The Feathered Bone (17 page)
Read The Feathered Bone Online
Authors: Julie Cantrell
Hello Sparrow,
The day I was taken, we met a lady by the big church in New Orleans. She gave me a featherâthe one I think might be yoursâand she told me to guard it.
When we walked away, she shouted, “God's eye is on the sparrow.” Mom and Pop taught me that in Bible times sparrows were sold for cheap. The verse means that even when other people don't care about us, God does.
I think the lady in New Orleans was saying God's eye is on me. That I'm worth caring about, even here, where nobody thinks I matter at all.
So I was thinking about God and the palm reader and the feather, and then I figured something out. Now when the men come, and when they make me do all those things I don't want to do, I leave the shed. I fly away. Just like the lady said. I fly right out of my body, and no one even knows I'm gone.
Hello Sparrow,
I learned a new trick today. If I fly all the way across the yard, past the willow tree, past The Man's house, past the
other shed where he says he keeps Ellie, past the muddy palmettos, then I can see the water. I call it the ocean, but it's really just a swamp.
If I make it all the way to my ocean, I can let the men do whatever they want to me in here and I don't even have to know it. I don't come back until I hear them leave.
Can you see me flying out there by my ocean? There's a pretty blue crane and a bunch of doves. Turtles and snakes too. But the snakes aren't scary from way up high. I bet you know that.
The men come a lot now. More and more of them. Some come on their way to work at the plants. Sometimes they talk about their wives or kids. I don't know why they come here. Some of them use drugs or drink beer. Some don't. Some are mean. Some are not. One man cries when he leaves. I heard The Man call one of them a senator. He wore a suit, and when The Man left us all alone, the senator just sat in the broken chair and looked at me. Then he left.
Friday, August 26, 2005
“E
LLIE
,
PLEASE DON
'
T FIGHT ME ON THIS
. V
IVIENNE
'
S BEEN VERY
helpful so far, and I think if we just stick with itâ”
My daughter turns up her stereo, blasting Green Day over my voice. I stand at her bedroom door, waiting for her to turn my way. She doesn't. So I move closer, and she spins sharply toward me. “I'm not going!”
When I turn down the volume, she yells again. “Why can't you leave me alone?”
“Ellie, I'm just trying to help.”
“Don't you see? That's your problem! You try to fix everybody. You want to save us all. You really want to help me? Then stay out of my life!”
Don't react, Amanda. These are Carl's words, not Ellie's. She's just repeating what she hears.
When she settles on her bed with Beanie, I leave her room. Then, while folding a basket of laundry, I make the call. “Viv? She won't come.” I apologize for the last-minute notice. “Maybe she needs some breathing room. I don't know what more we can do.”
“Of course,” Vivienne says. “Just let me know when she's ready. Seventh grade is a hard year. Even in the best of circumstances.”
“I'm at a loss, Viv. I feel like I can help everyone else I meet, but
I can't seem to reach my own daughter. She won't take calls from her friends. She won't go anywhere. All she wants to do is sleep. Theater's the only reason I could even get her back in school this year. She's really struggling.”
“Do you think she might need an antidepressant? Just for a little while? Get her over the slump?”
“I don't know. Carl says no way. He thinks it's ridiculous. Meds. Therapy. All of it.”
“With the right prescription, I've seen it make a big difference,” Vivienne says. “Haven't you?”
“For some, yes. For others, it seems worse. Scares me a little, to be honest. She's just twelve.”
“I understand.” Vivienne waits through my silence and then says, “Amanda? How are you holding up?”
“I'm good, I guess. Just trying to keep the ship from sinking.”
“Be sure you're giving yourself the care you need too. You know how important that is. In fact, why not use Ellie's time today? Come in for coffee? Even if we just go for a walk. I need it as much as you do.”
“Oh, I don't know.” I look down the hall toward Ellie's door. The music still blares from her room. “I'm hesitant to leave her alone like this. As much as I'd love to see you. Rain check?”
“Sure,” Vivienne says. “I'll hold you to that, though. I'm ready for you to come back to work. I worry.”
“Thanks, Viv. No worries allowed.”
I hang up the phone and call Carl. He answers on the second ring, surprising me. “Hey. I figured I'd have to leave a message.”
“Yeah, I was just about to call you. Got a hurricane near Florida.
They've been shorthanded, so I'm flying out to the rig. Helping with the shutdown.”
“Think it'll turn our way?”
“Probably not. You know how it goes. We'll stop production. Ship everyone back home. And then it'll slow to a tropical depression. End up being nothing more than a thunderstorm.”
“Well, be careful.” After a pause I say, “Ellie's not doing well, Carl. She's refusing to go to school today. She won't see Vivienne, and she's really lashing out at me.”
