Hi everyone!
I apologize for the late update. As I said, I'm in the middle of prep for my final exams and I also managed to come down with the flu in the middle of it all. That was a little less than convenient, I will say. I would like to thank Forever yours34 for reviewing! I really appreciate the kinds words, I definitely needed to hear them today! As usual, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter. And if you have any thoughts, please leave them for me in the reviews! Reading them is honestly the highlight of my week.
The song for the chapter this week comes straight from the show. It's "Love Is to Die" by Warpaint. I really should have the story playlist up and running soon, I just haven't had the chance to create/organize it yet. Again, thank you so much for your support, and enjoy your week! (Might double post, but I'm not sure yet).
-lightinside17
03.| Love Is to Die
"You've been here a week already, Birdie, don't you think that it's time you started cleaning out the attic? You know. Just for some extra space."
Birdie sighed into her coffee cup and raised an eyebrow at Sookie Stackhouse. Her friend had shown up at six a.m. sharp with bagels from Birdie's favorite little diner a few blocks over – she should have known it was a bribe. "Did you come here just to tell me what to do, or did you actually want to enjoy my company?"
Sookie hung her head sheepishly. A guilty smile played across her lips. "A little of both?"
Birdie snorted. "Fair. And that's all Mom's… it's her stuff." She shrugged. "I'll get around to it when I get around to it."
"So, I'm guessin' that's never." Sookie half-asked, helping herself to a bagel as she sat down across from Birdie at the breakfast table.
"I don't know. I'll take my time and see what happens." Birdie looked at the clock that hung on the wall behind Sookie's head. It ticked quietly, but the sound resounded in the small kitchen so loudly that Birdie had the inclination to escape to the living room. "Don't you have work?"
"Shortly." Sookie tore off a piece of her bagel and popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Are you comin' in to work tonight?"
Birdie shrugged. "It's completely up to Tara. I don't think she's too thrilled about Sam hirin' me to help her out."
"That's just Tara. You know that."
"I guess." Birdie said, a little too quietly. "I really think somethin's up. She bailed on dinner a few nights ago. I really think she's avoiding me. It didn't used to be like that. We were all like family. I missed a lot, didn't I?"
Sookie didn't answer right away. Birdie took that as her answer, no matter what Sookie said next. For a situation that had been out of her control, she'd been outed from the group. "You missed a lot." She admitted. "But it happens. You had to go your own way, Birdie, don't let Tara or anybody make you feel guilty for that."
Birdie didn't miss the fact that Sookie skimmed over the details of the reason for her departure. They all did that. None of them had known quite what to say since then. Birdie busied herself by swirling the remnants of her coffee around the bottom of her cup, refusing to entertain the possibility that she would never again be on the same wavelength as her friends.
"I'll try." She murmured finally. "And I'll let you know if Sam calls me in to work."
Sookie nodded and stood, brushing crumbs from her white uniform top. "If I don't see you later, I'll plan on coming by after my shift, if that's alright? I'll bring dinner."
Birdie eyed her friend suspiciously. "When, exactly, are you going to stop feeling like you have to babysit me every night?"
"When you stop thinking about the prick who made you run home and get out to kickstart your life here again." Sookie shot back sassily, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She shoved the bagels toward Birdie. "And, for fuck's sake, eat something."
Birdie plucked a bagel from the sack, ignoring the knife that seemed to twist in her ribs, and took a bite that was a little too ambitious. She had to work around chipmunk cheeks to speak. "Happy now?"
"Dancing on the ceiling." Sookie grinned. And then, with a cheeky wave of her hand, she was out the door and gone before Birdie could say goodbye.
In the silence, Birdie realized why it was that Sookie thought she couldn't be left alone. She closed her eyes and listened to the ticking of the clock. The house was too big, too empty, and too quiet. Sookie came around consistently to make sure Birdie didn't lose her mind.
Birdie still wasn't so sure that she hadn't already.
