Bird After Bird

by Leslea Tash

“Let’s go try that pizza, then,” I smiled. The truth was, I was finding it hard to fight the tears from forming. I’d stayed holed up in my apartment because I’d never in my life felt so vulnerable—so weak. I’d come to do a job and I’d been doing it to the best of my ability, but I’d lost something—some pizazz, some finesse, and I refused to put a finger on what the difference was.

  It was too late to make up for my mistake. It was too late to say I was sorry. I had no one to call—no mom or dad on whose shoulder I could cry. If I bugged Janice about it she was liable to fire me. All I could do now was suffer alone until the feelings passed. I’d made my bed and now I was lying in it.

  Sure, I was shrinking. Nothing tastes good when you’re eating your heart out.

  On the street, the traffic was thumping and the pedestrians were moving in a groove of their own.

  “I can’t believe it’s not hotter than this, for being almost August,” Janice said. “It’s usually so nasty that Harold and I take off for the Hamptons and let the sea breeze do its thing.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for taking me along for the 4th of July weekend. Such a beautiful house.”

  She smiled. We walked in silence for another block or so, then she spoke. “Tell me what’s going on with you, Wren.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gave me the side eye. “Birdy, sing—now. I didn’t ask you to lunch for my daily exercise quota. I need to know what’s going on with you. Is this about that boy from Indiana?”

  I cringed.

  “I see,” she said. “Have you spoken to him?” Her words took a soft tone, almost drowning in the sudden blast of a honking taxi. I knew she was concerned, I just didn’t know how much to say—or what to say, really.

  “I think he wanted to get married, Janice.”

  “Did he propose?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I’m sure it was going that direction.”

  I didn’t want to break down in tears on the street, but I felt the muscles in my cheeks straining, my jaw tightening painfully, and my breath hitch, as though my body were going to birth all the pain and tears I’d been resisting the past few weeks at once.

  “Birdy, stop,” Janice said gently, taking me by the hand and walking me to the nearest bench.

  My hands shot out beside me for balance, and my fingers closed on a piece of paper. I opened my eyes, expecting to find a piece of garbage in my left hand, but what I did see shocked the tears right out of me.

  It was a bird. Another little paper crane.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Wren

  I don’t remember how we got to the pizza place. I vaguely remember Janice speaking, then opening the door to her limo and sort of pushing me inside, but when I came back to reality I was sitting in a booth, with a pretty waitress offering me a beer to go with our breadsticks.

  Janice was ordering for both of us, and I was still grasping that little paper crane. It was red origami paper, so I highly doubted it was one of Laurie’s, but the urge to open it and look for some sign of him was tough to quell.

  Before I could unfold it, Janice was reaching across the table taking the bird from me. “Let’s just let our little friend here watch, okay?”

  “You sound like you’re talking to a mental patient,” I said. I reached for a breadstick and tore off a bite-sized piece.

  “I feel like I’m talking to one, sometimes,” she said. The waitress brought two frosty mugs of beer and Janice had a sip. “Now that I’ve got your attention, can you tell me how much of what I’ve been saying has been getting through?”

  “To be honest, it was all kind of a blur. I think you said something about giving me 30 days to get my act together?”

  Janice nearly spit out her beer. “Wren! As if. No, no. Of course I know you’re capable of doing better work than you’ve been producing, but the 30 days was for you. I was suggesting you give the city another thirty days, then if you still hate it here, if you’re still miserable, you go and find this boy and apologize for what you did. That will give me time to start interviewing replacements, anyway. I hate seeing you miserable. If you don’t snap out of this I’m going to fire you for your own good.”

  The breadstick suddenly tasted so good! I picked it up and gobbled the remainder without breaking it into pieces at all while I thought about Janice’s suggestion.

  “Thirty days? What if I decide to leave at the end of thirty days?”

  “What if, indeed, Wren? At least you’ll know you’ve given it a shot, right?”

