We Were Birds

When Pa died, everything changed.

Quinn still laughed, still smiled, still loved, but a certain light in his eyes died. He became quiet more often, always thinking. "About the future," he'd say when Fern asked. He'd turn his head towards the window and look at the constellations. Pa knew all the stories about the constellations, and in his head, Quinn would think of them. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor...two bears who were tossed in the sky...their tiny tails elongated into something different... There was more to the pain than Quinn could ever explain to Fern, but she never really asked.

School had ended and Quinn and Fern had graduated. Fern's valedictorian speech at graduation left most in tears, but Fern threw it away as soon as she got out of her cap and gown. It was all the same "Remember the memories" nonsense. Fern didn't even remember the memories anymore. Her life started when she met Quinn. Honest to God, it did.

Fern had been accepted to some of the best universities in the country; Quinn hadn't even given post-secondary education a thought. He'd taken his over his father's position and inherited the small fishing boat that Pa'd had. He found himself working long hours at sea, and the sea gave him a sort of comfort that not even Fern could give him. It was not a release, but still it was a comfort. Fern spent a lot of time at the library, getting ready for university. The time they spent together was always very brief.

They were trapped. Quinn now cared about much more than simply living to work. Fern had taught him how to want to be more than he was. Fern had taught him there was more to life than just the life of his father. And it was the same for Fern.

She lived a tired life, she knew, and she wanted out. She'd always accepted blindly what came after high school without a second though. Get an education. Get a job. Meet a successful man. Get married. Become a pretty housewife. It was the life her father expected out of her, it was the life he'd expected from her mother. And maybe that was why she'd left. No, no, that was exactly why she left. And oh, did Fern understand what a betrayal this was to her father. But she could not live like that. She wanted more. She wanted a beautiful life, she wanted an unexpected life. She wanted a life full of glitter and sparkles and curiosity and happiness and tears and laughter and late nights and lazy days...

She'd had a perfectly perfect life thus far. Now she wanted to do. She wanted to make mistakes. She wanted to live. She wanted to be a bird for real and fly away.

Quinn had put his foot down and said a final "No" when Fern had suggested they leave. When she had suggested they find a life beyond the sea, beyond the aviary, the professor, the perfection and the confines. She'd looked at him with her eyes and asked him if he'd wanted anything more. He'd bit back a yes. "We belong out there," Fern had said quietly. "It's not what we do. It who we are." Quinn had looked away. He couldn't look at her when she made it seem so easy.

Everytime she'd bring up the subject of leaving together, Quinn would get quiet. He wouldn't shout. After Pa died, he stopped shouted. Instead, Quinn would draw his brows in, rub the scruffy hair on his chin and say calmly that he wouldn't let Fern throw her education away like that. For him. For nothing. He would not say that he felt tied here. He would not say that his Pa was here, and that meant that he could not leave. There were so many memories here.

"But haven't you ever even thought about leaving?" she'd ask, right before she'd disappear out the door and down the dusk-filled road up to her house on the cliffs, a jet black box set against the purple sky.

Quinn said no, or said nothing at all. No, he'd never thought of it. It was just the way it was. Except for the fact that he did think of it. Those hours at sea was when he'd think of it most. The sea was a friend, his companion, his savior, and yet Quinn had his craziest thoughts when he was with it. "What if? What if?" What if they left? Fern was miserable and even a cold-heart like her bastard of a father could see that. The last thing Quinn wanted to do was take her away from what was best for her? But what if this was what was best for her?

And the selfish part of him wanted to leave. There were so many memories here. Too many memories. Quinn wanted to be a bird for real and fly away.

The final decision to leave came quicker than he expected. It was one of the many summer nights when Fern wasn't there, when Quinn was alone. He sat at his table, eating piece after piece of peppermint gum. It was times like these when he wished he still smoked, but he'd promised Fern he wouldn't, and by God, he'd keep that promise if it was the last thing he did.

Loneliness crept up on him like a fog and Quinn couldn't understand this new ache in his chest. He'd never felt this way before. He'd was unhappy, he was sad, he missed Pa and Fern when she wasn't around, but he'd never been lonely like this before. It was a strong feeling, so strong that Quinn wasn't sure if he remembered how to breathe. If Fern left for good, he didn't know what he'd do. No, he finally realized what he would do. If Fern left, Quinn would follow. He always would follow.

There was no other way, then. They would leave. They would escape. They would fly away.

They met at the beach the next day. And before anyone said anything really, Quinn nodded his head. "Okay," he said. That was it, that was it only. "Okay." He watched Fern's reaction. She looked with confusion at first, but then she understood. Her hands came to her mouth. Her eyes shone wet with tears.

"This is what I want. I swear to you, this is what I want." Her voice was thick and barely understandable, but Quinn nodded. His strong arms came around her small shoulders. This was what she wanted. And he could feel now that it was the truth. She had been trapped, caged. And it was his job to set her free. He held her close and let her grab onto his dirty shirt. They were so strange like that. Her clothes were washed, dried, ironed, impeccable. He was messy, thrown together, a waste of time. Could they belong together? Did they? Or were they just fooling everybody?

