A/N Just a reminder, we already wrote chapter one and two, and are working on chapter three right now. So yep :P
I wake up in the morning feeling rejuvenated. I drag my feet over to the kitchen table and find a reminder from Papa that says I need to head over to the marina at noon. I crumple in up and put it into the trash can before I get a bowl of cereal and eat in front of the TV. I have never really paid close attention to the weatherman's reports, but this certain bulletin snags my attention. I listen closely to what the stout man has to say.
"The forecast for this week looks almost flawless. Next week, on the other hand, will be a little difficult as hurricane Nicholai migrates up towards eastern Canada. I recommend readying storm shelters if you would prefer a safe and happy hurricane season. And this has been Up to Date Weather. On to you, Karen."
I tune out when the plastic-looking woman starts rambling about designer clothing and chihuahuas. When I finish my cereal, I ready a pot with water and get it on the element to boil. While the stove heats up, I sprint quickly to my bedroom and grab my sketchbook. I get back to the stove just in time to beat the whistle. My foot is lodged between the door and frame while I grab a box of charcoal and run out of the house with a mug of steaming tea in my hands.
Sitting on a mossy tree stump, I set my hot cup down and flip open my sketchbook to a blank page. I start to sketch out a circle, letting my hands decide what to draw instead of my brain.
I let my mind wander. Hurricane Nicholai is coming. We've had storms before, but this particular hurricane
sounds bigger than any of the storms that's ever hit Wrenside.
The biggest hurricane I can remember is when I was only four years old. The house rattled and shook
and the waves crashing violently against the shore could be heard for great distances.
I stood at the great window, staring up at the sky as dark as night. Papa and Mommy were racing around outside in their matching bright yellow raincoats, tying stuff down and piling tools in the shed.
"Birdie!" Izzy called from the kitchen. "Birdie, come here!"
I got there just in time to see the huge maple tree in front of our house come crashing down with an ear-splitting crack. My brother and I just stared in shock at the branches sprawled across the yard, leaves being spun everywhere in the strong wind.
And just like that I started sobbing. I screamed and cried, terrified. I heard heavy footsteps behind me and Mom ran up behind me in her large rubber boots. She scooped me up in her arms and held me close to her wet coat.
"It's okay, Kestrel." she whispered soothingly in my ear. I grabbed and a loose strand of her sopping hair and clenched it tight in my fingers.
Mom rubbed my back gently. "It's okay, Mommy's here."
The charcoal slips from my trembling fingers and I scramble to pick it up from the ground. The grey sky spins around me but I manage to sit back up before I fall over.
I examine my picture, a face with hair falling in soft waves around it. Definitely a woman's face, a very familiar one at that. Without a doubt, it was a portrait of my mother. I run my hand along the page, then I freeze. A nervous giggle escapes my lips, then I'm in hysterics. I jump up and the book slips from my lap into the dirt. I kick it away, then on second thought, rip out my latest drawing and crush it with my heel.
I'm laughing uncontrollably now, tears spilling down my cheeks.
I take the demolished paper and squeeze it in my fist. Afterwards, I run out towards the
dock, my feet sliding in the mud. I throw the ball of paper as far as I can into the rough water and take a deep breath of the salty air. I sink down onto the dock and bury my face in my hands, letting out one last giggle.
"What is wrong with me?" I ask the ocean, gathering my knees up to my chest.
The waves just rumble in reply.
I push myself up to my feet and head back to where I sketched. I pluck my sketchbook from the dirt and leaves and brush off the leather cover. There are maybe a few more bent pages, but no serious damage from my tantrum. Clutching the book tightly, I trudge up the steps to the cabin. Once I get inside, I bury myself into the couch and let the tears flow once again.
* * * * *
“You’re late, Birdie.” Papa scolds, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Sorry.” I murmur, bending down to tie my shoe to avoid meeting his gaze.
My father frowns.
“Is everything alright?” he asks. He leans down and gently touches my shoulder.
I stand up and scowl.“Everything’s fine, Papa.”
I get to work washing the grime off of one of the fishing boat, trying to focus on my cleaning instead of thinking about my mother. I get so absorbed in my work that I don’t notice Mr.Koppinger come up behind me.
“Hey, Birdie.”
I jump, knocking over my bucket of soapy water and soaking my legs.
“Oops, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” Leon chuckles, not sensing my bad mood.
“Yeah, whatever.” I grumble, kicking the empty bucket away.
Mr.Koppinger looks at me, his brow furrowed.
“Are you okay, Birdie?” he says softly. “Do you want to talk?”
I stare at the old man with the suspenders strapped across his shoulders and grey hair. The way he dresses, the way he talks, he reminds me a lot of my grandfather. I have a sudden urge to hug him, to tell him what’s been bothering me, but I don’t move.
Leon shrugs.
