A Short Story
David’s eyes were closed under a
pair of dark sunglasses, his phone resting on his stomach, going up and down in
the rhythm of his breathing. He seemed to be sleeping but the phone moved just
a bit too fast and the skin around his mouth was tense, as if his teeth were
busy gnawing on the inside of his mouth. The final proof that he wasn’t really
sleeping came when he slowly raised his hands together and cracked the knuckles
first on his left and then on his right hand before dropping them back beside
his phone. It should've rung by now. It always did, someone always texted him.
David, we're going to the lake house for a beer, d'you wanna come?
Hey Davy, my parents went out for a few hours, wanna hang out?
Dude, Skate Park at 5pm, be there!
He opened his eyes and took the
phone in his hand to check if it was even on. It was. He gave out a loud sigh
and stood up abruptly to move towards the window, his left hand still clutching
the phone.
“It’s still early. Someone will
call,” he assured the cactus on the window pane. He could call someone himself,
but that wasn’t the normal way of things. He was the called, not the caller. If
he were the one to call or text, people might think that he had nothing better
to do, and while that was true enough he couldn’t let people know that, could
he? He ran his phone-free hand through his thick dark hair and sighed in
frustration before throwing the phone on the bed. He tried to convince himself
that he didn’t need anyone to call, but then finally his phone lit up and the
Baha Men yelled: who let the dogs out, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof. The sweet
sound of a text message.
If someone had been in the room
along with him, David would probably roll his eyes and say something like: “Oh,
who is it now?” in the most bored
sounding voice he could muster. But he was alone, so he practically threw
himself on the bed and grabbed his phone like a drug addict grabbing his next
fix.
From: Dad
I need you in the kitchen.
“You have got to be kidding me,”
David buried his face in the pillow. It was a mistake to teach his dad how to
write text messages. He threw the phone on the bed and went out of the room as
slow as humanly possible.
“What d’you want?” he asked before even entering the kitchen
where his dad was scooping the soft bread out of a stale loaf.
“Polly wants to feed the birds
again.”
David rolled his eyes. “Dad, it’s been a year. Just tell her no.”
“It helps her. “
“Yeah, well, it annoys the crap out
of me. You’re lying to her, it’s not normal for her to believe that mom changed
into a bird.”
His father pushed a paper bag filled
with freshly scooped breadcrumbs into David’s hand. “Just go,” he said quietly
without looking at him. “She’s in her room.”
His little sister was playing with
Legos and the smile that crossed her face when David entered was meant for the
paper bag in his hands rather than him. ‘’Hey Polly,’’ he said and walked to
where she was sitting, patting her on the head awkwardly while she snatched the
bag from his hands. She pointed towards
the childproofed balcony doors and started jumping up and down as David was
opening them. “Go on, feed them.” Without so much as a word Polly skipped past
him, filled her palms with the contents of the paper bag and leaned across the
balcony. She started strewing the breadcrumbs happily on the lawn underneath
while David sat down and buried his face in his palms. This was exactly why he
needed his bloody phone to ring, exactly why he needed to get out of the house.
He reached into his pocket to check if someone had called, but then remembered
that he had left the phone in his room.
“Daddy, I think I can see mom,”
Polly said and pointed to the freshly mown lawn where amid a dozen sparrows, a
lone robin came to feast on the bread.
“You’re right, there she is,” their father
answered from under the balcony and made a few small steps closer to the birds.
Anger flooded every fibre of David’s
being and all he wanted to do was yell: “it’s not mom, it’s just a bloody
robin, mom’s dead! Deal with it already you stupid kid!” but he managed to hold
back and just say: “I’ll be right back, I need to grab my phone.”
Without waiting for his dad to
answer he rushed back inside, breathing heavily, his hands shaking. Everything
in this house was suffocating him, bringing back the day when dad came home
just a bit too late. That was what the doctors said, if you’d brought her in
just a few minutes earlier, they said, she’d still have a chance. But he didn’t
and so David’s nights and days became filled with countless images of the dark
coffin and strangers laughing in the back of the funeral procession.
With a couple of fast steps he was
back in his room, but he could still hear his sister’s voice through the open
window. “I’m making it snow,” she said, but in a second the tone of her voice
changed from calm to upset: “Daddy, look at the bees! They’re attacking mom!”
David threw himself on the bed and
pulled the pillow over his face. “It’s not mom! It’s a bird, just a fucking
bird!” he yelled, but the pillow muffled his voice.
“They’re hurting her… They’re…” Polly’s voice
faded away, but their father’s replaced it: “David! Get down here and help!”
“It’s just a fucking bird! Let it
die! Let it die just like you let mom die!” This time there was no pillow to
suffocate his words and for the next couple of seconds everything went silent.
Then, within the next few moments, there were several sounds. First there was
the sound of something falling from the balcony; a hollow thud that wasn’t followed
by tears on account of scratched knees or broken bones. The next sound was
produced by David’s father, but it sounded unearthly, distant and raw. And then
finally, who let the dogs out, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof.
Depression. Because why not. Anyways. Hope you liked it. Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome :)
