His mom paused to listen with him for a moment, and then she watched with him as the one bird was joined by another on the higher branches of the bush, their songs alternating several times before the whole group of birds took off all at once and flew up and out of sight.
Do you know what kind of bird that is? That one and the one that’s bright yellow with the pretty, short whistles.
Sometimes, he imagined he could actually say all the things he was thinking, and then his mom could answer him, and they’d have a real conversation. Like two normal adults. But then he stuttered and faltered and failed, and his words refused to work.
He really, really wanted today to be different, though, and so he turned away from the window and back to his mom and tried again. “That bird... what is it?”
“They’re sparrows,” she said softly. “The little brown ones are sparrows.”
Sparrows.He repeated the word in his head, and it felt almost magical, to have knowledge that he hadn’t a minute ago. All because he’d been able to ask his simple question.
“What about . . .”
“Shut the fuck up, child. I don’t wanna hear your mouth.”
He closed his eyes and gripped the mug in his hands.
“What, sweetie? Did you want to know about another bird?”
He nodded and then pursed his lips. “A... yellow bird. There’s a yellow bird.”
“Oh, hmm, I’m not sure,” his mom mumbled, and when he looked at her again, she was staring off out the window. “I’m not sure about the yellow bird,” she admitted, and with a smile that almost seemed a little sad now, she turned to him and slowly reached out to pat his knee. “I think I’ve seen it, but there are so many different species that live up here, and I really don’t know much about them all. But, do you remember Elsie? She was your friend when you were young. She moved to San Francisco for a few years to study wildlife, and then she just came back to town last year. She teaches at the school part-time and does educationaltalks during the spring and summer for the tourists. I bet she knows a whole bunch about birds.”
Rye couldn’t answer this time. He did remember Elsie. Sort of. He remembered that he’d had a friend named Elsie. But not much more than that. When he tried to picture her, all he saw was a hazy, vague outline of a short girl with brown hair. It was like the rest of his memory was stuck somewhere, as so many of his memories seemed to be.
With a frown, he glanced back outside. A familiar silver car was just pulling up along the road, and Rye could see Jake in the driver’s seat, bundled up in the same heavy gray coat he’d let Rye borrow.
“Oh, good, Jake’s right on time,” his mom said, and she patted his knee again and then stood. “I’m, um...”
A slight wave of unease rippled through Rye’s stomach as his mom trailed off, uncertainty in her voice. He shifted his attention away from where Jake was climbing out of his car and turned to face his mom. She’d crossed her arms over her chest and was watching him, her expression definitely filled with concern and doubt. She shook her head as their eyes met.
“Sorry, sweetie, I’m finding it hard to think about leaving,” she said quietly. She took a long, slow breath. “But Jake will be here with you, and then Aunt Tanya is coming over in the afternoon. And Wayne said he or Rachel would be stopping by, too, and...”
And I’m an adult and don’t need a babysitter.
The words sounded almost bitter in his head, and he immediately hated himself for it. That wasn’t what it was. They weren’t all making sure he was never alone because they thought he needed a babysitter. Or at least maybe that wasn’t the only reason.
“I just love you,” his mom continued, “and I’m so happy to have you home, and the thought of leaving is just really, really hard...”
Thatwas the other reason. Therealreason. They’d just found each other again after so long apart, and to be away, even just for his mom to go to work, didn’t quite feel right. Not yet. He thought she probably also didn’t want him to feel like he was alone or to be scared and have no one to help remind him that he was safe. And she was probably right to think that.
He nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything, and he lowered his gaze to his mug, which was about half empty now. He could still smell the slight fragrance of the... what had his mom called it? Chamomile, maybe? It was slightly sweet and had a warmth to it. He’d had a similar tea when he’d been at Jake’s.
His mom knelt down next to him just as a light knock came at the door. “Can I hug you, sweetie?” she asked softly.
With a nod, he leaned forward and set down his tea on the coffee table, then his mom scooted up next to him on the couch and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle embrace. It didn’t linger long, probably because she knew Jake was waiting at the door, but it felt good and soothing. Like how he felt listening to the birds outside.
When they parted, his mom didn’t say anything else; she just gave him a small, kind smile and then stood and hurried over to open the door. Rye pulled his feet up under himself again and then let his gaze drift back outside as he heard the door open, followed by quiet voices and rustling as Jake took off and hung up his coat.
“Shirley, hi. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Jake. Thanks for coming over. How are you?”
“Doing okay so far. It’s chilly, though. And you? How’ve things been...”
Rye stopped paying attention, and his heart sped up a tick as he saw one of those little yellow birds in a tree just across the street. Its feathers were bright, catching the sunlight as it hopped from one branch to another. He sat up straighter, leaning toward the window, and then he closed his eyes and tried to listen for its song. It took a second for him to pick it out among all the other birdsongs outside, but he found it. A series of whistles and chirps in a pattern that he’d already figured out how to identify.
And as he listened, he found himself really, really wanting to know what kind of bird it was. Maybe Jake could help him find the answer.