“Okay, it’s up to you. Sometimes it helps to talk, but sometimes you just have to keep things to yourself. I understand.”
“Thanks.” I mutter, coiling up a rope and putting away.
“Have you drawn at all since we talked yesterday?” Mr.Koppinger smiles.
I sweep the deck of the boat and nod.
“Hm, did they seem any better to you?” Leon puts his hand on his hips and leans forward.
I think about the drawing of my mother and shuddered.
“No, not really.”
“Well,” Leon runs a hand through his thinning hair. “You’re just going to have to keep practicing.”
I shoot him a grin. “Yeah, I guess I will.”
After Mr.Koppinger leaves, I stare at the ground, lost in thought for a long time. I want to get back home so I can sketch, but I have to work all day.
“Birdie, can you help me with- AHH!”
“Papa!” I race to help him up from where he slipped in the puddle of water. “Are you
okay?”
Pa groans, rubbing his head.
“Oh, Papa, your back! Should I get Dr. Norman?” I kneel beside him but he pushes me away.
“I’m fine, Birdie.” He says, trying to stand up.
“But Papa-“
“Kestrel!” my father snaps. He takes a deep breath. “I just slipped. I’m fine, but you really have to mop stuff up when you spill.”
I nod but I’m not really paying attention. I’m remembering Papa sprawled under the heavy crates, his eyes shut and his body frozen.
The ambulance sounds in the distance as Izzy runs up and grabs Pa’s limp hand.
“Please, Pa.” he cries, holding the hand to his chest. “Please be
alright.”
“Birdie?” Papa’s voice pulls me out of my little flashback. “Do you hear me, my little bird? I’m fine.”
I nod once more and hug him.
“I’m really fine, but I think I might want to just lay down with some ice for the rest of the day.” My father says gently, patting my back. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, Birdie.”
Pa smiles at me, but I can see that he is in pain.
“It is my fault,” I whisper quieter than he can hear. “Just as it was last time.” I stand up and grab the mop to clean up the soapy mess I made. Leon hoists Papa up and supports him with a strong arm. As they're
hobbling away, my friend calls to me.
"Missed a spot!" Leon calls, pointing to my soaked knees.
"Ha, ha" I roll my eyes and continue mopping up the suds.
Our only employee, Kittie, is a very interesting character. She only shows up when she wants to, and when she finally decides to work, she barely does anything at all. I turn around slightly to see the slight young woman leaning against Leon's yacht.
"Wassaap" she slurs, walking over to me. Kittie puts down a bottle and I eye it nervously.
"Down in the dumps, are we?" she grabs my shoulder, but I push the hand away.
"go away, Kittie" I sneer, wringing the soaked mop into a bucket. "Take that bottle with you, too. We don't
want to scare anyone away'' I gesture her half-finished beer and cross my arms.
She swipes away the bottle and takes a swig.
"Why don't you go away, Kestrel?" The woman retorts, looking me up and down, as if she was pondering
whether or not I would be worth her time. I glare at the drunkard for a moment, but sigh and proceed to put the mop away.
When I return that night, I turn around to find Mr. Koppinger cooking up dinner while Papa lies on the
couch.
"Well, hello there!" Leon grins, flipping a mushy looking crepe in a pan. "How was the rest of your day?"
"Horrible. I mean, that employee at the marina... She's a weirdo. We should just fire her, Papa." I grimace, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. "I'll help you make dinner as long as you're okay with me probably wrecking it."
Leon smiles at me and gestures to the cutting board.
"Work your magic!" he says, passing me a knife. I take it from him and snag some produce from the refrigerator. The room is instantly filled with decadent aromas when I start chopping up the vegetables. Once I'm done, I admire my work, proud that I've actually managed to help prepare food for once in my
entire life. Mr.Koppinger places our meal on the table, a mush of crepe, tomato and onion.
"I tried" he laughs, untying the frilly apron and placing it gingerly into a cabinet. I shuffle over to Pa, who hasn't been able to move much, and place his generous helping on the coffee table.
"bon appetit!" I exclaim, displaying a horrible French accent. Afterwards, I sit with Leon and
dig in to my own portion.
"Tyler's coming soon" he says through his food.
"Who?"
"Oh, sorry, Ty's my grandson. He'll be arriving this Wednesday" I remember the weather report from this morning, and suddenly realize that Ty will be stuck in a storm a little later on during his stay.
"But, Leon, that's when they're suspecting the hurricane to hit Wrenside!" I frown.
"They're WHAT?!" my father practically yells, struggling to get up. "Hurricane Nicholai is going
to be here any moment. We need to prepare!" He frantically screams. Papa has always despised storms of any type, because there is lots of preparation to be done at the marina. He needs to rid the dock of boats, empty out the fuel reservoir, and take care of all the other odd jobs.
