Be Not Afraid (9 page)

“Marin!” Dominic burst out at the end of the alley, both arms raised high in surrender.

I screamed at the sudden sight of him, jerking to a halt and almost falling over.

“Just hold on a second!” He reached out and grabbed me, holding me around the waist.

“Let me go!” I yelled, pushing at his arms. “Get your hands off me! I mean it! Get
off
!”

His hands gripped me harder. I twisted and kicked, but it was impossible to wrench free. His arms were like a vise, the grip of his hands like a lock. I stopped struggling, pretending to give up. “Okay, fine.
Fine.
I won’t run, all right? Just let go.” I pushed at his arms one last time. “Just get
off.
”

He released me slowly, cautiously, his arms still hovering a few inches nearby, ready if I tried to bolt again. I thought about it and then changed my mind. I could just as easily talk my way out of this too. He wasn’t going to get any answers, because I didn’t
have
any answers, but that was his problem, not mine. I leaned over, still panting, and settled my palms against my knees, trying to catch my breath.
Turning my head, I looked down the length of the alley. The puddles shimmered in the dark, their smooth, opaque surfaces like a collection of gigantic pool balls. Across from me, about twenty feet down the other side, a small garbage bag had been tossed against a wall, the ends tied in a knot.

“Marin.” Dominic’s voice was soft.

“What?”

“What happened?” His voice sounded incredulous. “Why were you screaming inside Cassie’s room?”

Something by the garbage bag caught my eye. A movement of some kind, a flutter. I straightened up. “I don’t know. Seeing her like that, I guess. It freaked me out. I just wanted to get out of there.” I pushed myself off the wall and headed toward the bag.

“Seeing her like what?” Dominic grabbed my wrist.

I looked down at his hand until he released it. “Don’t grab me again,” I said. “I mean it.”

“Where are you going?” If he was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. “What are you doing? All I want to do is talk, Marin.”

I moved toward the garbage bag without answering and stooped down beside it. The faint scuttling movement had disappeared into a space between the bag and the brick wall; now it was still again. Had I imagined it? I reached out and pulled the bag back a little until my eyes fell on a tiny bird with brown feathers. It was no bigger than an aspirin bottle, its beak the size of an aspirin itself. Huddled into a ball, its tiny head was bent beneath one of its wings.
It startled at the sight of me, struggling to scurry farther into the tiny corner. The patch of red I could see gleaming inside its wing suggested that it was broken in several parts, but the terrible, awkward angle it hung from its body confirmed it. “Oh, it’s just a poor little baby,” I whispered. “He can’t fly. His wing is broken.”

Dominic leaned over me to look. “It won’t be much longer, probably.”

“Till what?” I didn’t take my eyes off the bird, which had stopped moving. Now it just sat there, its chest heaving in and out.

“Until it dies.” Dominic straightened as I turned to look at him. “Marin, it’s half dead already. And it can’t fly. It probably fell out of a nest somewhere and hobbled into the alley to find a quiet place to die. Animals do that, you know. When they know there’s no hope left.”

I looked down at the bird again and then at the garbage bag. It was too far gone to bring to a vet. And Nan would kill me if I brought a half-dead animal into the house. There was a reason she didn’t have any pets of her own. She was big on germs, half-crazed about the number of diseases they could carry. Dad would just think I was nuts. But then, what else was new? Still, I didn’t want to touch him, couldn’t bear the thought of handling something so tiny. So fragile. “Can you get him out of there for me?”

Dominic drew back. “Why would you want to get him
out
of there?”

“I just do.” I stood up, unable to look at the bird any
longer. It was dying right in front of us, its tiny eyes half-lidded and glazed, breathing its last breaths. “Please.”

“You’re not planning on taking it home?”

“No.”

“Well, why do you want me to get it, then?”

I didn’t answer.

“It’s dying, Marin.”

“I
know
it’s dying.” I bit my lip. “That’s why I want you to get it.”

“Why?”

“So that it can die
with
someone, okay?” I shook my head. “With us. And not all alone out here.”

Dominic’s eyes met mine for a moment and then moved back over to the bird. He pulled the garbage bag to one side, making room to center his feet, and then he reached over and slid a hand under the bird. I watched fearfully as it fluttered under his touch, little brown feathers quivering on the tips of its wings, and then settled down again. Its breathing was labored, and up close, inside its chest, I could see a green dot fading.

