We Were Birds

There is a yellow light above the trees that meets Quinn's eyes when he finally wakes up.

For a few moments he is lost, alone, scared. Where is he? Who he is? What is he doing here? Why is he lying on the ground? And then foggy images come back and fear takes him over. Where's Fern? Where has she gone? And then finally he closes his eyes and forces it all to come back to him. He will not forget what he is doing, why he is here. He is dead. He is in Death. He is searching for Fern. No, no, right now he is looking for the woman, the one who has answers. And he is with Vivian, the sad-eyed girl.

Opening his eyes again, Quinn looks at the yellow light. When he sits up, grass falls off of him carelessly, but a few blades still cling. Standing up, Quinn brushes himself off, rubs his eyes and looks at Vivian. She is staring at him, blinking sometimes, looking quietly at his tall form. Quinn breaks out into a smile as he bends over to pick up his clothes. "Good morning," he says, at once feeling a strange sense of elation burn through him. Today feels different for some reason, like something important will happen today.

Vivian sits up, her tangled hair falling like a curtain off of her head. "Good morning," she says quietly. She pauses for a moment and looks to her feet. "You know, I have absolutely no idea why I just said that. It's not a good morning. It's an awful morning. Why did I just say that?"

"It's a manners thing, I guess. Or just a human thing." Quinn shrugs at his words.

Vivian shakes her head. "It's a Life thing."

She's right and he can't deny it. There are so many customs, so many things that he does simply because he was supposed to do them in Life. Simply because they were what people did in Life to be polite. But Death it's all very different. He doesn't have to be polite, there is hardly anybody to be polite to. He doesn't have to say good morning when it's a terrible morning, he doesn't have to ask 'How are you?' when he doesn't want to know. But he will still ask, he will still say good morning. Why? Because he wants to cling onto the few parts of Life he has left. It's the same with closing your eyes to remember. You grab and grab and grab at things that slowly start to fade. We all grab onto the past. He is looking forward, but Quinn promises to never let go.

"Well. Should we go?" Quinn asks, pulling on his shirt. He is dressed now, and his hair is borderline crazy from last night's swim in the river. And Vivian doesn't answer back with words, just gets up and starts to move with him. They walk and walk and walk down the road. This is where they are supposed to be, Quinn knows, he just wishes the house would come sooner.

But finally, it does come.

Out of the woods there is a small clearing where a house, a run-down shack, sits. It sits along the river they've been following and the Weeping Willows still gracefully stand around it, their sad fingers brushing the water like the way Quinn always imagined angels to touch clouds. Or a father to touch his young child's head. And the yellow light of morning streams down onto the house, lighting it up, and when they get closer, it almost seems like the house is glowing.

Dust and butterflies swirl around it, coming from all the cracks. In front of the house are hundreds of wild flowers, only split by a small path leading to the front door. Vivian looks at Quinn. "Are you sure this is okay?" she asks, sounding almost nervous, a little unsure.

Quinn grabs her hand and nods, leading her forward. Vivan grasps back, her fear almost palpable. But before they can take any steps towards the house, the front door open and out steps and elderly woman in a long, flowing brown dress. Her hair is long and white, her skin tan and leathery. It's obvious to see that she is Native American and she has braided small purple flowers into her long hair. Her mouth cracks into a smile - her teeth are yellowing but straight. "Hello," she says, as if she has always known them.

"Someone on the train told me..." Quinn pauses, because what he wants to say next sounds a little mad. He takes a deep breath and plunges on. "Someone on the train told me you have answers?" he says, or asks, or who knows. The woman laughs and motions them to come into her house. Vivan drops Quinn's hand and they venture into the shack.

It is surprisingly light inside. Sun streams in not only from windows but from cracks in the wall and the ceiling. The floor is wood and parts of it are covered by an ancient oriental rug upon which a couple of old dogs lay lazily. In the corner, a small bird perches on a windowsill and tweets away happily and noisily. The woman catches Quinn looking at the bird and almost grins. "He has become my constant companion. But I could never do him the injustice of caging him."

Quinn looks at the woman and for a moment, he sees Fern's face, the months before their escape. He understands. "Who are you?" he asks, instead of saying anything else.

"I am Cholena," she says with an almost weary sigh as she sits down at her old cherry-oak table. Quinn sits and Vivian follows, obviously less enthusiastic about being here. Cholena looks at her for a long moment and Quinn sees something in the older woman's eyes that disquiets him. It is understanding. "I have seen many people...they come here looking for answers. The truth is, I can only give you an answer about yourself. I am not all-knowing or all-powerful. I just help." This gives discomfort that Cholena can obviously tell. "You do not have to stay if you don't want to know," she says softly.

"No, I'll stay. I just hoped you could tell me..." Quinn trails off and shrugs. It doesn't matter.

Cholena looks at him and then turns to Vivian. "I'll speak to you first." Her eyes travel from the sad-faced girl to Quinn. "If you could step outside please."