"Calm down, Papa! Leon, have you ever experienced a hurricane? Do you know how to prepare?" I ask,
pushing my plate forward. "Oh, Pa, that isn't a very good idea!" I look towards
my father, who is halfway out the door.
"I guess I should go too" Mr. Koppinger lays his serviette over his plate of food, and readies his rain
jacket.
Before they depart, I giggle. "You know it's like, a week away? Right?" I pick up our plates and dump the rest of the food into the garbage can."Holy, that was terrible" I gulp from a glass of tap water and commence washing the dishes.
Once the plates and cutlery are dried and put away, I grab my sketchbook and practice drawing once more. This time I pay close attention to what I'm drawing, not letting myself get distracted. The first try isn't quite what I had in mind. Neither are the next dozen. It takes me a while but when I finally succeed, I am proud of my accomplishment. Before me sits a sketch of Papa with his bright red hair and freckles identical to mine. I note the bottom with a 'you're welcome' and hop off towards Mr.Koppinger's house. Sensing that he's probably still at the marina, I fold up the drawing and stick it under the door. Not knowing what to do next, I head to the tree house. I look up at the ladder before I climb, and test the rope, thinking that it may not last the hurricane.
"It'll be fine, Birdie, seriously" I tell myself, and set begin to make my way towards the small house resting on the limbs of this small oak tree.
When I reach the interior, I plop down on the bean bag chair and sigh. I lift the stack of weathered magazines and bring them towards me.
"What the?" I say when an old pocket watch appears in the spot where the pile had been. I grab it
and stare at the cracked facade.
"This... it can't be
Before Grandpa died, my family had visited him in the hospital. It was overcast outside and the sun refused to peek out from the clouds. I had always hated hospitals, and tried to avoid the disgusting sterile smell, mixed with the scent of vomit. I was sitting on the edge of Grandpa's hospital bed when he passed his timepiece to me.
"Will you take care of it?" He asked, and the younger me nodded my head.
"Of course, Grandpappy"
I roll the watch over in my hands, taking in its elegance. When I come to the crushed glassy surface covering the ticking hands, I remember the small fight Issac and I had, minutes after we had left the
hospital. Izzy almost never picked fights with me when we were little.
"Why did Grandpa give Birdie a clock and not me?" Izzy whined, looking down hungrily at the pocketwatch I was wearing around my neck. "I think it belongs to me! Give it!" he tore the watch away from me.
"Izzy, please give it!" I started to cry, and attempted to take the present back. When I finally ripped it away from my brother, the chain I had fastened to the watch unlatched. The three of us watched as the watch plummeted to the ground, and shattered.
The last promise I had made to my Grandpappy was broken.
I squeeze the pocket watch tight in my
palm.
"Sorry, Grandpappy..." I whisper, holding the watch to my cheek, warm
from my hand. I'm trembling as I put it back on the floor where I had found it.
I pile the magazines back on top and start to climb down the rope ladder. I
pause at the top, then deciding it would be safe, continued to descend to the
ground.
When I get home, Papa is passed out on the couch. He twitches the
tiniest bit when I kiss his cheek before going to be bedroom and flopping down
on the creaky mattress.
I pull out my sketchbook for one last time today,
flipping to a blank page and starting to sketch. An elderly man lying in a bed,
handing a pocket watch to a little girl with outstretched hands takes form. I
stare at the picture for a long time. I feel a hot tear roll down my cheek and I
crumple it into a ball. I throw it and it bounces off of the rim of my
wastebasket and lands on the floor.
I take a deep breath and calmly crawl
over and grab it. I lean against the wall and unroll it, doing my best to smooth
it out. It's still crinkly and torn, but I can't take my eyes off of the man's
face. I get some tape and stick it to my bedroom wall. I close my eyes and take
a deep breath, trying to relive our last moment together again and again.
I manage to fall asleep, but my dreams are full of grief and pain. A stranger pats
my shoulder, bends down to look me in the eye.
"Your grandfather was a good
man." I can only nod and sniffle, lowering my head to face the floor.
"I know." I choke out. "I know him better than anyone, you don't have to tell me
that."
The lady nods awkwardly and moved on to hug my father.
I can only stare at my shiny black shoes that I only wore on special occasions. I thought
special occasions were supposed to be happy, like weddings or birthdays.
I throw my shoes out in the dumpster behind the church and walk around in my
socks. I don't care how much they cost, I just couldn't wear them anymore.
I wake up feeling cold and sweaty. I get up and tiptoe down the hall, trying to
avoid the creaky spots in the flooring. I make it to the kitchen silently and
pour myself a glass of water. I sit at the table and sip it slowly.
I can still hear Grandpappy's whisper in my ear.
"I love you."
"I love you too,
Grandpappy." I hug him and give him a quick peck on the cheek.