She thought about everything that waited for her up in the attic. All the boxes, the clothes, the photos. Birdie wondered if she could ever face those things. If she would ever be able to look at pictures of her mother and feel like her heart wasn't being ripped from her chest. Ready or not, Birdie wouldn't be able to abide proving Sookie right. She would have to traverse the past if she were ever to move forward.
So, Birdie finished her coffee and stood from the breakfast table. And after taking a deep breath, she started for the stairs.
xxx
It was much worse than Birdie had dared to allow herself to imagine. Thick dust covered everything, acting as a last defense in Birdie's behalf. It was providing her with an excuse to abandon the job. She didn't dwell on all the cobwebs but instead stomped down the attic ladder and back down the stairs to prepare to dive into the ruin she wished she could ignore. Armed with a mask, paper towels, spray, and a broom, Birdie made the climb once more into the attic space.
Little by little, Birdie cleared the dust away. The mask saved her from inhaling too much of it, but the dankness of the air around her didn't do much to ventilate the newly clean spaces. Birdie walked as carefully as possibly across the space to the boarded-up window and, with very little effort, ripped the rotting boards straight away from where they clung to the wall on either side of the glass.
Opening the window was more difficult. She would have to call Sam to come have a look at the wood around it – the glass seemed bowed, the wood worn by time and weather. It stuck in several places before Birdie finally was able to force it open. Light flooded the attic, nearly blinding after spending time in near-darkness.
She could see so much more – the boxes that were stacked into the previously pitch-black corners, her mother's wardrobe, and – Birdie smiled – her record player. She searched momentarily for anything that might be labeled to reveal her mother's old records. Finding nothing, Birdie gingerly cleaned the grime and dust from the record player and carefully carried it down from the attic.
One down, she thought.
Next came the contents of her mother's wardrobe, loaded into plastic bags and rolled gently down the attic stairs until she could deal with them. And then the boxes of shoes and handbags. Birdie decided reluctantly to sort through them and give away what she could – if she could.
There were certain things that Birdie knew, if found, would never leave her possession. In her mind's eye, she could see her mother in her favorite pastel green dress. The one she sometimes wore to church on Sundays, but that Birdie most prominently remembered from afternoons spent picking wildflowers in the summers.
Everything else had yet to be determined. As she trekked once more into the attic to find at least one record, Birdie tried not to think of what it would mean if she were to really stay in Bon Temps. Unreasonably, she was still viewing it as something temporary. But she had nothing in Portland now. Her aunt had washed her hands of Birdie the moment she'd broken her engagement off and decided to return home. It hadn't been permanent until then. Birdie had never dreamed she would end up in Louisiana again.
Now, here she was. Covered in dust, soot, and cobwebs from head to toe. Hauling the memory of her mother around like dead weight. Birdie sighed and muttered bitterly to herself as she waded through boxes, reading the labels as quickly as she could.
PHOTOS.
BIRDIE'S BABY CLOTHES.
BIRDIE (KINDERGARTEN).
PORTLAND '92
It wasn't often that Birdie managed to be caught by surprise. As meticulous about preserving memories as her mother had been, Birdie hadn't known that she kept anything from her first visit to see her aunt. Their first visit together. She mentally catalogued the box to retrieve later and waded further in.
STUFFED ANIMALS.
BIRDIE'S BOOKS.
RECORDS (SOME).
Birdie hefted the last box over her shoulder, grunting with the effort even as she prayed not to drop it. That would be the very last straw. Other than that infamous green dress, this was what Birdie remembered most when she thought of her mother. Her music.
She managed to get the box all the way downstairs before abandoning it next to the record player. Even though there were more somewhere in the attic, Birdie would be damned if she made one more trip. So, she chose the first record from the box and put it on.
Otis Redding's voice filled the house in an instant. Birdie sat herself down, dragged a bag of clothes toward her, and started digging.
xxx
Unable to feel her legs, back cramping, Birdie pushed away from the mountain of clothes on either side of her and laid down in the floor with a groan.
It had been five hours since Sookie left her. And the work Birdie had thought would take very little time at all was starting to steal her whole day away. She reached into the pocket of her overalls and pulled out her cell phone. Punching a number on the speed dial, Birdie put the phone to her ear and waited.