“Oh, Marin, it’s dying now.” Dominic lifted the bird close to his face, examining it. “Watch it breathing. I’m going to put it down and just let it die.”

“Don’t put it down.” I put my hand on his arm. “Please. I know it sounds weird, but please just hold it and wait. Come on. We’ll sit over there where it’s drier.”

The alley was not quite dark; pockets of deep blue still lingered along the horizon, as if resisting bedtime, and the
moon hovered like a shy child behind a clot of clouds. The mouth of the alley opened up into a dirt lot, which segued into a paved parking space filled with cars. In front of the cars, the raised deck of Elmer Sudds, one of the popular downtown bars, was filled with customers. I paused as we made our way toward the lot and stared at the people on the deck. They were too far away to hear much, but I could see them laughing and talking, bottles of beer in their hands. A multitude of colored shapes—a blue orb here, an orange band there—dotted their dark silhouettes. I sat down next to the wall at the end of the lot and stared straight ahead.

Dominic slid down against the wall next to me, his arms resting along the tops of his knees, the tiny bird pocketed inside his hands. For a moment, neither of us said anything. The sounds of laughter drifted across the parking lot.

“Is it still breathing?” I asked.

“I can’t feel anything.” Dominic opened his hands a little and peeked in. He winced, as if tasting something sour. “Hard to tell. Maybe just barely.”

I nodded, turning my attention back to the people on the deck. The majority of them were huddled around a pretty woman with blond hair who seemed to be telling them some kind of story. Every twenty seconds or so she would stop and take a drink from her beer, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, and then continue on again.
Maybe we should go somewhere else,
I thought. Somewhere quieter. More respectful. Or at least a place that didn’t have beer around.

“I’m pretty sure it’s dead,” Dominic said. He peered at the space between his hands and then reached in and nudged the baby animal with his fingertip. “Yeah. It’s gone.”

I sucked in air, hard, and then let it out again.

“You okay?” Dominic asked after a few more minutes.

“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m fine.”

He sighed and turned his head, tipping it back a little against the brick wall so that he could stare up at the sky. I waited for him to say “I told you so,” or something like that, but it didn’t come. Instead, he reached out and touched my arm. “You want to bury it?”

We moved to the other side of the lot, opposite a row of Dumpsters, beneath the only tree in sight, a large maple with thick branches and new leaves. I stood behind him as he got down on his knees and dug a hole, clawing and scraping at the dry soil with both hands. It was hard not to notice the way his shoulders rolled under his shirt as he moved, or how, from this angle, the backs of his ears looked like small seashells. Even in situations like this, things like that were hard to miss.

“That should be deep enough,” he said. He cupped the dead bird in his dirty hands again and then paused, scooting over a little to make room for me. If I’d been braver, I would have leaned over and kissed him for doing such a thing. Instead, I knelt down next to him, watching as he placed the little bird in the hole. It looked ridiculously out of place, lying on its side there in a pocket of dirt, two tiny
feet curled up under it like fern fronds. The small triangle of beak was parted just the tiniest bit, and a section of breast feathers was damp and matted. I had never looked at a dead person before—even if I had gone to Mom’s funeral, it had been a closed casket—but I wasn’t surprised to see the absence of colors or shapes inside this bird. No more pain. It would never hurt again.

Dominic waited, looking first at the bird and then at me. “You … um … want to say something?”

I stood up, brushed the front of my jeans. “No.”

He stayed put, scooping the unearthed dirt back into the hole. Slowly, the bird faded from view. I waited as Dominic tamped down the little mound and then placed a tiny rock on top of it. Finally, he stood up, swatting at the dirt on his jeans, and wiped his hands on his back pockets.

“Thank you,” I said, readjusting my glasses. “I mean, for doing all that.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused. “I’m actually kind of glad we did.”

Behind him, another shriek of laughter curled out over the rest of the voices from the bar like a strand of light. For a split second, I remembered how I used to feel when Mom laughed, how everything in the world seemed possible after hearing such a sound.

“I have to go,” I said, turning around. “My dad’s going to kill me if I don’t get home.”