My glass slips
from my fingers and shatters, but I don't move. I rest my head in my hands and
cry until my eyes are dry. I slowly push myself up from the ground, but stop
when I start to feel an intense pain in my palms.
"OW!" I silently cry, looking down at my bloody hands, skin pierced with shards of glass. I scramble
up to my feet, panicking at the sight of bright red droplets splashing on the
ground. I take caution not to wake Papa. Reaching inside the cabinets, I find
everything but antibiotic ointment and bandages. I suddenly remember the slash
Pa got on the leg weeks back, and realize that he'd probably still have the
dressings in his nightstand drawer. I sweep away the glass and soak up the
blood-infused water before I tiptoe over to my father's room. He lays in bed
silently, occasionally adjusting his sleeping position. I make sure not to step
on the creaky floorboards as I sneak into Papa's bedroom and creep over to the
bedside table. I grab the handle and pull open the first drawer to find nothing
but letters and stationery. I decide not to poke into Pa's business, so I
gingerly close the drawer. The next one containss what I've been looking for,
and I grab it swiftly before running out. I envelop my hands in ointment and
bandages. I am practically sleep-walking by he time I reach my bed. I drift off
immediately.
"BIRDIE!" I wake and sit up groggily, rubbing the sleep from
eyes.
"Yes, Papa?" I call, dragging myself out of bed and down the
hall. Pa is standing in the kitchen, eyes full of concern.
"Birdie, did something happen last night?" he asks after
pulling me in for a hug.
"I just accidentally dropped a glass and cut myself." I
shudder, remembering last evening's events. I adjust the bandages and avoid eye
contact with my father.
"Are you okay?" he eyes the dried blood on my hands nervously.
I quickly hide them behind my back.
"Well, I guess I'll have to go clean up the bloody handprints
all over my room" He smiles, releases me from the tight hug and goes to wet a
cloth.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it" I grab the dripping rag
from his hands and rush over to the room that I had soiled late at
night.
"Oh no, you don't!" Papa rushes over to me with a soaked towel
and wrings it out, right over my head. I squeal from the shock of cold water so
early in the morning.
"It's on." I smash the wet rag in my hand into his face. To
avoid getting attacked another time, I turn and sprint out of the house at full
speed. While looking for a place to hide, I notice the hose strewn across the
mossy ground. I pick it up and lie underneath the deck in wait for my prey. Sure
enough, Papa trudges right past me, seconds later. I slightly turn the nozzle on
the hose and a small trickle falls out. I laugh slightly before turning it all
the way. Pa gets the chilling stream right between the eyes, and I can no longer
contain my hysteric laughter.
My father can't help but join in and falls to the ground,
laughter wracking his body. I crawl out from my hiding spot and lie down beside
him. I squeeze my drenched hair into the grassy soil and let my head down onto
Papa's outstretched arm.
"Are we going to clean my room now?"
Later during the day, I reach Mr.Koppinger's doorstep. I run a
hand through my short, wavy hair and ring the doorbell. When Leon answers, a
large smile lights up on his face.
"Come in, Birdie! I have some news" I sit down on my favourite
sofa and cover myself in a warm, fleecy blanket. Mr.Koppinger comes in behind me
and grins.
"You know my grandson, Ty?" I nod politely, even though
technically I don't know him at all. "His mother has just called, informing me
that Tyler will be joining me earlier than expected!"
Leon is bouncing in excitement. Seeing a relatively old man
this excited makes me feel elated myself and soon the two of us are on our feet.
I'm looking forward to potentially having my first teenaged
friend in a long time.
"Would you like to go swimming? It really is a fabulous evening
for it" Leon asks. "How about I'll meet you and your dad there in fifteen
minutes"
I race home, and inform Papa about Mr.Koppinger's proposition
and he agrees that it is a great idea. We change rapidly and head to the dock
with towels slung over our arms.
"Ow, my back hurts." Pa complains on the walk there. Before I
can say anything, he holds up a hand. "Don't worry about me though, little Bird.
You worry too much."
I dive expertly into the water, unaware that neither Leon nor
Papa intended to enter the ocean.
"Hey, aren't you two coming in? I yell from where I tread
water, My wet hair sticking to my neck and barely reaching my
shoulders.
"It may not be the best idea for your father" My friend winks,
sitting down on the bench I so frequently occupy.
"And it looks cold." Papa added, lowering himself onto the
bench beside Leon. I chortle, and strap googles over my eyes. I completely
submerge myself, taking in the beauty of sea life. To my right, I spot a
colourful fish, the fluorescent hues of its scales flashing in the moonlight. It
darts behind a rock before I can further admire its dazzling
pigmentation.
When I come up to breathe, I lay on my back, letting waves lap
over my suspended body. It feels so serene, that I can't help myself but
smile.