No, no, Quinn couldn't think like that. If Fern left, that was the end. Of it all. Of everything. He could never leave her. He could never let her leave. They belonged together for the simple fact that Quinn didn't know what he'd do without her. There were no questions anymore. Nothing left to ask. "Are we?" seemed so irrelevent. The answer was obvious.

To every question Quinn would ever have, Fern would always be the answer. This was not some startling revelation. It just was.

Fern told Quinn to simply pick her up the next day. She'd do the rest. She'd escape from her father. Classes had ended now, so the Professor was home usually, doing work, reading, making sure Fern went nowhere he didn't approve of. There was no way to simply leave while he was out. He never went out anyway. During the school year he'd drive his hearse from the house to the university. Then he'd drive home. Sometimes he'd go to the grocery store. But not all the time. Just sometimes.

So she thought of a way to let her leave. And that night she packed a small suitcase. She took all the money she'd ever saved and put it at the bottom, in a sock. She hid the suitcase under her bed and laid on it. That night she could not sleep. She let herself memorize every single part of her room. She would not be coming back, not for a long while. Fern covered her eyes with her hands and conjured a picture of the room in her head. She listened to the outside world.

And when she heard the birds in the gray light of the morning, she uncovered her eyes and felt as rested as if she'd slept ten hours.

Father was eating breakfast when she came down. Fern took a good look at him and walked to him. Embracing him with one arm, she leaned against him. "I love you, Father," she said, something she did not say often. The Professor looked surprised, but smiled a very rare smile.

"I love you too, Fern." His words were genuine. Then you'll understand, Father. If you love me, you'll let me go. Looking out the window, she saw that Quinn was driving up in his truck. The Professor couldn't hear it, he couldn't hear much of anything these days.

Cautiously, Fern meandered back to the aviary. She went outside. She could picture Quinn sitting out in the driveway, very quietly, just waiting. Fern stared at the aviary. She wouldn't see this again for a long time, as well. Fern blinked back sudden tears. The birds stared at her with innocent expressions. And then she walked up to the door, like she did sometimes to go inside and stand with the birds. But this time, she just opened the door. And stepped back.

For a few moments nothing happened. And then all of a sudden, birds were flying out of the aviary. Out and around and trilling and singing. They flew around her, Fern could feel tiny wings against her arms. And she opened her mouth for - Oh God, what have I done? - but then she smiled. But she couldn't stay here long. So she closed the door and ran back to the house. To the Professor. "Father! Father! Father!" she called as she ran in. The Professor was still eating. "The birds escaped! I just opened the door for a moment to let myself in and they flew out!" The Professor was on his feet in a moment. And Fern watched him run through the house, out to the aviary. "Bye then," she said softly.

Then she scrambled up the stairs. Grabbed her suitcase. Scrambled back down. Flew out the door. And there was Quinn, sitting there. And around him flew birds, for the driveway wasn't so far from the aviary. Birds of all different colors. Flying, flying, flying around the truck. Laughter bubbled inside Fern and broke raucously.

She ran to the truck and watched the birds. They were free! They were free! They were beautiful and loud and kept flying and flying...never going too far, just going and laughing like she was laughing.

Quinn turned on the truck and back out of the driveway. Fern watched the house get smaller and smaller and the birds become dark dots against the gray sky. She couldn't stop laughing at the sight. This was really it, then. This was it. And then Quinn turned around and drove down the road. Fern leaned against the door and watched her house and her road out the side-view mirror. They didn't talk, she just watched, a smile still etched on her face.

Finally: "We can turn around, if you'd like." This was from Quinn, obviously. Fern jerked up and turned towards him. The look on her face was indescribable. Quinn shrugged. His insides were jumping. Please don't want to go back, please, he kept thinking, kept praying, but it wasn't as if he could really keep her here with him. He'd have to let her go if she wanted to go. But then he'd go back too. And then she'd leave and he'd follow and...

"No. No I am so happy," Fern said and leaned her forhead against the glass. "It's just strange. Really being gone. Not ever coming back."

Quinn ducked his head. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am." Silence. "Really happy." Fern took Quinn's hand that was resting on the stick shift and intertwined their fingers. She brought his hand up to her her mouth and kissed the back of his hand softly. "I'm free," she whispered to it, to him, to herself. "I'm free. I'm free. I'm free."

Fern looked at Quinn then, and he turned his head to look at her. His eyes were so deep and seemed to hold all sorts of emotions Fern didn't know right now, but someday might. There was still so much, she was still so far from everything, but she now had the strength to start running. She kissed his hand again and he squeezed her fingers and let go to change gears. She took his hand again, this time with both of her hands and looked at him straight on.

"We're free."