this one as well. I really have. I replay it over and over. I did the best I could. I saw the deer and pressed the brakes with all my might.

  Where did I go wrong?

  He’d scolded me once, right after it happened. When someone belittles me, I concave into myself in a length of silence. It’s just my way.

  But then as I parked the car, he twisted the screwdriver already lodged in my gut. Why did he do that? It would’ve been far less painful if he would’ve just got out of the car wordlessly.

  I don’t understand.

  Then again, I never understand.

  Without options of what to do, I head to the church. It’s on my way home and familiar. I need familiar. Maybe someone has brought in millions of candles just for me. I burst through the double doors, the ones I never use, and true to its reputation, all eyes turn to focus on me—even the infamous priest’s eyes.

  I sit in my regular pew and soon after the pew depresses next to me.

  “Can I help you,” he asks, looking sincerely concerned.

  “No—I just—no.”

  “Would you like to confess, Miss.?”

  I didn’t know priests proposition confessions.

  “I don’t want to confess. I just need to sit and breathe,” the words tumble out in a strangled, jumbled mess.

  “Yes, of course. You know anything you say to me is completely confidential. If you need to get something off your chest…”

  “You can’t help me. No one can.”

  “I can try. It will give me a break from the sins of the older people. They’re no fun.”

  I snort out a laugh, even though I don’t want to. I point to the confessional booth; “I am not going in there.”

  “No one is making you. I have an office. We can go in there.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It will make me feel better if you get this off your chest and I’m kinda bored anyway.”

  Is he going for coolest priest ever award or something?

  “I bet I’ll get some extra special sapphires in my crown if I relieve a priest’s boredom.”

  He chuckled; “I’ve always thought that was crap. I mean, who wants to walk around for eternity constantly fixing a crown that just doesn’t fit right? Plus, crowns make my ears poke out—ask my mom. I used to always ask for crowns at Burger King until I caught a glimpse of myself
in a mirror. Then I quit.”

  This priest is so whacked out.

  “Okay, fine. Let’s go. People are staring.”

  “It’s okay, they think I’m hot.”

  I giggle a little too loudly at the slightly off kilter man of the cloth. He leads me into a massive wood paneled office behind that infamous hidden door at the side of the church.

  “Coffee?”

  I scoff, “Caffeine isn’t really good for people like me.”

  “So why are you crying?”

  He makes himself a cup and motions for me to take a seat in one of two leather clad chairs in front of his desk. I press my fingertips to my face in response to his insinuation, and they come back wet. I hadn’t realized I was still crying.

  “A friend of mine kinda went ballistic on me tonight. I almost hit a deer on the road and he completely flipped—yelled at me—wigging out doesn’t even climb up the edge of the way he came unglued.”

  “And how did you react?”

  This guy is putting way too much of the pink stuff in his coffee. It’s gonna taste like he brewed it with nickels.

  “I just drove away. He told me to go.”

  This is when everything changes. Because the priest begins to tell some story that I’m sure has complete relevance to what I’m going through, but I’m not listening anymore. I’ve spotted a picture on the buffet behind him. I squint, and an anchor takes hold of my heart, dragging it down to the pit of my stomach.

  This can’t be happening.

  In the picture is the priest and two other people in a very ‘The Wonder Years’ pose—and the other two people are Gray and Ezra. They are a little younger in the photo, but there’s no denying the smile or the gray eyes of the boy I’m here talking about.

  I flit my eyes back and forth from him to the picture while he drones on with his asinine story. At least I think it’s asinine because it’s stopping me from asking him who he is and why in the holy hell he’s all buddied up to those two in the picture.

  That is, until he smiles.

  It’s the chin. The shape of his chin and the way it sinews as he smiles gives it all away.

  “How do you know Ezra,” I embarrassingly blurt, interrupting a story he thought would somehow help me. He looks behind at the target of my stare and shrugs.

  “Um—he’s my brother. Why?”

  “Why do you think,” I accuse.

  He pales in recognizance.

  Yeah, buddy, I’m talking about your brother.

  His revelation takes away my only storm shelter in this tornado. I get up to leave. There’s no way I’m gonna tell Ezra’s brother about our awkward fight. It wasn’t even a fight, it was just me, dumbstruck, while he blasted me. Hip priest tries to stop me, but I lurch free of his grasp. I take the side exit out of his office and run to my car. There’s only one place I want to be right now. There’s only one place I can trust and trust the people within its confines.

  I make it into my apartment, glowing with the artificial Christmas spirit I shoved down its throat and barely manage to shut off my phone with quaking hands. I shuck the hoodie he let me borrow and close myself into the cabinet before I hyperventilate. As soon as the door hits my icy toes, I release a great breath. In here they can’t hurt me. In here they can’t yell about obtuse driving violations. In here, I can forget that, for a split second, I could really see myself falling for him. I can shut away the way his hand felt on top of mine or him scanning me eyes to breasts.

  I grit my teeth, grinding them against the memory that’s wiggling to the surface. I don’t need the spirit of Christmas past coming to find me tonight. I rock there, within the confines of my safe place while she infiltrates my head regardless of how hard I’m pushing her down.