Do you like it? :)
~Fedora and What
I wake up in the morning feeling rejuvenated. I drag my feet over to the kitchen table and find a reminder from Papa that says I need to head over to the marina at noon. I crumple in up and put it into the trash can before I get a bowl of cereal and eat in front of the TV. I have never really paid close attention to the weatherman's reports, but this certain bulletin snags my attention. I listen closely to what the stout man has to say.
"The forecast for this week looks almost flawless. Next week, on the other hand, will be a little difficult as hurricane Nicholai migrates up towards eastern Canada. I recommend readying storm shelters if you would prefer a safe and happy hurricane season. And this has been Up to Date Weather. On to you, Karen."
I tune out when the plastic-looking woman starts rambling about designer clothing and chihuahuas. When I finish my cereal, I ready a pot with water and get it on the element to boil. While the stove heats up, I sprint quickly to my bedroom and grab my sketchbook. I get back to the stove just in time to beat the whistle. My foot is lodged between the door and frame while I grab a box of charcoal and run out of the house with a mug of steaming tea in my hands.
Sitting on a mossy tree stump, I set my hot cup down and flip open my sketchbook to a blank page. I start to sketch out a circle, letting my hands decide what to draw instead of my brain.
I let my mind wander. Hurricane Nicholai is coming. We've had storms before, but this particular hurricane
sounds bigger than any of the storms that's ever hit Wrenside.
The biggest hurricane I can remember is when I was only four years old. The house rattled and shook
and the waves crashing violently against the shore could be heard for great distances.
I stood at the great window, staring up at the sky as dark as night. Papa and Mommy were racing around outside in their matching bright yellow raincoats, tying stuff down and piling tools in the shed.
"Birdie!" Izzy called from the kitchen. "Birdie, come here!"
I got there just in time to see the huge maple tree in front of our house come crashing down with an ear-splitting crack. My brother and I just stared in shock at the branches sprawled across the yard, leaves being spun everywhere in the strong wind.
And just like that I started sobbing. I screamed and cried, terrified. I heard heavy footsteps behind me and Mom ran up behind me in her large rubber boots. She scooped me up in her arms and held me close to her wet coat.
"It's okay, Kestrel." she whispered soothingly in my ear. I grabbed and a loose strand of her sopping hair and clenched it tight in my fingers.
Mom rubbed my back gently. "It's okay, Mommy's here."
The charcoal slips from my trembling fingers and I scramble to pick it up from the ground. The grey sky spins around me but I manage to sit back up before I fall over.
I examine my picture, a face with hair falling in soft waves around it. Definitely a woman's face, a very familiar one at that. Without a doubt, it was a portrait of my mother. I run my hand along the page, then I freeze. A nervous giggle escapes my lips, then I'm in hysterics. I jump up and the book slips from my lap into the dirt. I kick it away, then on second thought, rip out my latest drawing and crush it with my heel.
I'm laughing uncontrollably now, tears spilling down my cheeks.
I take the demolished paper and squeeze it in my fist. Afterwards, I run out towards the
dock, my feet sliding in the mud. I throw the ball of paper as far as I can into the rough water and take a deep breath of the salty air. I sink down onto the dock and bury my face in my hands, letting out one last giggle.
"What is wrong with me?" I ask the ocean, gathering my knees up to my chest.
The waves just rumble in reply.
I push myself up to my feet and head back to where I sketched. I pluck my sketchbook from the dirt and leaves and brush off the leather cover. There are maybe a few more bent pages, but no serious damage from my tantrum. Clutching the book tightly, I trudge up the steps to the cabin. Once I get inside, I bury myself into the couch and let the tears flow once again.
* * * * *
“You’re late, Birdie.” Papa scolds, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Sorry.” I murmur, bending down to tie my shoe to avoid meeting his gaze.
My father frowns.
“Is everything alright?” he asks. He leans down and gently touches my shoulder.
I stand up and scowl.“Everything’s fine, Papa.”
I get to work washing the grime off of one of the fishing boat, trying to focus on my cleaning instead of thinking about my mother. I get so absorbed in my work that I don’t notice Mr.Koppinger come up behind me.
“Hey, Birdie.”
I jump, knocking over my bucket of soapy water and soaking my legs.
“Oops, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” Leon chuckles, not sensing my bad mood.
“Yeah, whatever.” I grumble, kicking the empty bucket away.
Mr.Koppinger looks at me, his brow furrowed.
“Are you okay, Birdie?” he says softly. “Do you want to talk?”
I stare at the old man with the suspenders strapped across his shoulders and grey hair. The way he dresses, the way he talks, he reminds me a lot of my grandfather. I have a sudden urge to hug him, to tell him what’s been bothering me, but I don’t move.
Leon shrugs.