As soon as I try to talk to him about Ellie, his mood shifts. His tone becomes darker, angrier, and his words leave bite marks. “I can't do this right now, Amanda. I'm busy.”
“I understand. I'm sorry.” After another awkward pause I add, “It's okay. I know you're busy. I love you. Be safe.”
He says, “Bye.” And he is gone.
Hello Sparrow,
You are tapping fast and loud, trying to warn me about something. I think I know why.
I heard The Man say we're supposed to get out of town before the hurricane hits. But he thinks we should stay here in Chalmette.
The Lady says it's supposed to get bad. She knows where an empty house is. In Hammond. She says it never floods there.
Fly with me, Sparrow. Don't stay here in the storm.
“Knock, knock!” Raelynn walks into my house singing the words. She enters from the back carport, as any good friend would do, and finds me in the kitchen washing blueberries.
“You're off today?”
“Dentist. Figured I'd take a sick day. Brought y'all some étouffée. Hungry?”
I greet her with a hug and take the two warm Tupperware dishes, setting them on the kitchen counter. “Starving,” I say, pulling out enough bowls and spoons to serve the three of us. “Would you mind asking Ellie to come to the table? She's not speaking to me. Maybe she'll be nicer to you.”
“She's not at school?”
I shake my head, too sad to admit I can't get my daughter to leave her room. Raelynn accepts the challenge, making her way toward the back while I fill our bowls with scoops of rice and then smother them with her rich, roux-based crawfish sauce. The smells of sautéed bell peppers, onions, and celery fill my home. It's a combination folks here call the Holy Trinity. When mixed with just the right pop of seasonings, it really can bring a soul straight to heaven.
I've set the table and poured three drinks by the time Raelynn returns. “She won't come.”
I sigh. Grabbing a TV tray, I carry Ellie's food to her room.
“Ellie?” I call through her closed door. The music is lower now, but still playing. She's moved from Green Day to the
Donnie Darko
soundtrack, playing “Mad World” on repeat. I've told my clients so many times,
If you want to understand what a teenager is feeling, pay attention to their music
. Now here I stand, with my daughter closed off from me, listening to the saddest lyrics I have ever heard.
I set the tray down and open her door. “Ellie? Honey, Raelynn brought crawfish étouffée.”
She is lying facedown across her bed. Doesn't even acknowledge I'm in the room.
“Okay, well. I'll leave it here for you. Try to eat while it's warm.”
I stand for a few seconds, wishing I knew how to reach her. “I love you. I'm here when you're ready to talk.”
Back at the table, Raelynn has waited for me to join her. “You hear about that hurricane?”
“Yeah. Carl's on his way out to the rig. They needed extra help shutting down. Says it's just a Cat 1 though. Probably won't do much damage. He should be home tonight.”
“I don't know. The news says it's gaining strength. Heading our way now. We could get a direct hit.” She fills her spoon. “Might want to keep an eye on the weather.”
I turn on the TV. Carl has set it up so that we can watch it from the dining room table, something I would normally discourage. But not today.
We watch the noon broadcast. The station's chief meteorologist tells us the hurricane is “rapidly strengthening” as it crosses the warm Gulf of Mexico. The storm has intensified to a Category 2. Named Katrina. Our governor, Kathleen Blanco, is already taking proactive measures by declaring a state of emergency for Louisiana.
“Hope Carl doesn't have any trouble getting home.” I stir my étouffée and take a bite. “Delicious. Thank you. Just what I needed.”
Raelynn smiles, enjoying hers as well. “The boys are going to be upset. My brother got alligator tags. Planned to leave after school for a weekend hunt.”
I'm talking hurricane stories with Raelynn when my crisis
phone rings. Recognizing the name as one of my most at-risk clients, I excuse myself. “I need to take this.”
“Mrs. Amanda?”
I step outside. “Yes, it's me. How are you, Brooke?” When she doesn't answer, I ask, “Are you crying?” I take a seat in one of our back porch rocking chairs, giving her my full attention.
“I'm sorry. I didn't know who else to call.” She's definitely crying.
“You can always call me, Brooke. What's wrong?”
“I can't do this anymore. It's too hard. One year today. And I just can't handle it. I'm scared.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, is there anyone who can be with you? What about your sister?”
“She's supposed to come over later. I don't want to bother her. She's got two kids. She's busy,” Brooke sniffles.
“She's not too busy, Brooke. She loves you.”
“I know, I know. But she's tired of seeing me like this. Everybody is. I should be able to get over it. It's too hard.”
“Brooke, this is a very hard day. But you'll get through it. Just like you made it through the other hard days. And think about all the good days you've had in between.”
“I can't see the good anymore, Mrs. Amanda. That's the problem. You understand? Even the good isn't good.”
“You're depressed, Brooke. You're having a difficult day. But it'll get better. I promise. It always does.”
