Bird Song (5 page)

We walked side-by-side, our steps silent on the lawn between our homes that had never been separated by fence or gates.
 
The snow that had fallen the night before had melted quickly and left the ground soggy and dangerously slippery.

“Whoops!” I shouted, as I felt my footing loosen on a patch of grass that was exceptionally wet.
 
I grabbed onto his arm as I nearly toppled headfirst into a planter sitting beneath one of the first story windows.

“God, Grace, you’re such a klutz!” Graham kidded, though his tone was anything but amused.
 
He was nervous, and I knew he was as apprehensive about this as I was.
 
The house smelled like old beer as we walked through the door.
 
That sweet, stale aroma that kind of reminds you that you need to wash your hair.

I don’t remember the last time I had actually walked through Graham’s house, but it wasn’t like I remembered.
 
Of course, I don’t remember picture frames littering the ground, or beer bottles and empty liquor bottles covering every flat surface either.
 
This was a recycler’s dream.
 
I tried counting the number of empty bottles as we walked towards the kitchen, but I lost track after I hit fifty.
 
There were just too many and it felt like they were breeding, spawning as more appeared with each step, each movement towards the back of the house.

“Dad?” Graham called out.
 
He flipped the light on and I groaned while he stood silent.
 
The kitchen was disturbingly void of any space—each little scrap of spare air was occupied by a bottle of some kind or another, all in varying sizes.
 
Bottles of varying sizes, shapes, and colors were stacked on the countertops, the kitchen table, the chairs, and the floor.
 
It would have made for a great art piece if the reality of it weren’t so tragic.

Graham turned away and walked past me towards the stairs.
 
I started to follow him, unwilling to let him search upstairs alone, but he put his hand on my shoulder and shook his head.
 
“I have to do this by myself, Grace.”
 
I opened my mouth to argue but he shook his head, and I bit my tongue to keep my words contained.
 
What would he find upstairs that I couldn’t see?
 

The smell in the house was starting to make me nauseas; I had to go and open a window before I lost my dinner.
 
The kitchen window seemed the best place to start.
 
I tried to raise it, but it was hopelessly stuck.
 
Richard had neglected the house for so long, I was amazed that the door had even opened.
 
How long had this been going on?
 
And why hadn’t Graham told me?

“He’s not here,” his voice said behind me.
 
I turned around and saw the look of dismay on his face, mixed with confusion and fear.
 
I knew that look so well.
 
I had worn it myself.
 
And I had been wrong—it didn’t look good on anyone.

“Where do you think he is?” I asked as he once again took in the graveyard of empty bottles before us.
 
He shook his head, not knowing and probably not wanting to even begin to think about it either.
 
“Well, let’s get your stuff then and head back to my house.
 
I don’t think I can stay in this funk any longer.”

With what looked like despair and reservation, Graham headed back upstairs to pack a bag.
 
I couldn’t begin to think about what exactly was going on with his father, but the drinking, the enormous evidence of it was astounding and frighteningly real.
 
This wasn’t some after-school special, or a PSA on television.
 
This was real life, and Graham had been living it for a very long time.
 
And he hadn’t told anyone.

He hadn’t told me.

I shook my head at the selfishness my thought was laced with.
 
Why did I need to know?
 
Something this private and painful shouldn’t have to be revealed to anyone…but the guilt from knowing that I could have helped him sooner and didn’t was slowly starting to creep up in me.
 
There was a lot that Graham didn’t know about me, a lot that he’d be very upset about learning, so I couldn’t hold this against him.
 
He needed my support, not my complaints.

“Okay, let’s go.”
 
I looked up and saw him standing next to me, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a baseball cap perched on his head.

We walked out of the house, Graham carefully closing the door, sealing in the stale air and the sea of glass behind us, and silently walked back towards mine.
 
Graham laid his backpack on the ground next to the couch while I went upstairs to grab some pillows and a blanket for him to use.
 
His mood was somber when I returned.

“I left him a note, letting him know where I was,” he mumbled, the exhaustion showing on his face and in his tone.
 
I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him as tightly as I could.

“It’s going to be okay, Graham.
 
You’re not alone in this,” I said reassuringly, hoping that the words would find some place inside of him to burrow and take root.

I reluctantly let him go and watched as he plopped himself down on the couch and stretched his length out.
 
He closed his eyes and I smiled.
 
It had to be okay.
 
Things weren’t supposed to not work out for the people you loved.

I flipped off the living room light and headed up the stairs towards my room.

“Hey, Grace?”

I stopped on the fourth step and bent my head down so I could hear him better.
 
“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

I grinned.
 
“Ditto.”

The feeling that I carried with me as I headed towards my room was completely different than anything I had felt before.
 
It felt like completion.
 
The final cracks had been repaired.
 
It kept the smile plastered on my face as I went through my usual routine to get ready for bed.

When I walked into my room, Robert was sitting cross-legged on my bed, a slight frown distorting the beauty of his lips.
 
He knew that Graham was downstairs on the couch, and he wasn’t thrilled.
 
“I don’t want to hear your complaints about it, Robert,” I whispered as I climbed into bed.
 
I pulled the covers up over my bare knees and turned to look at him, ready to hear the arguments I knew he was going to make anyway.

I don’t see why he couldn’t stay at home.
 
He’s not being abused, and his father isn’t even there right now.
 