“Okay, it’s up to you. Sometimes it helps to talk, but sometimes you just have to keep things to yourself. I understand.”
“Thanks.” I mutter, coiling up a rope and putting away.
“Have you drawn at all since we talked yesterday?” Mr.Koppinger smiles.
I sweep the deck of the boat and nod.
“Hm, did they seem any better to you?” Leon puts his hand on his hips and leans forward.
I think about the drawing of my mother and shuddered.
“No, not really.”
“Well,” Leon runs a hand through his thinning hair. “You’re just going to have to keep practicing.”
I shoot him a grin. “Yeah, I guess I will.”
After Mr.Koppinger leaves, I stare at the ground, lost in thought for a long time. I want to get back home so I can sketch, but I have to work all day.
“Birdie, can you help me with- AHH!”
“Papa!” I race to help him up from where he slipped in the puddle of water. “Are you
okay?”
Pa groans, rubbing his head.
“Oh, Papa, your back! Should I get Dr. Norman?” I kneel beside him but he pushes me away.
“I’m fine, Birdie.” He says, trying to stand up.
“But Papa-“
“Kestrel!” my father snaps. He takes a deep breath. “I just slipped. I’m fine, but you really have to mop stuff up when you spill.”
I nod but I’m not really paying attention. I’m remembering Papa sprawled under the heavy crates, his eyes shut and his body frozen.
The ambulance sounds in the distance as Izzy runs up and grabs Pa’s limp hand.
“Please, Pa.” he cries, holding the hand to his chest. “Please be
alright.”
“Birdie?” Papa’s voice pulls me out of my little flashback. “Do you hear me, my little bird? I’m fine.”
I nod once more and hug him.
“I’m really fine, but I think I might want to just lay down with some ice for the rest of the day.” My father says gently, patting my back. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, Birdie.”
Pa smiles at me, but I can see that he is in pain.
“It is my fault,” I whisper quieter than he can hear. “Just as it was last time.” I stand up and grab the mop to clean up the soapy mess I made. Leon hoists Papa up and supports him with a strong arm. As they're
hobbling away, my friend calls to me.
"Missed a spot!" Leon calls, pointing to my soaked knees.
"Ha, ha" I roll my eyes and continue mopping up the suds.
Our only employee, Kittie, is a very interesting character. She only shows up when she wants to, and when she finally decides to work, she barely does anything at all. I turn around slightly to see the slight young woman leaning against Leon's yacht.
"Wassaap" she slurs, walking over to me. Kittie puts down a bottle and I eye it nervously.
"Down in the dumps, are we?" she grabs my shoulder, but I push the hand away.
"go away, Kittie" I sneer, wringing the soaked mop into a bucket. "Take that bottle with you, too. We don't
want to scare anyone away'' I gesture her half-finished beer and cross my arms.
She swipes away the bottle and takes a swig.
"Why don't you go away, Kestrel?" The woman retorts, looking me up and down, as if she was pondering
whether or not I would be worth her time. I glare at the drunkard for a moment, but sigh and proceed to put the mop away.
When I return that night, I turn around to find Mr. Koppinger cooking up dinner while Papa lies on the
couch.
"Well, hello there!" Leon grins, flipping a mushy looking crepe in a pan. "How was the rest of your day?"
"Horrible. I mean, that employee at the marina... She's a weirdo. We should just fire her, Papa." I grimace, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. "I'll help you make dinner as long as you're okay with me probably wrecking it."
Leon smiles at me and gestures to the cutting board.
"Work your magic!" he says, passing me a knife. I take it from him and snag some produce from the refrigerator. The room is instantly filled with decadent aromas when I start chopping up the vegetables. Once I'm done, I admire my work, proud that I've actually managed to help prepare food for once in my
entire life. Mr.Koppinger places our meal on the table, a mush of crepe, tomato and onion.
"I tried" he laughs, untying the frilly apron and placing it gingerly into a cabinet. I shuffle over to Pa, who hasn't been able to move much, and place his generous helping on the coffee table.
"bon appetit!" I exclaim, displaying a horrible French accent. Afterwards, I sit with Leon and
dig in to my own portion.
"Tyler's coming soon" he says through his food.
"Who?"
"Oh, sorry, Ty's my grandson. He'll be arriving this Wednesday" I remember the weather report from this morning, and suddenly realize that Ty will be stuck in a storm a little later on during his stay.
"But, Leon, that's when they're suspecting the hurricane to hit Wrenside!" I frown.
"They're WHAT?!" my father practically yells, struggling to get up. "Hurricane Nicholai is going
to be here any moment. We need to prepare!" He frantically screams. Papa has always despised storms of any type, because there is lots of preparation to be done at the marina. He needs to rid the dock of boats, empty out the fuel reservoir, and take care of all the other odd jobs.