It rang until Birdie thought it would go to voicemail. And then someone picked up. "Hello?" Tara answered flatly. At the sound of her voice, Birdie nearly lost her courage.
"Hey." Birdie said awkwardly. "It's me. I've gotten myself into a little bit of a pickle."
"Yeah, I know who it is. What is it? I'm a little busy." Tara snapped back, unthinkingly cold.
Birdie chewed her bottom lip for a moment, wondering if she should even bother telling Tara about her mom's stuff that now surrounded her in piles. The stuff that she was finding it difficult to sort through, let alone get rid of. "Sorry I bothered you." Birdie murmured finally.
Tara was the one to pause this time. A long sigh came through the receiver. "You aren't bothering me, Bird."
"Could have fooled me."
"Yeah, well. Whatever. What's wrong?"
"I need a little help at the house. Sookie is at work or I would have called her – I got ahead of myself, getting Mom's stuff down, and now it's sorta everywhere and I can't seem to figure out what to do with what or where to put it."
"I'll be there in a few." Tara answered, and Birdie heard keys jingling in the background. "Did you at least eat somethin'?"
"Why does everyone assume I'm gonna starve?" Birdie asked, close to fuming. It seemed that everyone thought she'd regressed to the point of being completely helpless.
"Just tell me if you fuckin' ate."
"This morning." Birdie replied through her teeth.
"I'm bringing lunch. Don't do anything til I get there." Tara ordered and hung up the phone. Birdie dropped her cell on the floor beside her, rolling her eyes.
"No worries." She said to herself and tossed one of her mother's blouses back into the black trash bag that it had come from.
By the time Tara showed up on Birdie's doorstep, all she had managed to do was clear off the sofa and one of the living room chairs. Birdie heard Tara slam the door to her car from all the way inside the house. Sighing, she stood from her seat on the floor and stretched. Though it was too late, asking Tara to assist her felt like a mistake. There was no doubt that she would not bother to mask her displeasure regarding Birdie's choice to start such a large project alone.
She was wishing suddenly that Lafayette would read her mind and come to her rescue. If there was ever someone who didn't mind going through clothes, it would be him.
Birdie limped to the door on dead legs and was startled into stillness when she heard the side door swing open, banging against the side of the house.
"Stop leaving this damn door unlocked, Birdie." Tara called as she stomped toward the fridge, unloading whatever she'd brought with her. "Even though the vampires can't come in, it don't mean that some murderer won't."
"I unlocked it for you." Birdie lied, running weary hands over her face. She had forgotten to worry about the door that led off to the side-porch, as she'd done all her life. It was a bad habit, just a thoughtless thing. Tara knew that. But Birdie lied anyway.
Tara slammed the fridge shut and walked around the corner. She stopped in the middle of the mess and let out a low whistle. "It looks like a tornado tore through here."
Birdie nodded. "I knew it was bad. But now that I'm lookin' at it from up here, it's even worse than I thought."
"You didn't think about waiting to drag all this junk down?" Tara demanded, crossing her arms.
Birdie tried to act like Tara's words didn't sting. "If I had, it would have rotted away up there until my grandkids got ahold of it."
Another lie, but barely. This was how it was with Tara. She said what she pleased without any thought for the other person's feelings. And when Birdie was that other person, she felt that she had to lie to save face in front of Tara. If Birdie were to say what she truly thought of the things Tara let fall from her mouth, she doubted that they would ever speak to each other again.
Birdie wished she were braver about that. Maybe one day she would be. But, for now, all she needed was Tara's muscle. Not her mouth. Not her advice.
"You just start with the left side. It's mostly pants and jackets – what I've seen of it. I'll take the right. And let me know if you find Mama's green dress, alright?"