His guilt and your compassion shouldn’t be enough reason for him to be here, Grace.

I felt my mouth push to the side, my expression doing nothing to fully convey just how annoyed I was that his mental spelunking hadn’t been enough to help him root out the whole truth.
 
“It wasn’t my idea that he stay here, Robert; it was Janice’s.
 
The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but I’m not going to let him stay in that house.
 
You didn’t see it.
 
It’s-“

Robert placed his fingers over my lips, silencing the slowly increasing volume of my rant.
 
I can see it in your head, Grace.
 
It is disturbing, truly.
 
I wasn’t aware that he’d been going through so much.
 
His mind is a lot like yours, only he uses random thoughts to hide
 
how he really feels.
 
I believe it’s so he won’t have to think about any of it.
 
But, I won’t tell you that I approve of him sleeping under the same roof as you are.

I rolled my eyes at his thoughts.
 
“You’re acting quite protective of someone you treat like a little sister, Robert.”

I saw his eyes flash with anger, and I admit that I enjoyed it.
 
I was tired of him playing the good angel.
 
Though I had been frightened and distrusting of his dark calling, there were moments I wish that a little bit of that darkness would come out so that he’d stop being so controlled and contained.

Grace.
 
This isn’t just about me, you know.

I snorted in disbelief.
 
“Oh really?
 
Then please, tell me how this isn’t just about you.
 
Tell me how I’m benefiting from this little arrangement because from where I’m sitting, it looks like I’m getting the short end of the stick.”

Robert took my hand and placed it against his face, sighing with contentment.
 
I sighed, too.
 
It never felt normal, the way my skin tingled whenever we made contact.
 
It always vibrated with an unseen energy that wound around and through me, a current of pure feeling that never felt like enough.

That is exactly how I feel, Grace.
 
But it’s worse for me, because I feel it from you as well.
 
You don’t know how incredibly blissful it is, to feel your softness, your warmth against my flesh.
 
He held my hand still as he turned his face inward and kissed the palm of my hand.
 
I heard the intake of my breath, but it fought for a spot with the pounding of my heart as it thrummed inside of my chest; the current rippled all through me and I had to bite my tongue to keep from groaning out loud.

“You’re going to kill me, Robert.
 
I swear on everything that’s valuable, you’re going to kill me dead.”

Robert let out a snort, and I knew that my exaggeration had done nothing to sway him to my cause.
 
You can always agree to my changing you, and we won’t have that problem.

I threw myself back against my pillow and groaned.
 
My head didn’t even touch it as he snatched me mid-fall and pulled me against his chest.
 
“Why are you bringing that up again, Robert?”

I felt him kiss my hair, felt the puff of air as he sighed.
 
I dream of waking up and finding you’re not there.
 
I fear the day when I hear the call
…
and it’s because it’s you.

I felt that irritating sting of moisture prick my eyes; I had felt that fear manifest into something scary and monstrous in myself when he had been the one to die.
 
To think of him experiencing that same pain himself was almost worse.
 
I turned my head and placed my ear on his chest, the evidence of his death silent and still beneath the skin and bones that cradled it.
 
I heard only the echo of breath in his chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the memories that leapt out of the dark recesses of my mind, taunting me with their hint at what lay ahead for me.

“I don’t want to think about it,” I cried into his shirt, my voice muffled against his chest.
 
“I don’t want to think about anything.
 
I just want you to hold me, and tell me that you love me.”

The circle of arms around me pulled me as tightly against his chest as humanly possible and he whispered the three words, while thinking them at the same time, my own personal echo.
 
I reached my arms up to wrap around his neck and pull myself up, needing to feel something other than the rise and fall of his chest, or the strength wielded in his embrace.
 
I needed to feel the unnatural heat from his lips, his breath tickling my skin, his nose nudging against mine.

I can’t, Grace.

“
Yes, you can.
 
You just don’t want to,” I whispered as I inched closer to my goal.
 
I needed to ease my way there, and I began by kissing his neck.
 
The column of muscle that flexed there in distress seemed to beg for attention, and so I gave it.
 
I kissed it softly, gently.
 
My lips worked their way towards the curve of his jaw, and kissed along the ridge until I came to the dip between his lower lip and his chin.

I inhaled as he breathed out, and sighed at the sweet fragrance and blissful warmth that wafted over my face.
 
I leaned in closer to breathe in the intoxicating aroma, allowing the tip of my nose to brush his, wanting that slight contact to draw out a reaction.

When nothing happened, I decided to tempt fate.
 
I leaned in and lightly pressed my lips against his, feather light and soft.
 
I took his lack of rejection as a positive sign, and applied my lips to his with more pressure, rubbing them against the heavenly friction that his offered.
 
I knew I was dangerously close to overstepping the limitations Robert had set, but at that moment, I didn’t care.
 
I only cared about the heat that traveled from the point of contact between our lips to the sheets that hid my trembling knees.

How incredibly simple it all was.
 
You read about passionate encounters involving enormous amounts of movement and contact, see the visions displayed in movies and on television, and yet, the simple act of pressing my lips against Robert’s was enough to scorch my skin, and light my entire body on fire.
 
My breathing quickened and my heart galloped at an unhealthy pace as I realized that though I had meant to lure Robert into my dangerous game, I had been the one who had been caught.