Just a Birdhouse by Emily Fohr

Author:Emily Fohr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: friendship, coming of age, france, lesbian romance
Publisher: Desert Palm Press

Chapter Thirteen

IN MY PAST LIFE, had I lived one, I know I was a carpenter. Crowded stickily in my compact bedroom, I jumped and pointed with excitement at the hummingbirds congregated just beyond my window. The morning was flooded with visions of fleeting colors, birds chirping harmoniously around the wooden birdhouse I had built when I was six. It hung from a spruce tree, sturdy and safe.

Squealing with glee, I begged my groggy mother and grandfather to revel in the glory of this jovial morning and the clean air that accompanied it. Judging from the tedious looks they shared behind my back, they were clearly worried I had forgotten about the simple pleasures of nature, earth, life.

“You’re not understanding!” I whined. “It’s an omen. A good one!”

Faint whispers of clipped music poked and prodded the expanse between my window and the birdhouse. I stretched my head through the bay window, pleading with the birds to never cease their singing.

“One would only find birds squawking a good omen if they were expecting a bad one.” My mom brushed off my exclamation with her own sleepy judgment, only half believing what anyone had to say.

She sighed, using the mug in her hands to keep her warm. The mornings in Saint __ de Vie had been abnormally chilly that summer.

I turned to Papaly, heartfelt eyes seeking validation. “Papaly…”

“Oui…oui! C’est magnifique!” Papaly reassured me, kissing his fingers to his lips.

“This is why I like him more than you,” I said to my mom, rolling my eyes.

“As you should.” She shrugged in agreement. “I ate the last éclair five minutes ago.” At this, she chuckled heartily over my shoulder and walked out of the room. Smiles escaped my eyes and my mouth.

“C’est magnifique!” I repeated to Papaly, clapping my hands.

Daylight was young and danced around my room, tracing the timber floors, bouncing amorously to the pressed mirror in the boudoir. Throwing my hair into its familiar bun, I spun Papaly by the hand. We bumped hips and swirled fantastically, frolicking about, steps out of rhythm and laughter out of tune.

Dawn eased by, like a cool drink. Taking my time, I walked about the backyard, tracing the memory of every bird crowding the happy little birdhouse that hung secure amongst the leaves.

Giddy was an emotion I seldom felt, so at first, I was unsure why my stomach tumbled with butterflies and my cheeks were stuck round and robust from smiling. Eventually, I realized I was more excited about my date with Appoline than I had been for my date with François. I chalked this up to my pure feelings of indifference toward François and my absolutely unruly adoration for coq au vin. I had always been a hungry girl.

Unsure how to pass the time, I sequestered myself outdoors. Utilizing the vast coastline as my personal bedroom left me vulnerable to the winds brushing me by. I had a burning desire to grow into myself, to fill the space in my head and my eyes with the intimacy I had never been allowed to feel before.

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