  I had another breadstick and a huge swig of beer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, and man, was I famished. “I hope the pizza comes soon,” I said. “Thirty days…if I do decide to leave, what about a job?”

  “Well, you can always start looking—once you’ve reached the end of that month. Or you could look now. Nothing to stop you—but I wish you’d wait another month and help me finish this last push with the shareholders and financing. Take in all the sights and see how you’re feeling then. Just see if these feelings are going to pass or not. If they don’t, then I think you’re a fool if you don’t chase after that man and marry him. If they do pass…well, autumn in New York is beautiful, and if you can’t meet someone new in the Big Apple, then you’re not trying. So thirty days to a new you—that’s my prescription. Sounds like the name of a self-help book, doesn’t it?”

  I laughed. My throat felt kind of hoarse and I realized I didn’t recognize the feeling of laughter anymore. How long had it been? I washed down the last of the beer.

  “You know,” I said, perking up as our pizza was delivered to the table, “you promised me frozen hot chocolate. You up for dessert after we put a hurt on this pizza?”

  “Girl, I thought you’d never ask!”

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Wren

  New York was different after that. Knowing I’d only have a few weeks left if I honored the deal I’d made with Janice put a shine on everything.

  The thing was, I’m not a quitter. Sure, I’m young, but this much I know is true: when I put my mind to something, I finish. I told Janice I’d take the job, and I did. I told her I’d give it another 30 days, and I would. I’d do my very best, at work and in living my life, and if I was still ready to hang it up—well, then I’d figure something out. At least I could walk away knowing I’d given it my best shot.

  I had a plan now. It all made sense. There was meaning to every street hot dog or trip through Central Park, because it was precious and fleeting.

  Possibly. Possibly fleeting, right? Maybe I’d stay.

  At work, I was on fire. I started going back to the office, and Harold and his board were more than pleased with my performance. Before two more weeks were up, I was fielding job offers from other corporate entities and consultancies that I’d never solicited. My name was getting around. It felt great, like climbing the apex of a mountain. Or a roller coaster.

  Sometimes at night I’d look out my window at the park and see lovers in horse-drawn buggies, and I’d think of the man I’d left behind.

  What if Laurie won’t have you? What if you can’t find a job you like? What then?

  When I caught myself thinking negatively about the future, and I’d end up online checking my bank accounts, and cruising the job listings for Chicago. The only problem was, I didn’t want to return to Chicago.

  No, if I was leaving New York, it was for Laurie, or it was for nowhere. I had no other plan, no other contingencies. If he was going to break my heart, so be it. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was time for me to take a chance for once.

  I can’t tell you how many times I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. I couldn’t call him—I just couldn’t. That was too chancy. If he did accept my apology, I still wasn’t sure he would buy that I wasn’t just lonely and failing in New York. Nobody wants to be a second choice.

  I thought about sending a press release to the Dubois County paper that I’d been promoted, or nominated for an award or something, b
ut I feared if he read it, the effect on him might be more negative than good.

  I felt trapped, like there was no way of winning.

  No, maybe the thing I feared was that there was no way of controlling how he saw my apology, when I gave it. Maybe he would see me as weak and stupid, and maybe he was right. Maybe he had a right to see me for what I truly was: a lost and foolish child, but one who loved him desperately.

  The question was, was I willing to risk it all on the bet that he’d still love me?

  I flipped open Dad’s bird book and read the letters again.

  The point is, Wren, you've got to trust your instincts. Fly off the map sometimes.

  Maybe Dad was right.

  Remember all the birds we mapped on paper, and remember where we ended up. Remember how we drove away from our memories, but we made new ones, and still came home to roost. You've been chasing a lot of birds on paper all over Chicago while you climb that corporate ladder and I don't think you're following your gut at all, baby darling.

  Maybe I’d been chasing birds on paper too long. Maybe it was time to chase a Byrd, instead.