“I can take you.” Dominic fell into step beside me. “I mean, you’re not going to walk, are you?”

“It’s fine.” I brushed him off. “Seriously. I’ll be home in less than thirty minutes. It’s only a mile or so.”

“Marin.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him pull his hand back. “Come on. I have a car and your bike. Don’t be crazy.”

“I’m not being crazy.” I kept my voice steady. “I just want to be alone.”

“Could you just please—”

“NO!” I turned, whirling on him. “Listen, I’m sorry your sister’s sick, and thank you for helping me bury the bird, but I went to the hospital with you like you asked, and I really have nothing else to say to you, okay? I just want to be alone right now. I need to be alone. Now,
please.
I mean it.”

I kept walking, my shoulders hunched up tight around my ears as if to block his voice as he called my name one final time, but there was only silence.

And when I finally turned and peeked over my shoulder to see if he was following me, there was no one there.

I moved through the dark neighborhoods on autopilot, one foot in front of the other. This part of town was foreign to me, and my disorientation created a new, faint anxiety inside my chest. I turned down a street flanked with a series of bright orange mailboxes, toward what I thought was the sound of traffic ahead, and tried to think. But my thoughts
were jumbled, like random pieces of a puzzle thrown into a box. It was impossible to know where to start. And even if I did, none of it would make any sense. None of the pieces would fit. The tips of my fingers were numb and my lips tasted like rubber. There was nowhere to go. No one I could tell. No one, anywhere, who would understand. Or believe me. About any of it.

It was that simple.

That terrible.

After what seemed like a very long time, I found myself on Main Street. My panic began to dissipate and I could feel my fingers unclench. Lucy lived three blocks from here. I’d go see her, hang out at her place for a little while. It was where I was supposed to have been all along anyway. Without my bike, it would take a little longer to get home again, but that was okay. I needed normalcy right now, even just a semblance of it. Something quiet, regular, the complete and total opposite of drama.

Mrs. Cooper opened the door, one finger pressed against the middle of her ear. The grimace on her face did not hide her beautiful features, all dark hair and milky skin with widely spaced eyes and a tiny mouth. She was one of those cool mothers, funny, attractive, and kind to a fault. In other words, the bane of Lucy’s existence.

“Hi, honey!” she said, letting me in. “Are you okay? You look all worn out.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I was just running a little.” I glanced at the pale orange shape inside her ear; it throbbed in and out,
like a small jellyfish hovering in shallow water. A bad ear infection. “Would you mind if I got a glass of water?”

“Of course not! Let me get it for you.”

I followed her into the kitchen and stood by the sink as she filled a glass from the faucet. She kept her middle finger against her ear, tapping at the center of it as I tipped the glass and guzzled it down. “Thanks,” I gasped, putting the glass back on the counter.

“You want another one?”

“No thanks.” I paused as she tipped her head to the side again and fiddled with her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Just waiting for the ear drops to kick in.” Mrs. Cooper winced. “I’ve had the most terrible pain in there for almost two days now. I should probably go to the doctor, but I know he’ll charge me an arm and a leg for some kind of antibiotic, and I’d just as soon slide glass under my fingernails than give him another dime after the number he did on our new health insurance plan. So I’m just going to suck it up.”

There was an awkward beat as I tried to figure out what to say. It had taken a while for me to get used to Mrs. Cooper’s casual, easygoing nature, something Lucy seemed to think she had adopted in overdrive after her father had filed for divorce. Mom would have never made small talk like this with Janine. She wasn’t aloof or rude, but there was a definitive, unspoken line between adults and kids when it came to her. Talking to one of my friends as if she were a peer would have been unfathomable to her.

“So, Lucy’s upstairs hanging out in her room,” Mrs. Cooper said at last. “Go on up.”

I took the steps two at a time and stopped outside Lucy’s bedroom door, which was partially ajar. I could see her flopped faceup on her four-poster bed, the glob inside her stomach thrumming an electric yellow color. Her eyes were shut tight, and both arms pounded the air to a soundless beat streaming through a set of headphones. Aside from candy, Lucy also had a serious addiction to Led Zeppelin. She knew every song from every album, forward and backward, and she thought Jimmy Page, who played the guitar, was a god.