We Were Birds

Quinn finds himself back at her house, hidden in the forest.

Cholena greets him just as he is knocking on the door, just as he is making himself known to her once more. She seems to already have guessed he was coming. This is neither a good thing nor a bad thing, Quinn surmises, but instead just a thing. Cholena does not look disappointed when he says hello, but he can tell that she wishes he hadn't come. Not because she does not want him there, but because she wishes he had found who he was looking for. She welcomes him in, of course, and then sits him down.

"What do you need from me?" she asks him after he has taken a sip of the hot tea she brewed for him. "You are alone, which means the woman you were with moved on without you. I wasn't under the impression that you two were lovers, but..."

Quinn shakes his head quickly but the feel of Vivian's lips on his own comes back to his mind anyway. "No," his mouth chokes. "No we were not lovers. She found the person she was waiting for and she left without me. And now I am feeling so lost, because I am only beginning to understand the sacrifices my own love made for me. I know she is dead, I feel her presence here, but I cannot help but start to think that maybe she died for me?" He takes another sip. The taste of lavender and lemongrass is hot on his tongue. The tea is sweet in the way all tea should be. Mellow, yet commanding his attention. Quinn never noticed these things in Life. He never cared much for tea.

He wanted a concrete answer, but Cholena only shrugs, her long, wiry salt-and-pepper hair shifting. It catches the light of the open window beside her and for a moment glows brilliant chestnut. "Whether she did or she didn't die for you...it does not matter. What matters is that she is here. Many people do not understand that while we have regrets for a reason, dwelling on them and agonizing over them are not it."

"So what do you suggest I do?" asks Quinn.

The strange, seemingly all-knowing woman only lifts an eyebrow. "What do I suggest you do?" she asks, her face incredulous. It then melts into a small, odd smile. "Boy, I suggest you do nothing." With that, she stands up. "Here, help me with these cups."

Oh. Nothing, hm? Quinn can do that. He can do nothing. If that's what Cholena thinks, then that's what he'll do. Rising up after her, he clutches his small, china cup in his hand and then pauses, looking at it. It is small, fragile, so breakable in his palm. Where do things like this come from? This place is magic. It is. That can be the only explanation. Quinn starts to move and helps Cholena wash out the cups with a pitcher of water she must have fetched from the stream. The tea itself is thrown out behind Cholena's house. And so begins a routine for Quinn.

People come from all over to see her, to seek answers. Quinn is not usually allowed to hear what she says to people, but sometimes he listens anyway. Remembering the first time he and Vivian came to see her, Quinn thinks of how Cholena's answers are just as cryptic as they ever were. Why, Quinn wonders, did she tell me to do nothing? She told me outright, to do nothing. No mysterious messages, so puzzling riddles. Why did she give me a straight answer, when she never does to anyone? Cholena told me she was no psychic woman, that she just understood the ways of the heart...but I don't understand. She must have known what was going to happen to me to give me such a direct answer.

Most people leave disheartened, but Cholena only smiles and shrugs. "They will figure it out," is what she says after she shows one girl with tear-stained cheeks out. Quinn nods. He figured out what Cholena told him. He figured out that he had to be weak in order to be strong. And she was right. After that day, in the rain, after letting his guilt go to the surface, he has never felt so free. And Vivian, she was right about her...or was she? Maybe there are just some people who can't be saved. He doesn't know. He never will, not entirely.

And so the days pass, and Quinn does not feel a tug on his heart telling him that Fern in near. He doesn't know why he'd know, all he knows is that if she were here, he would feel it. He continues to help Cholena: cleans her house, brews her tea, takes care of the small rabbits that come to her back door, sniffing the ground for food. Quinn watches those rabbits with curiosity. In all this time he's been dead, he's never felt hungry. It is, of course, one of the side-effects of being...well...dead. The rabbits, though, don't know. They only go on instinct. They remind Quinn of the birds. The birds that fly together, the birds that still sing, even though they are dead.

They still sing, even though they are dead. Because it is more than what they do - it is who they are. Just like Fern always said.

More time goes by while Quinn stays with Cholena, but he can't help but wonder if maybe the woman gave him bad information. He grows more restless with each passing day, his legs itch to take him far beyond the small hut. Cholena likes his company, he can tell, and he enjoys being with Cholena, who tells him stories of her people - the tribe she belonged to when she was once human. Sometimes, though, when Cholena is telling him a legend, Quinn will feel his eyes move to the side of her face and stare out the window to the dark forest beyond. Fern is out there somewhere. Why is he still here?

Because Cholena said to do nothing. And she is right, she is always right.

Except that maybe this time she might be wrong.

Could she?

No. Yes. Maybe.

The debate rages on inside Quinn's head for a few more days. His life is now marked by a sort of tranquil monotony, and he can see why Cholena lives the way she does. It is calm, it is easy here. If he didn't have anyone to wait for, maybe he'd stay here. Maybe he'd want to. But he can't, because Fern is out there, looking for him, and if she doesn't find him soon, she might just move on without him. She might think he already left without her, and he can't let her go thinking that. He can't disappoint her. Not again.