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Laurie

  Rodriguez’s wife was a mess. I’ll never forget how much she cried when she saw me, then how excited she got to see the painting. It was like the flick of a light switch, seeing her emotions change like that.

  I’d driven all day to find her house, and wasn’t able to stay long. As nervous as I’d been on the way there, I was equally relieved on the drive away. The only comfort was that their son seemed to be dealing well his father’s death. Rodriguez came from a big family, and so had his wife. They all still lived in close proximity to one another on the outskirts of Kansas City, and little José was surrounded by loved ones who kept the memory of his father alive.

  Rod’s mother was there. It was harder seeing her than I’d realized it would be. She wasn’t angry, though—she hugged me, holding me against her until I thought she’d crush me. She patted my face. “You are the last person to speak to my son. You have a piece of his heart in you now, sí? Of course I love your heart. And this eagle! What an honor you do his memory!” Her eyes lit up as her daughter-in-law moved the painting around on the wall, searching for the right spot to hang it. “Sometimes life is not fair, mijo.” Her eyes were on the painting, and I wasn’t sure if she were talking to me, or to the memory of her son.

  On the way home, I felt like a weight had been lifted. Rodriguez’s family had insisted on taking some photographs with me, and José promised to email. I had remarked that I thought he was a little young for email, and his mother had laughed, pointing to the boy’s tablet. Evidently he was deft enough with autocorrect to send his mother emails asking for popsicles, a fact that everyone got a chuckle out of.

  For such a short visit, there had been a lot of laughter. Not one person had accused me of letting Rodriguez down. No one had threatened me, or asked what right I had to survive when their boy was gone.

  I don’t know what I’d expected. Anger? Rage? I guess I had. My guilty conscience told me I deserved it, even though there was nothing I could have done to stop what happened.

  “Survivor’s guilt,” Generose told me, when I saw her next. “So tell me—now that you see that life is moving on for Rodriguez’s family, do you still feel like you need to carry that weight?”

  “I’ll always be sad that Rod died. He was too young and it wasn’t fair. Just like with Sylvia…neither one of them should have died young. But when I saw José’s happy face, I felt like a weight lifted.” I chuckled at the memory. José had been burning up my email from the moment I’d left town, and we were currently engaged in a back & forth, sending our latest drawings to one another. I’d send a bird, he’d send a stick figure tableau of a monster. I’d send a monster, he’d send a scribble of a cartoon figure. And so on.

  “To be honest, Generose, I started singing on the way home. I think I wrote a song.”

  Sister Generose clapped her hands, a gesture so carefree and childlike I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, that’s fabulous, Laurie! When can I hear you perform?”

  “Well, to be honest, my friend Billy’s asked me to stand in for him at some gigs…so if you’re up for a road trip…”

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Laurie

  Billy and I met when I was in sixth grade, and he was in seventh, when he moved here from Kentucky. It was just him and his mom and a collection of musical instruments she stored in the third bedroom of their double-wide, about six miles down the road from my cabin.

  I didn’t find out about the instruments until Billy invited me to get off the bus at his house one day. He’d signed up for choir, and although the teacher, Mrs. Davis, had welcomed another male student, Billy had trouble singing harmony. She corrected him often and he’d gotten mouthy. He might have been the only kid in the history of Birdseye Middle School to get detention from the choir teacher.

  I had trouble keeping a straight face about it. “Two days detention ought to set you right, as well, Mr. Byrd.”

  “I didn’t say anything!”

  “You didn’t have to,” she said.

  At lunch, Billy railed at length about the vile Mrs. Davis, and invited me back to his house. We were best buds from then on out. On pretty days we’d fish, chase foxes, or ride our bikes through the fields behind his mom’s house. On rainy days we’d play video games, or Billy would pick at the banjo.

