Finch.

It is raining outside.
It is not raining hard, just raining hard enough.
It’s dark and cold inside my sisters bedroom, and Birdie is shaking under the covers.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, as quietly as I can. I don’t want to disturb her.
“There’s going to be a storm. And I’m going to miss it.”
“You aren’t going to miss anything. I don’t even think there’s supposed to really be a storm tonight.”
Eleanor turns on her side, and faces me. Her face is never usually quite this close to mine.
“But I’m going to fall asleep.”
“What’s it matter? You’ve seen thunder storms before.”
“Not like the one that’s coming,” she continues whispering.
Suddenly Eleanor is smiling, only a little, and she looks like she knows something I don’t.
“Keep me awake?”
“How?” I ask.
“Sing to me.”
“What song?”
“Nick, I don’t care,” Eleanor is saying. Her tone is one of annoyance, though I am not sure why.
So, I begin to sing, and I’m not sure what words I’m singing to her, but she closes her eyes and puts her face in my chest.
“Darling, are you asleep?”
“No, Nikki I can’t sleep. Usually your lullabies work. Not tonight. Do I look blue to you Nikki?”
“No, just red.”
“Why red?”
“Because red represents warmth, dear.”
“But I’m so cold,” she replies, goose bumps on her flesh. I wrap my arms and blankets tighter around her, the stroke her hair.
“Go to sleep.”
“I can’t yet.”
“Yes you can. You’re tired, go to sleep.”
“I love you, Nikki,” Eleanor tells me, and I swallow hard.
“I love you too, Birdie.”
She doesn’t understand that it hurts to say that.
This fragile being in my bed doesn’t comprehend that I want her, in every sense of the word.
I’m listening to her breathe and I am terrified and have this unspeakable feeling that at any moment that breathing will stop. I put my lips to her hair and simply take it all in. I feel her hand rise to my face.
“You need sleep too Nikki,” she says.
“No I don’t.”
“You can’t stay up all night, every night, to protect me from things that sometimes aren’t even there. Close your eyes.”
I do close my eyes, and the unexpected happens.
The lovely yellow haired creature opens her lips and sings one of my very own songs to me.
She doesn’t sing often, and sometimes I forget how lovely her voice is.
It’s somewhat harsh and somewhat soft, and it makes my heart skip beats. It’s this tiny thing that has a strong pulse somewhere, her voice is.
“How long has it been since you played the piano, Ellie?”
“Years.”
“You have to play again. You have to.”