"Calm down, Papa! Leon, have you ever experienced a hurricane? Do you know how to prepare?" I ask,
pushing my plate forward. "Oh, Pa, that isn't a very good idea!" I look towards
my father, who is halfway out the door.
"I guess I should go too" Mr. Koppinger lays his serviette over his plate of food, and readies his rain
jacket.
Before they depart, I giggle. "You know it's like, a week away? Right?" I pick up our plates and dump the rest of the food into the garbage can."Holy, that was terrible" I gulp from a glass of tap water and commence washing the dishes.
Once the plates and cutlery are dried and put away, I grab my sketchbook and practice drawing once more. This time I pay close attention to what I'm drawing, not letting myself get distracted. The first try isn't quite what I had in mind. Neither are the next dozen. It takes me a while but when I finally succeed, I am proud of my accomplishment. Before me sits a sketch of Papa with his bright red hair and freckles identical to mine. I note the bottom with a 'you're welcome' and hop off towards Mr.Koppinger's house. Sensing that he's probably still at the marina, I fold up the drawing and stick it under the door. Not knowing what to do next, I head to the tree house. I look up at the ladder before I climb, and test the rope, thinking that it may not last the hurricane.
"It'll be fine, Birdie, seriously" I tell myself, and set begin to make my way towards the small house resting on the limbs of this small oak tree.
When I reach the interior, I plop down on the bean bag chair and sigh. I lift the stack of weathered magazines and bring them towards me.
"What the?" I say when an old pocket watch appears in the spot where the pile had been. I grab it
and stare at the cracked facade.
"This... it can't be
Before Grandpa died, my family had visited him in the hospital. It was overcast outside and the sun refused to peek out from the clouds. I had always hated hospitals, and tried to avoid the disgusting sterile smell, mixed with the scent of vomit. I was sitting on the edge of Grandpa's hospital bed when he passed his timepiece to me.
"Will you take care of it?" He asked, and the younger me nodded my head.
"Of course, Grandpappy"
I roll the watch over in my hands, taking in its elegance. When I come to the crushed glassy surface covering the ticking hands, I remember the small fight Issac and I had, minutes after we had left the
hospital. Izzy almost never picked fights with me when we were little.
"Why did Grandpa give Birdie a clock and not me?" Izzy whined, looking down hungrily at the pocketwatch I was wearing around my neck. "I think it belongs to me! Give it!" he tore the watch away from me.
"Izzy, please give it!" I started to cry, and attempted to take the present back. When I finally ripped it away from my brother, the chain I had fastened to the watch unlatched. The three of us watched as the watch plummeted to the ground, and shattered.
The last promise I had made to my Grandpappy was broken.
I squeeze the pocket watch tight in my
palm.
"Sorry, Grandpappy..." I whisper, holding the watch to my cheek, warm
from my hand. I'm trembling as I put it back on the floor where I had found it.
I pile the magazines back on top and start to climb down the rope ladder. I
pause at the top, then deciding it would be safe, continued to descend to the
ground.
When I get home, Papa is passed out on the couch. He twitches the
tiniest bit when I kiss his cheek before going to be bedroom and flopping down
on the creaky mattress.
I pull out my sketchbook for one last time today,
flipping to a blank page and starting to sketch. An elderly man lying in a bed,
handing a pocket watch to a little girl with outstretched hands takes form. I
stare at the picture for a long time. I feel a hot tear roll down my cheek and I
crumple it into a ball. I throw it and it bounces off of the rim of my
wastebasket and lands on the floor.
I take a deep breath and calmly crawl
over and grab it. I lean against the wall and unroll it, doing my best to smooth
it out. It's still crinkly and torn, but I can't take my eyes off of the man's
face. I get some tape and stick it to my bedroom wall. I close my eyes and take
a deep breath, trying to relive our last moment together again and again.
I manage to fall asleep, but my dreams are full of grief and pain. A stranger pats
my shoulder, bends down to look me in the eye.
"Your grandfather was a good
man." I can only nod and sniffle, lowering my head to face the floor.
"I know." I choke out. "I know him better than anyone, you don't have to tell me
that."
The lady nods awkwardly and moved on to hug my father.
I can only stare at my shiny black shoes that I only wore on special occasions. I thought
special occasions were supposed to be happy, like weddings or birthdays.
I throw my shoes out in the dumpster behind the church and walk around in my
socks. I don't care how much they cost, I just couldn't wear them anymore.
I wake up feeling cold and sweaty. I get up and tiptoe down the hall, trying to
avoid the creaky spots in the flooring. I make it to the kitchen silently and
pour myself a glass of water. I sit at the table and sip it slowly.
I can still hear Grandpappy's whisper in my ear.
"I love you."
"I love you too,
Grandpappy." I hug him and give him a quick peck on the cheek.