Tara rolled her eyes, acting as if Birdie should know better. Usually Birdie was a non-violent person. But seeing the arrogance and exasperation written over every inch of Tara's body, she would have liked nothing more than to punch her friend in the jaw. "Under your bed, in that box she always kept it in. Sookie found it. She figured you would want it. I guess she was right." Tara gave the living room another once-over. "If you did all this looking for that dress –"
"I didn't." Birdie cut her off. And while she wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and pull out that box, she stayed put. She would show no such relief in front of Tara. It would be an emotional moment. Tara didn't have the patience for those. She would think it silly and unnecessary if Birdie cried over a lump of fabric. So, she stayed where she was. Silently, without meeting Tara's gaze, she began sorting the moth-eaten clothes from the intact.
There were so many, more than Birdie realized, that didn't make it. She passed those on to Tara to throw away and tried not to look as they were hauled through the door.
Pieces of the past, she thought. Nothing more.
It was time to bid them goodbye.
xxx
Twilight settled in over the gravestone of Evangeline Chapman, gentle and familiar. And the daughter that Evangeline had never witnessed grow into a woman sat at its foot vigilantly, staring at the place her name had been etched in the stone, wearing a green dress.
The fabric kissed Birdie's skin, perfect in all the right places. It had been a surprise, to say the least. That Evangeline's dress would fit her. That Birdie would lose her breath at the sight of herself in a mirror. For a split second, it hadn't been her reflection in the mirror, but her mother's. And it was then that she fled – from the mirror, her mother's house, only to find herself seeking comfort that would not come from the one person she could never speak to again.
She had the vague thought that she was dirtying her clothes by sitting on the grass. But in the fading light, amongst the quiet chirping of the crickets, there was something like peace that surrounded her. It did not patch the hole in her heart, but it quenched it. That was enough.
"They treat me like a child. Like I've been gone so long that I forgot how to act. How to be one of them." She murmured to the gravestone. It felt ridiculous, but Birdie squeezed her eyes shut and went on. No one was around. "Tara. I shouldn't say 'they' because it doesn't seem fair. But it's enough to make me feel like I don't belong here anymore." She paused, warm wind caressing her face as it whistled through the graves. "Maybe I don't."
There it was. The truth that seemed so hard to swallow and yet impossible to avoid. Birdie thought she returned home. It never occurred to her beforehand that there might not be a real home waiting for her. The house was empty, her friends were strangers to her, and there was no going back to Portland. She had no fiancée. No aunt, not anymore.
Birdie had no place to go.
It got harder to breathe after that.
Despite the tightness in her chest, Birdie kept murmuring to her mother's headstone. She told her story from beginning to end. Her fiancée left her for someone he said was more sophisticated, less of an embarrassment. He always hated that Birdie could never shake her accent, even with nearly ten years out of Louisiana. The other girl was gorgeous, like a noir film star. Aloof, dignified, and even when she was displeased she never lost her smile. She had been there the day Oliver asked Birdie to move out of their apartment. She had been there the day Birdie surrendered her engagement ring, along with her copy of the keys without being able to utter a word of protest. And through it all, as though she'd won some fabulous prize, she smiled.
In a voice like honey, without affect, she thanked Birdie even as she put an arm around Oliver. For Birdie's grace, she said.
Birdie never said a word back to her, only watched them leave the coffee shop in a daze. She'd walked to the Greyhound station from there. Birdie called Sookie from a dinky bathroom outside Counselor, New Mexico, bawling and embarrassed that she let a man run her straight out of town. Galled that she hadn't had the presence of mind to fight for herself, or at least tell him to rot in hell before handing over her keys. The woman in the adjacent stall had slipped her a tissue underneath the door.
Sookie had been waiting for her at the bus station the next day. Sookie was the only one who smiled at Birdie like she'd never been gone in the first place.
Birdie felt the pressure in her chest easing with every word she breathed.
And even though it was impossible, Birdie felt like someone was listening. The hair on the back of her neck rose. But as she stopped speaking and turned toward the trees, there was nothing. Only the whisper of the wind and the lingering feeling of a gaze that, while not exactly sinister, sent shivers down her spine.
Birdie rose, taking a winding route through the stones back to her car. All the way there, those seconds that stretched into hours, she couldn't help but think of Tara's quip about vampires. There was a slight quiver in Birdie's hand as she cranked the ignition. And as soon as she arrived home, she checked and locked all the doors.
Even the side-porch.