So it is that one morning dawns in electric red and Quinn finds Cholena standing in the kitchen, tying the herbs that Quinn gathered the day before together. She is going to dry them for her tea, Quinn knows that, he's seen her do that before. He's done it for her before.

Cholena smiles one of those wise, kind smiles at him and nods. "You were wrong," Quinn says, and for a moment, Cholena's eyes cloud with surprise. Then they clear. "You told me to do nothing and I don't know why you said that, but it was the wrong thing to do. It's been nice to be with you here, but I can't stay. I have to keep searchin' for Fern. If I don't, if I lose that feeling of knowin she's around, I don't know what I'll do."

"I wondered how long it would take to figure it out on your own," Cholena smiles, with a breathy laugh. "Not as long as I imagined."

"You told me to do nothing on purpose?" Quinn questions, his face and voice tense.

"If I told you what to do, where to go, which step to make, what kind of person would that make you?" asks Cholena and Quinn is forced into silence. "You are a good man, Quinn. A little misguided, maybe, but when you came to me again, I saw that you had changed. You were not as hopeful when you came last time. You are different now. You understand what I meant when I said you had to be weak. It is like muscles, or skin. First the muscles tear and the skin blisters. But then the muscles heal and they are stronger. And the blistered skin turns to strong callous. Tears will only make you stronger."

Quinn is quiet for a long while. "Thank you," he finally exhales. He turns to leave, but Cholena's voice makes him stop.

"Why don't you check the city? I've heard of many people who have found what they're looking for in the city."

Quinn does not turn to look at her, but nods.

Then he is gone.

--

The house is charming in its antiquity, but Fern can't overcome the apprehension that seizes her when it comes into her line of vision.

She doesn't know why she's here. Maybe it's because for the past few weeks she's just been wandering around, looking for someone she doesn't really expect to find. Maybe it's because she misses Quinn and misses Astrid and misses her father and her mother...maybe it's because she's only starting to understand what a gift Life was and how lucky she is to be getting a second chance. Or maybe it's just because the lady on the train told her that everyone who has questions always comes to this house. It's a final resort, maybe, to figure herself out. Fern has started to peel away the top layer of herself, but she needs one more reason to continue the fight.

It's like the woman knows she is coming, because she offers her a cup of tea and asks her inside as soon as she opens the door. Fern answers with a smile a small 'Thank you'. The woman offers her a seat. It is a worn-down overstuffed chair. How did it get here? Fern doesn't know, doesn't really care. She's learning to forget the technicalities of this place and just think of it in terms as a way to forgive herself for all that she has done, for all that has happened, for all the pain she caused Quinn.

"I don't know why I'm here," Fern starts.

The woman nods. She's calm. "Many don't. Many are just told by others that there is someone in the woods who will answer their questions. Truth be told, it is not so simple. I do not know everything, I cannot tell you where your lost love is. I do not know what is beyond the Final Stop...I cannot tell you things like that."

"I didn't think you could," replies Fern. "I'm just mixed up. Because I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I gave up on life. And at the time, I was okay with that, but now I'm starting to wonder if it was worth it? If it was worth throwing my life away for? I just can't help but think I'm something like Juliet Capulet and that just kills me because I hated that stupid play. I was always so angry that they killed themselves for each other at the end. Did I do the same thing?"

In response, the woman sighs. "I will tell you something that I told someone else, not too long ago. We have regrets, yes. But we do not have them so we can dwell on them or tear ourselves up over them. We have regrets in order understand our lives now. Think of it. When you were on the brink of death, were you satisfied?"

Closing her eyes for a moment, Fern nods. "Yes, I was happy...in a way."

"Then you are nothing like Juliet. You are everything like yourself."

"But who am I?"

The woman laughs. "I cannot tell you that, I do not know you. You have to tell me that. It seems like you have lost your way, you have lost your reason to live in Death. Or, maybe not lost it, but forgotten it. You are looking for someone, that is obvious. You haven't seen them in awhile, that is obvious, too. You are forgetting what they were to you. They were your life. It is not a crime to wish to live your life for someone else, as long as they are living their life for you." Fern looks down at her tea. "Think about who they were to you. Think about how you were before you died. If you had no regrets then, you must move on from your regrets now. Death is not a place to regress. Death is a second chance. Take it."

Fern looks at the woman and then laughs. "Everyone told me that you would not give a straight answer. And it's true, you didn't. But your answer makes so much sense to me."

The woman smiles...or maybe it is a self-satisfied grin? "I am better with some than with others."

"So what do I do now?" asks Fern.

"That is entirely up to you, of course," the woman replies. Fern stands up, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Although, the city is far away. It'll give you the time to think about your Life and your Death. Besides, I have heard that many find who they are looking for in the city."

Fern nods. "The city," she repeats. "Thank you." With that, she downs the sweet lavender and lemongrass tea, nods her head once more to the woman in thanks and rushes to the door. The woman is at her heels, and holds open the door as Fern strides out into the sunshine.

And if Fern had looked back, she would have seen the woman smiling a knowing smile.

But Fern doesn't look back.

She looks forward, thinking of the small, yet hopeful promise of tomorrow.