Quinn complies and goes outside and shuts the door behind him. From inside he hears quiet mumbling, but he doesn't feel much like listening. Instead he wanders back to the river and sits down by its edge. A breeze blows and the long, graceful arms of the Willows make ripples in the clear water. He doesn't know what to do now. He came here to get answers about Fern, not about himself. He knows himself, he has always known himself. He's simple, he's easy, he's not emotional...he knows these things. He has always known them.

His mind wanders easily from these thoughts to simple thoughts of the river, the Willows...Fern. And before he knows it, Vivan is putting her hand on his shoulder and Quinn is looking up at her tear-stained face and smiling. "Your turn," she says softly. Getting up, Quinn nods. Vivian sits down at the river's edge and lays on her back. Above them, the sky is pure blue. His steps are a little all over the place, but he makes it in one piece to Cholena's door.

She has the small bird in her hand when he reaches her old table. It is standing on her palm as if it has been tame all of its small life and death. Cholena smiles down at the bird. "You understand what it means to be caged. You understand that Death is simply another cage."

"I do."

Cholena flicks her wrist and the bird flies out the window. She sighs and looks at him, regarding him carefully. "You hold more pain than that poor young girl I just spoke with," she says carefully and Quinn doesn't know what to say to this. He doesn't feel full of pain. Sometimes he is lonely, but never full of pain. "You have been waiting for so long, I know. And you are running on what you think is a hope, what you hope is real. You are searching for someone that you feel is here, but do not know. And you do not know if she has left you, if she has moved on, if she is already with someone else...you do not know."

"And you can't tell me where she is?" asks Quinn.

"I don't know," Cholena replies simply. "But you are filled with anxious fear that she has left you, that she has gone on. Or that she is mad at you for leaving her first. And yet, you never show this pain. In all your time here, you have never cried."

Quinn scoffs a little at this. "I haven't felt the need. I'm not sad."

"Really?" Cholena looks at him and Quinn feels as if he could see right through him. "Then why does your heart ache when you go to sleep? Why do you wander and wander, only to find emptiness? If you were happy, truly happy, you would have moved on, you would have gone on without her."

"You're saying I should just forget about Fern? That I should just leave her behind?" Quinn asks, his voice strained and angry.

Cholena laughs. "No."

"Then what?"

Her hands come to his. "It is no crime to cry. It is okay to feel sad. Embrace your sadness, let it guide you, let it make you stronger. Let it burn within you, and from the ashes of your sadness, your tears, hope will blossom. You have spent a lifetime being strong, you were strong until the day you died."

"I had to be," Quinn counters bitterly, trying to take his hands away from Cholena, but her grip is stronger than he could have imagined. "Fern was strong but she was watching me die and it was unbearable to see her cry for me, so I had to be strong so that she could cry. All my life it's been like that. I've been strong for my father after mom died and I was strong for Fern when she felt the unbearable guilt over leaving her father and then the fear of having no money and nowhere to go...I was strong."

"But this is not life," says Cholena. "It is death. Here is a secret that you should know. Not all who die, come here."

Quinn pauses. "What? How can you know that?" he asks.

"I know," she answers. "Some who die go straight on, their train does not stop. Some do not even wake up on a train, some go to...beyond immedietly. The ones who come here have unfinished business. The ones who come here made some mistake in their life that they must fix. You've been given a second chance. Use it. Do not be strong, for in your weakness, you will find a different kind of strength." She smiles and finally lets go of his hands. "This is all I need to tell you."

Getting up, Quinn looks at Cholena. "What is your unfinished business?" he asks.

Cholena smiles. "This."

And with that, Quinn leaves. His face is dry, but he feels her words in his heart. Maybe not today, maybe he will not cry today, or maybe not tomorrow, but maybe...maybe...he does not know. All he knows is that Vivian is joining him and they are walking back down the long dirt road. And by nightfall, they have almost come to the train station, but they are tired. They settle down again by the river, the Willows. This place gives Quinn a sense of calm. He wishes he had a camera, but those types of things probably wouldn't work here.

"What did Cholena tell you?" asks Vivian after awhile.

"She told me that I needed to complete my unfinished business...what about you?"

Vivian is quiet. "She told me that I needed to move beyond Ian. She said that only when I had found something beyond our life together would I finally have the strength to really find him. At the time I was scared about what she said, but I know that she spoke the truth. My life has revolved around Ian. When we were walking, I realized that I must find something that is my own."

"What do you think that will be?" Quinn asks. He looks at Vivian, who is looking down. Then she looks up from under her lashes, a shy, sort of naive gesture that makes Quinn almost smile.

"I think..." she says and then she smiles, a little shy, a little sad. "I think that you are the thing that I find that is my own." Quinn doesn't know what to say, but Vivian hasn't stopped talking. She tilts her head up to him, a defiant pose that reminds Quinn a little of Fern's 'fighting stance.' "I'm sorry," she says.

"For what?" Quinn asks.

"For this."

And that is when Vivian puts her hand to Quinn's cheek, grabbing onto him, bringing his face down to her. She kisses him then and for a few moments, Quinn is still. But then for some reason beyond Quinn's control, he puts one hand around Vivian's neck and one around her torso and kisses her back. He doesn't know why.

But maybe this is what it means to be weak.