This is the 34th installment in the story I'm writing in bits inspired by the Thursday Prompt that Poetigress offers the world every week. The previous bits are as follows--1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 and 33--and there'll likely be more of 'em till I get the whole story told.
This week's Prompt was "the flag."
Face first into my pillow: "Say it."
A shuffling from the end of the bed. "What would you have
me say, August?"
"You know what you want to say!" I hadn't cried
since spending that long, long night fifteen years ago pinned in
the wreckage of--
But I'm not gonna talk about that, not gonna think about
it, didn't want to then, don't want to now. All I'm gonna say
is that even with everything that had just happened, I couldn't
manage a single tear.
Of course, El Brujo didn't say anything, hadn't said
anything during the entire ride home, me rolling us mechanically
away from Deena's house, away from the pebble I'd dropped on the
sidewalk, the pebble Deena had refused--and not just refused but
practically screamed at the sight of, run from it like I was
offering her a handful of spiders or leeches.
Jefe had stayed quiet, too, had stayed perched on my
shoulder till about halfway back to Chrysalis House when he'd
made a fast high-pitched clicking sound and flapped off into the
night. Even Serena had quivered in silence the whole way, had
scrambled out of my jacket when we'd finally reached my room,
had watched with anxious eyes from the windowsill while I slewed
the chair up next to the bed and hurled myself onto the covers.
Not the happiest twenty minutes for anyone, in other words.
I heard a feline clearing of throat. "Enlighten me,
August. Tell me what it is that I want to say."
"That it's my own damn fault!" I screamed, and I was still
halfway in human language mode, I guess, 'cause a partial moan
escaped my lips as I went on in animal talk: "That if I hadn't
been showing off, hadn't been acting like I was some stupid
fantasy wizard, summoning my familiar spirit animal to do my
bidding, I wouldn't've scared her off, wouldn't've lost her
forever, wouldn't've--"
"You're giving up, then?" El Brujo's voice can be as sharp
as her claws when she wants it to be. "Striking your flag,
crawling away, abandoning the only joy you've known the past
twelve months other than that ridiculous pony cartoon?"
That got me up onto my elbows so I could glare at her,
tucked like a black furry meatloaf on top of the green sleeping
bag I use for a bedspread. "What else am I s'pposed to
do?? Go back and tell her she just imagined the whole thing??
That I can't talk to animals?? That I'm not even
more of a freak than I seem to be??"
She gave one slow blink. "You don't know that's why she
ran, not for certain."
I stared at her. "Excuse me??"
"True," Serena said from the windowsill. "I have noticed
that humans flee situations for reasons other than fear and that
they will then often return afterwards to investigate that which
made them flee."
Levering myself even higher, I turned my glare onto
her. "And that would be better?? Turn me into a God
damn science project??"
El Brujo sighed behind me. "You're overreacting, August.
Deena was no doubt startled more by Jefe's unkempt appearance
than by anything you might have--"
"Forget it." My chest felt like I'd swallowed a
tumbleweed. "Let's everyone just stop condescending to the
cripple and agree that I screwed this up beyond all repair, OK?
Can we please do that?"
Silence fell over the room again, and I lay there feeling
sorry for Deena a little but mostly feeling sorry for myself. I
mean, sure, I'd probably scared the socks off her when Jefe had
settled onto my shoulder and dropped that pebble into my hand--
cats and dogs and squirrels doing tricks is cute, but with
crows, you pretty much cross the line into spooky. But all I
could focus on right then was how awful I was feeling, how sure
I was that she'd never want to see me again.
Not me at my most attractive, sure, but, well, I'm trying
to be honest here, right? Even though that means all I seem to
write about is the dumb stuff I kept doing...
Anyway, my stomach growled right about then, and I was just
starting to weigh whether I wanted to roll down to the kitchen
and try to dig up whatever I'd missed for supper or if I just
wanted to lay up here and keep on suffering for my stupidity
when someone knocked at the door.
A flurry on the windowsill, a flash of squirrel tail as
Serena vanished into the darkness outside, and Eric's voice
called, "Gus? Jerry said he saw you come in earlier. Are you
there? 'Cause you've got a visitor down in the front room."
"Deena??" I bent sideways so I could stare at the door.
Had she come back? Did she forgive me? Was she--?
"Gus? You in there?"
I had to concentrate, slow down my thoughts, reach for the
atrophying parts of my brain and squeeze out a few words he'd be
able to understand. "I'm here, Eric," I managed.
"There's a Dave Schwarber downstairs asking for you."
And as quickly as the hope had pumped up inside me, it
deflated. Closing my eyes, I flopped back onto my pillow. "I
don't know that name."
"He said to tell you he was Deena's father." A pause.
"What've you been up to, Gus?"
And to be honest, the only thing that went through my head
right then was: well, at least I know her last name now.
"Well!" El Brujo said with something close to a purr. "Do
we haul the flag back up, captain, and make for harbor? Or do
we remain mired here in the doldrums with no possible hope of
rescue?"
"Rescue?" I blinked at her. "You mean-- You don't think
he's here to punch me in the nose?"
Her smugness could've powered the entire city for a month.
"Only one way to find out."
"Gus?" Eric was asking from outside. "Should I tell this
guy to get lost?"
"No!" Heaving myself around, I grabbed the arms of my
chair. "I'll be right down!"
On! On! On into 35, I say!
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