  He dropped out of choir, but played the school talent show. After that, it was pretty easy for him to make friends. The banjo was kind of weird and a lot of kids thought it was corny, but Billy said it was a Kentucky thing and held firm to it. Hank came out of the woodwork in eighth grade with his guitar obsession, and Fred transferred to Birdseye in high school when his parents couldn’t afford private school tuition anymore, let alone the two hour commute each day to Louisville. Fred’s classical violin days were over, but he brought his fiddle to Billy’s house and the three of them had been playing together ever since.

  They’d always pressed me to sing. I told them I didn’t want to—that my mom pressured me too much to sing. One day she showed up at Billy’s house looking for me.

  “Sweet heavens, Laurie. I had no idea you were spending so much time with trailer trash.” She jerked me off the living room floor where the boys were practicing and pulled me to her car by the ear.

  After that, they didn’t pressure me anymore. Not as a group, anyway.

  As an adult, I was learning that my talents were my own to do with as I chose, but I still wasn’t totally over that feeling that if I sung in public, it was giving in to Mom’s pressure.

  The truth was, Billy had been asking me to sing with his band for years. That’s Billy. He never really gives up.

  “I really just like watching y’all do your thing,” I said. “Just let me. C’mon—I don’t bug you to paint with me, do I?”

  “I’ve never been good with harmony, man. At least just get up there and do some backing vocals once in awhile. It would add so much. Or do that song you worked on for Wren.”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  When he saw the look on my face, he let it go.

  A couple of weeks later, he called.

  “Dude, Lynette’s in pre-term labor. You’ve got to fill in for me. You’ve got no idea how important this gig is.”

  I groaned. I was sitting sideways in my chair, my legs off one side until my toes touched the floor. I’d worked that morning, putting in some overtime fat the boss’ request. I was dirty and rumpled and had no interest in a shower and shave, let alone the drive all the way up to the north side of Indianapolis.

  “I don’t know all the songs, Billy.”

  “Please, Laurie. C’mon. How many times this year did I watch that dog of yours so you could leave town? My wife is in labor.”

  “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. Of course I’ll go. I’ll…I’ll figure it out.” I could hear Lynette moaning in the background. “Don�
��t worry about the gig. Just take care of your girl, okay?”

  “Thanks, bro. I’ll text you later.”

  I suppose it was a good thing I’d worked with the Boys on that song. I really hadn’t had any instruction since middle school, when we’d been forced to limit art class to one semester, and take choir the other.

  I warmed up my voice on my way to the set. I guess it was a good thing I’d been to so many of their shows. I knew their entire list.

  I was expecting a hole-in-the-wall with an open mic sort of set-up. Billy said the gig was important, but I didn’t realize how important until I saw the TV trucks and video equipment.

  Hank slapped me on the back. “Thanks for coming, man. You play at all? I’ve got to cover banjo and we could use another guitar.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, man. I can barely sing.”

  Hank laughed. “Bullshit, man. But, whatever. Glad you’re here. If we get through this round there’s a national competition in New York City. Not much of a prize, but the travel’s paid, and we could use the exposure.”

  “New York?”

  I felt a lump in my throat. Sure, it was the biggest city in the world, but it was Wren’s turf. “I can’t make you any promises about that.” Surely Billy would be able to travel by then, anyway.

  I guess the thought of seeing Wren was just the bittersweet touch I needed to make it through the set with The Boys. Fred managed to sweet-talk another guitarist to fill in Hank’s part while Hank picked away respectably at Billy’s banjo. We were allowed to perform three songs, and the boys shocked me by picking “January Wedding” as the lead-off.

  “It’s the only one we’ve heard you do, Laurie,” Fred explained as he tuned his violin.

  “We know you can nail that one. Let’s go out there strong,” Hank said.

  I owed them this. Owed Billy. This was his band, his dream, his baby…

  Well, his real baby was being born, maybe, right this minute. I’d check for an update once we were off stage. Right now, though, beneath the lights, in front of the cameras, I was going to give it all I had for my best friend, regardless of how much it hurt.