Finch.
11.
“NO! I’M NOT BLUE! I’M NOT!”
My eyes are flying open, I am at Birdie’s side in seconds.
Her cries are filled with horror. Her screams are filled with sorrow. I can do nothing. I grab her and stroke her hair and I am whispering “Birdie, darling, wake up. Wake up.”
Her blue eyes turn to liquid and she sobs into my shirt.
“I can’t do this,” she says. I swallow hard so I don’t cry.
“Birdie, you’re going to be just fine.”
“I’m not blue.”
“What do you mean, you aren’t sad?”
“No, no, I’m not sad, that’s not it. I’m not blue, the color blue. The color. Blue, the color. I’m not that color. Not that blue color,” she repeats herself, over and over. I am frightened.
“No Birdie, you aren’t blue.”
I can’t call her Eleanor, I can’t call her Ellie. Right now, in this moment, I can only call her Birdie.
Maria is looking at me with those beautiful dark eyes that seem black, but are really just brown. Her dark skin fades into the Pacific and the rosary around her neck is tangled in her black curls.
“Usted debe salir conmigo,” I say.
“Amor, I can’t leave with you. Adelanto is my home.” She is replying. I do not like this reply. I cannot leave my Maria. I do love her, I do. I want to cry, and I see there are tears in her eyes.
“So is this it?” I ask.
“Nicholas, if you’re leaving this is it.”
How is she so divine and strong? I just want to collapse, so I do. I collapse into her, and she holds me. She kisses me, and I kiss back with everything.
“Volveré por ti.”
“I know.”
I feel a weight on my chest.
“Nikki?” Ellie says. I open my eyes. I hate when I dream and it’s just a memory, not even a real dream.
“Hello Ellie,” I am saying groggily. Sleep is thick in my throat.
“You’ve got tears in your eyes.”
I wipe at my eyes, and cheeks, and smile gently at my Birdie.
“I’m fine. I was just dreaming of Adelanto.”
“I’m sorry. I know you loved it there. I did too. You sacrificed a lot for this life. This life filled with beautiful music. Your music really is beautiful Nikki, and everyone is just so in love with you,” Ellie concludes. I smile.
“Thank you, my dear.”
My eyes are flying open, I am at Birdie’s side in seconds.
Her cries are filled with horror. Her screams are filled with sorrow. I can do nothing. I grab her and stroke her hair and I am whispering “Birdie, darling, wake up. Wake up.”
Her blue eyes turn to liquid and she sobs into my shirt.
“I can’t do this,” she says. I swallow hard so I don’t cry.
“Birdie, you’re going to be just fine.”
“I’m not blue.”
“What do you mean, you aren’t sad?”
“No, no, I’m not sad, that’s not it. I’m not blue, the color blue. The color. Blue, the color. I’m not that color. Not that blue color,” she repeats herself, over and over. I am frightened.
“No Birdie, you aren’t blue.”
I can’t call her Eleanor, I can’t call her Ellie. Right now, in this moment, I can only call her Birdie.
Maria is looking at me with those beautiful dark eyes that seem black, but are really just brown. Her dark skin fades into the Pacific and the rosary around her neck is tangled in her black curls.
“Usted debe salir conmigo,” I say.
“Amor, I can’t leave with you. Adelanto is my home.” She is replying. I do not like this reply. I cannot leave my Maria. I do love her, I do. I want to cry, and I see there are tears in her eyes.
“So is this it?” I ask.
“Nicholas, if you’re leaving this is it.”
How is she so divine and strong? I just want to collapse, so I do. I collapse into her, and she holds me. She kisses me, and I kiss back with everything.
“Volveré por ti.”
“I know.”
I feel a weight on my chest.
“Nikki?” Ellie says. I open my eyes. I hate when I dream and it’s just a memory, not even a real dream.
“Hello Ellie,” I am saying groggily. Sleep is thick in my throat.
“You’ve got tears in your eyes.”
I wipe at my eyes, and cheeks, and smile gently at my Birdie.
“I’m fine. I was just dreaming of Adelanto.”
“I’m sorry. I know you loved it there. I did too. You sacrificed a lot for this life. This life filled with beautiful music. Your music really is beautiful Nikki, and everyone is just so in love with you,” Ellie concludes. I smile.
“Thank you, my dear.”
♠ ♠ ♠
A squatter's made a mural of a Mexican girl.With fifteen cans of spray paint in a chemical swirl.
She's standing in the ashes at the end of the world,
Four winds blowing through her hair.
The world was not of interest.
Though her days were never dull.
Her bed beneath a crucifix ,
On guests performing miracles.
With the Son of God just hanging like a common criminal.
"When I do wrong, I am with God," she thought.
"When I feel lost, I am not at all."
Cassadaga is a very good album.