My glass slips
from my fingers and shatters, but I don't move. I rest my head in my hands and
cry until my eyes are dry. I slowly push myself up from the ground, but stop
when I start to feel an intense pain in my palms.
"OW!" I silently cry, looking down at my bloody hands, skin pierced with shards of glass. I scramble
up to my feet, panicking at the sight of bright red droplets splashing on the
ground. I take caution not to wake Papa. Reaching inside the cabinets, I find
everything but antibiotic ointment and bandages. I suddenly remember the slash
Pa got on the leg weeks back, and realize that he'd probably still have the
dressings in his nightstand drawer. I sweep away the glass and soak up the
blood-infused water before I tiptoe over to my father's room. He lays in bed
silently, occasionally adjusting his sleeping position. I make sure not to step
on the creaky floorboards as I sneak into Papa's bedroom and creep over to the
bedside table. I grab the handle and pull open the first drawer to find nothing
but letters and stationery. I decide not to poke into Pa's business, so I
gingerly close the drawer. The next one containss what I've been looking for,
and I grab it swiftly before running out. I envelop my hands in ointment and
bandages. I am practically sleep-walking by he time I reach my bed. I drift off
immediately.
"BIRDIE!" I wake and sit up groggily, rubbing the sleep from
eyes.
"Yes, Papa?" I call, dragging myself out of bed and down the
hall. Pa is standing in the kitchen, eyes full of concern.
"Birdie, did something happen last night?" he asks after
pulling me in for a hug.
"I just accidentally dropped a glass and cut myself." I
shudder, remembering last evening's events. I adjust the bandages and avoid eye
contact with my father.
"Are you okay?" he eyes the dried blood on my hands nervously.
I quickly hide them behind my back.
"Well, I guess I'll have to go clean up the bloody handprints
all over my room" He smiles, releases me from the tight hug and goes to wet a
cloth.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it" I grab the dripping rag
from his hands and rush over to the room that I had soiled late at
night.
"Oh no, you don't!" Papa rushes over to me with a soaked towel
and wrings it out, right over my head. I squeal from the shock of cold water so
early in the morning.
"It's on." I smash the wet rag in my hand into his face. To
avoid getting attacked another time, I turn and sprint out of the house at full
speed. While looking for a place to hide, I notice the hose strewn across the
mossy ground. I pick it up and lie underneath the deck in wait for my prey. Sure
enough, Papa trudges right past me, seconds later. I slightly turn the nozzle on
the hose and a small trickle falls out. I laugh slightly before turning it all
the way. Pa gets the chilling stream right between the eyes, and I can no longer
contain my hysteric laughter.
My father can't help but join in and falls to the ground,
laughter wracking his body. I crawl out from my hiding spot and lie down beside
him. I squeeze my drenched hair into the grassy soil and let my head down onto
Papa's outstretched arm.
"Are we going to clean my room now?"
Later during the day, I reach Mr.Koppinger's doorstep. I run a
hand through my short, wavy hair and ring the doorbell. When Leon answers, a
large smile lights up on his face.
"Come in, Birdie! I have some news" I sit down on my favourite
sofa and cover myself in a warm, fleecy blanket. Mr.Koppinger comes in behind me
and grins.
"You know my grandson, Ty?" I nod politely, even though
technically I don't know him at all. "His mother has just called, informing me
that Tyler will be joining me earlier than expected!"
Leon is bouncing in excitement. Seeing a relatively old man
this excited makes me feel elated myself and soon the two of us are on our feet.
I'm looking forward to potentially having my first teenaged
friend in a long time.
"Would you like to go swimming? It really is a fabulous evening
for it" Leon asks. "How about I'll meet you and your dad there in fifteen
minutes"
I race home, and inform Papa about Mr.Koppinger's proposition
and he agrees that it is a great idea. We change rapidly and head to the dock
with towels slung over our arms.
"Ow, my back hurts." Pa complains on the walk there. Before I
can say anything, he holds up a hand. "Don't worry about me though, little Bird.
You worry too much."
I dive expertly into the water, unaware that neither Leon nor
Papa intended to enter the ocean.
"Hey, aren't you two coming in? I yell from where I tread
water, My wet hair sticking to my neck and barely reaching my
shoulders.
"It may not be the best idea for your father" My friend winks,
sitting down on the bench I so frequently occupy.
"And it looks cold." Papa added, lowering himself onto the
bench beside Leon. I chortle, and strap googles over my eyes. I completely
submerge myself, taking in the beauty of sea life. To my right, I spot a
colourful fish, the fluorescent hues of its scales flashing in the moonlight. It
darts behind a rock before I can further admire its dazzling
pigmentation.
When I come up to breathe, I lay on my back, letting waves lap
over my suspended body. It feels so serene, that I can't help myself but
smile.
Do you like it? :)
~Fedora and What