  She’s looking down at me. They are all laughing at my naiveté. I’m just a kid. I was stupid enough to come in and ask what she was doing with my Mom’s things. She turned and screamed at me, threatening bodily harm and worse. I run to my room. I need something. I need a place to get away from her. Officially, this is the first time I really hide on purpose.

  Sometime later, I don’t know how much longer, I fall asleep in there. Momentarily, I panic and then the irony strikes me that I’m panicking in my own panic room. Squeezing myself out, I barrel into bed and go back to sleep.

  By the next day, I’ve analyzed the night before so long, I couldn’t decipher truth from imagination. I charge my phone but don’t turn it on until noon. If he’d texted me or called me, I don’t want to know. But when I finally power it up, it explodes into message and missed call tones, some I’d never even heard. And while I try to silence it, my phone begins to ring. The caller ID read: Gray.

  “Hello?”

  “Good grief, girl. I’ve been worried sick!”

  I furrow my eyebrows, “Huh?”

  “Ezra told me—us what happened and then Knox called and said you flew out of there after finding out he’s Ezra’s brother. He said you were pretty upset. Ezra’s pacing the damned floors like a maniac. Ahh…”

  “Aysa,” a new voice on the line, Ezra.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I intended it to be a tone of defiance. Instead it comes out in a fluster with a twinge of cracked voice at the end. I wanted it to sound like ‘Yeah, despite your turning into a complete asshole. I am fine. It didn’t even bother me.’

  Don’t let him know he hurt you.

  “I was worried sick. Where do you live, I need to see you’re okay.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m fine. I assure you.”

  “Please,” He sounded so infantile, so desperate.

  Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Protect yourself.

  “I will text you my address.”

  “Thank you.”

  I texted him my address and then run for the shower. I blast through it quickly, and dress simply in a pair of jeans and a navy and gray striped scoop neck tee. I blow dry my hair and flip my makeup bag the finger. It’s just not happening today.

  I can’t help but ask myself why, someone who’d flown off the handle the night before, was now acting as if he cares. Maybe Brother Priest made him do it.

  This guy is weirder than me. And that’s saying a lot.

  I throw my sink full of dishes into the dishwasher and fast dust all the surfaces including my side of the cabinet. I straighten the pillows on the couch and wait. And even though I know he’s coming, a knock at the door frightens the hell out of me.

  I open it to find not only Ezra, but the whole gang of them, all at my door.

  “Whoa, somebody likes Christmas,” Neil comments from outside.

  “Come in;” I move to let them all inside. Ezra’s and my eyes lock in a silent understanding. He’s sorry, that much I know for sure. And I don’t understand, he knows that too.

  “Yeah, I do Christmas by myself, so somebody has to get in the spirit.”

  “What do you mean you do Christmas by yourself,” Gray inquires.

  They all sit, and I take a brief pleasure in knowing someone feels comfortable in my home.

  “Well, not totally by myself. I go over to my parents to eat, but we don’t exchange gifts. So, this is my gift to myself. Wow, it sounds pathetic when I say it out loud.” I scramble to change the subject, “So all I have to do is almost hit a deer, and I get visitors?”

  “Well, yeah, that and we want you to go to the movies with us. We’re going to see all of the Lord of the Rings, in order.”

  “Today?,” I look at my watch.

  “Yes, it starts in twenty minutes,” Gray adds. “We need to leave like now. We already bought tickets.”

  “Okay, let me grab my phone and my purse.”

  I run to get both and then head out the door with them. I was still confused, but I supposed when Ezra and I got a moment alone, he would say something. At least I hoped.

  I hate those people who have a falling out and then pretend as if the whole thing
didn’t happen. My mom is the queen of that little kingdom. She used to ream me for the tiniest things, really flying off the handle. She’d insinuate that I may get punished, and I may get grounded. Those things never came to fruition, of course. But then the next day, she’d act like everything was just sweet as pie.

  There’s nothing that irks me more.

  We sit down just as the first movie starts. I can practically quote the whole movie verbatim. Ezra sits on one side of me, and there was no one else on my other side—only an empty seat.

  After a half an hour, he leans over, and I lean in, wanting to hear what he has to say.

  Please, say something decent. I’m not ready to let all of this go.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. One day, I will explain what all that was about. Can you wait? Can you forgive me for now until I can tell you everything? If I can ever tell you everything?”

  I nod once. People did shit to me all the time—hurt my feelings, step on me, and tear me down until I had to look up at an ant. But not only did they never fess up, they certainly never apologized. So Ezra, with one hushed whisper in a theatre, had earned my friendship back instantly. And then, as I begin to become engrossed in the movie, his hand covers mine, his fingers tangle with my own. They are stronger and more calloused than mine ever thought about being and I revel in it.

  If I could, I would ball myself up and curl into the palm of his hand and stay.

  During the intermission, he leaves with Dauber and gets us all drinks and popcorn. After sucking down almost half of my Coke, I realize it would’ve been smart to bring a sweater. I shiver as compactly as I can as not to draw attention to myself, but Ezra notices. He moves the Coke to the hole in the armrest on the other side of me and lifts the one between us.

  “Come here,” he whispers and lifts his arm, ready to accept me into it.

  I swear to all that’s holy I’ve never had a guy put his arm around me. A tear blossoms in my eye. Maybe he’ll think I’m just really upset about the burden Frodo has to bear. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll blame it on the Fellowship. Damned hobbits.