Authors: Kristen Chandler
Girls Don't Fly (2 page)
“Sorry. But why d’ya always have to do that?” says Andrew. “They’re trash birds.”
That’s just how it goes, I guess—if you clean up after someone they think you’re the garbage. “We don’t throw rocks at birds.”
Carson wails, “You’re bleeding.”
I rub my face. Even my eyelashes hurt. I have a streak of blood on my hand. It’s small, but I shiver. I don’t do blood. Too many germs. Brett stares at me, not moving. I know he’s freaked out because he’s not even trying to blame Andrew. “I’m fine,” I say. “It’s a long ways from my heart.” That’s what we always say when someone gets hurt in my family.
“Go back and play.”
Brett says, “I didn’t mean to.”
A stray gull flies back into the yard and begins pecking for crumbs. The boys look at the bird and then at me. Their hands hang at their sides, fingers twitching.
I glare at them with my bloody eye. They shrug off to the fort.
I walk over to the bird to scare it away. I finally have to kick at it to make it fly. Some birds are just too dumb to know when it’s time to go.
My eye is already starting to swell. I head to the house for ice. I try to think positively about tonight. Maybe someplace nice really is nice. Why am I so worried? People who care about each other cut the other person some slack, right? Right.
Melyssa’s junker chugs into the front yard. I don’t want to go inside now, but I have to if I want to get the ice.
I know where someplace nice is. Someplace else.
2
Brood Parasites:
When a bird stows its eggs or other junk in another bird’s nest.
“Wow,” says Dad as I walk in. He’s looking at Melyssa, who is eating a sandwich the size of her head. And believe me, for such a small person, she has a big head.
Melyssa says, “Yeah, I’m not one bit sick.”
“She can eat,” says Zeke.
“Shut up, Zeke.”
Zeke laughs. “She tried to eat the mailman yesterday. Had to hit her with a stick a few times to get his leg out of her mouth.”
Melyssa and Zeke smile at each other. Zeke looks like the Incredible Hulk next to Mel. He’s square and stands like a wrestler, which is funny for a poet. He’s also the only guy Mel’s ever dated who’s as mean as she is, so I guess they’re perfect for each other. I mean I like Zeke, he’s funny and whatever, but I wish Melyssa wasn’t pregnant and I wish Zeke didn’t smell like old cheese. But then, I wish a lot of things.
“What do you need?” says Mom, not looking at me. I’m not invited to this conversation. Biologically, I’m eighteen months younger than my sister, but in mom-years I’m permanently at the little kids’ table.
“I need ice,” I say.
“What did you do to yourself?” says Melyssa.
Mom just shakes her head. “I’ve told you about letting those boys play so rough with you. You don’t need a doctor, do you?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
The boys follow me into the kitchen. Danny jumps out of my mother’s lap and runs for my legs. The other three start for the kitchen cupboard.
“Could you take the mob to their rooms then?” says Mom. This whole thing with Melyssa has bankrupted her patience reserves.
I herd the mob down the hallway.
Andrew says, “They’re eating. Why can’t we eat?”
“Melyssa’s going to get fat, isn’t she?” says Brett.
Melyssa inherited my mother’s metabolism, which is to say she could give birth to an ice-cream truck and not gain weight. Danny takes my hand. He’s four, but he’s not much of a talker.
Carson, who never stops talking, takes my other hand. “Dinosaurs are eating my stomach out.”
“Clean off and then go wait for me in your room.”
Brett says, “Why do they always get rid of us? It’s not like we don’t know how you make a baby.”
“How do you make a baby?” says Carson.
I glare at Brett. He’s eleven and trouble, but in a fight I’d want him on my side.
Andrew, our twelve-year-old hall monitor, says, “Are they going to move here? I don’t want to sleep in the basement.”
I sigh. “
You’ll
get
your
room.”
You’ll
get
your
room.”
“Then where will you sleep?” says Carson.
I wonder if people still stow away on ships. I’m tall but I compress well. “You can’t put a new baby in an unfinished basement.”
“Sucks to be you,” says Brett.
“Don’t say ‘sucks.’” I push my brothers into the bathroom. “Soap. And hang up your towels.”
“We’re not babies,” says Andrew.
“No, you’re a whole lot messier.”
I head back for the kitchen. No one talks while I slather around the peanut butter. Dad fills a washcloth with ice and hands it to me as I walk out of the kitchen. “They beat you up pretty good.”
“Long ways from my heart,” I say, imitating him. He grimaces. I do a perfect impression of my dad.
I walk slowly down the hall so I can eavesdrop. I put the cloth to my eye and the ice makes it stick to my skin. In the kitchen there is a brief back and forth and then I hear Dad say, “I’m sorry ... but I just can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible. How will you make this work? And what about this family? You’ve just proved to every person in this community that they were right about us. Those godless Morgans ...”
Melyssa yells, “Half the girls I knew in high school got knocked up. And I don’t even live here anymore.”
“Well, we do,” says Dad. “When you’re management, these kinds of things matter. Having people’s respect pays your bills, young lady.”
Mel says, “I’m not a lady now, remember.”
“Oh please!” Mom explodes.
I hear another explosive sound, this time from the boys’ room. Mom’s high-pitched voice slices down the hall. “Myra!”
I hustle to the boys’ room with the sandwiches. There is broken glass all over the floor and Carson is yelling, “911! 911!” They all have bare feet so I make everyone mount their beds and toss them their rations. If I try to evacuate there will be blood.
I point at them individually. “Don’t move.”
“Brett did it,” yells Carson.
Brett squints at him but says nothing. He’s plotting.
“I’m not getting on the bed,” says Andrew.
“’Cause he’s so mature,” says Brett.
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
I leave them to torment each other while I jog down the hall and grab a broom and garbage can. The phone rings.
I drop the broom and run for the phone. I can always tell when it’s Erik, sometimes even before the phone rings. I let out a breath before I answer. “Hello.”
“Hey, Myra.” I can barely hear Erik’s tenor voice over the boys’ yelling. “It sounds like somebody’s getting killed over there.”
“My brothers are mud wrestling.”
“Really?”
“Um ... no.”
He pauses and then laughs. “Okay. So how are you?” He sounds happy, normal.
“Great,” I say.
“Good. Good. Hey, well, I have a problem with tonight.”
“Okay ... like what?” I don’t even try to sound happy.
“Can I meet you ... like, right now? I could come get you in about ten minutes.”
I look around at the eight levels of chaos in my house. “Let me check.”
I walk into the kitchen. “Can I go meet Erik for a few minutes?” No one answers.
I say, “I’ll sweep the glass up and then put on a movie for the boys.”
Mom points her tiny finger at me. “I don’t need you running off with a boy right now.”
Two weeks of this. Like the world has come to an end. Like somewhere in China they’re having updates in Tianan-men Square about the Morgan Family Illegitimate Pregnancy Crisis. “
I’m
not running off.” It slips out.
I’m
not running off.” It slips out.
Melyssa shoots me a death glare.
My mother shakes her head again and turns back to her important daughter. Okay, maybe she’s not more important, but she and Mom have always just gotten along better. Mom and I are too alike, in all the wrong ways. Dad gives me the mercy nod. It means I don’t have to listen to Mom as long as I don’t argue with her.
I go back to the phone. The boys are jumping on the beds, into the walls, making loud thumping sounds. I take another breath. “Hey. Ten minutes is fine. And I have a funny-looking eye.”
“Oh ...” Erik says. “Why?”
“I got in the middle of something.”
“Huh,” says Erik. “Is it bad?”
I press the swelling lid. “It’s gonna get ugly, but I’ll live.”
3
Drift Migration:
When birds get dumped on by the weather and then get seriously lost.
Erik drives up in his white truck exactly ten minutes later. When I answer the door everything else disappears. He’s wearing my favorite pale yellow shirt. His spiky black hair is messed up from driving with his window down. Just opening the door with him on the other side makes me relax and get excited all at the same time. He looks startled by my black eye, but he grins anyway. That smile cleans my head of every other messy thought.
He’s holding daisies wrapped in fuchsia cellophane and tied with a silk bow. Daisies. He says, “I thought you’d like these.”
“Are you crazy!” I say. “I love them.” I feel ridiculous. It’s going to be fine. I imagined how distant he’s been. Okay, I didn’t imagine it. But at least it’s over.
He opens his mouth. Only air comes out. When Erik is nervous he forgets how to talk. We both do that. I love that we have the same quirks.
“Let me put these away, okay,” I say.
Breathe,
I tell myself.
See, everything is fine
. I walk into the kitchen and grab a vase without looking at anyone. I don’t want anything in the kitchen to touch me.
Breathe,
I tell myself.
See, everything is fine
. I walk into the kitchen and grab a vase without looking at anyone. I don’t want anything in the kitchen to touch me.
Dad says, “Those are nice.”
“Half an hour,” says Mom. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”
Zeke says, “That kid’s making me look bad.”
“He’s Prince Charming,” Mel says. The edge to her voice cuts in all directions. “But who makes you look good?”
Erik and I walk into the front yard. The lawn is too wet to sit down on, so we sit at the bottom of the porch steps. “Melyssa and Zeke are here. My parents are still losing it.”
Erik pushes my bangs out of my eyes. “Your eye looks hot. How’d you get it?”
“Stopping a fight between Andrew and Brett and a seagull.”
“Your brothers were fighting a bird?”
“They were going to kill it with rocks.”
“So you saved the bird with your face,” he says. “That’s so you.” Erik looks at me funny. He smiles and reaches out for my hand. His hands are soft and familiar. I tell myself to stop worrying. He brought me flowers. For all I know he’s about to ask me to Senior Dinner Dance. It’s not until May, but Erik likes to plan. Everyone thinks he’s so cocky because he’s smart and good at track, but they don’t see how he worries about stuff. Like me.
I say, “I’m sorry ... I’ve been such a mess.”
“Yeah ... but it’s not like it’s your fault.”
“I cried mascara on your jacket in front of half the track team.”
“My mom got it out.”
He takes a deep breath. He’s always telling me to do that. Maybe because he had asthma when he was a kid, which is another thing most people don’t know about Erik. “Can we go for a drive?”
The distance between us is back again, like a persistent draft. “I better not. My parents need me to keep one ‘eye’ on the boys this morning.” I point at my shiner but he doesn’t laugh.
Finally I say, “So ... what are the flowers for?”
Erik lets air out of his mouth like a tire. Then he takes another deep breath and does the whole thing again. This is bad. Finally he says, “I want to break up.”
It takes a few seconds for me to hear what he said.
“You brought me daisies ... to break up with me?”
He swivels like his pale yellow shirt doesn’t fit. “I’m sorry. I just need some space.”
“Space?” The word comes up in my mouth.
“We can still go out, once in a while.”
“Once in a while?”
“You know, until school gets out.”
“Until school gets out?”
“You’re repeating things.”
“I am?”
I am. I’ve dated Erik for nineteen months. We met in Foods and Nutrition. He said I whipped egg whites like a gourmet. I liked how he held the door for girls, no matter what they looked like, and how he always remembered to wash his hands before we started cooking.
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