Beyond the Laughing Sky by Michelle Cuevas

Author:Michelle Cuevas
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2014-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

The days of fall stretched on, as did the afternoons in Miss Starling’s classroom at school. Nashville waited each day for the short time after lunch when the class was allowed to get outside the walls of school and into the fresh, clean air.

At the edge of the kickball field stood a tree. It was green and perfect, the lowest branches lining up in a way that seemed custom-made for climbing. And so Nashville did just that. Once he was lost in the foliage, he closed his eyes and imagined he was home, not just at recess, and he didn’t have to try to be a regular student when everyone knew he wasn’t.

Soon, a little brown bird landed on the branch beside him, and was quickly joined by several others. Not wanting to be rude, Nashville tried to strike up a conversation.

“So,” he asked, “do you by any chance know a bird named Magnolia? She was a good friend, and I find it a bit curious that she hasn’t written a postcard.”

The birds only stared.

“Never mind,” Nashville continued. “So, were you originally hatched here, or do you come from someplace else?”

The birds stopped staring and went back to their preening.

“Do you think,” Nashville said, continuing his one-way conversation, “that you could fly around the world so fast, you could relive your favorite day? Also, do you think wind is fast-moving air, or something moving through air? Also, when you are flying and you have to . . . you know . . . do you ever aim for certain people’s heads?”

The birds did not reply. And so, to fill the quiet on the branch between them, Nashville began to whistle.

Whistling. Nashville had always loved this simple act, and had never taken the value of it for granted. Whistling, like cake, was almost exclusively reserved for times of happiness and relaxation—for drawing joy (and dogs) a little bit closer. One never whistled to deter something or because work was just too hard. No, the whistle was pure sunshine through the lips in every regard.

So on that day, with the birds on his branch, Nashville whistled what he hoped was a joyful tune. To his delight, the birds joined along.

Zay-zay-zay-zoo-zee, sang the first little bird.

Tika-tika-swee-chay-chay, sang the second.

Cheerup-cheerup-cheerily, sang the third

And so, Nashville and the birds found a way to converse.

Zay-zay-zay-zoo-zee

Just some birds singin’ in a tree

Tika-tika-swee-chay-chay

Gonna sing all night, sing all day

Cheerup-cheerup-cheerily

Gonna sing far and nearily

Wheet-wheet-wheet-eo

Gonna sing so nice and sweet-eo

Seebit-seebit-see-see-see

Zee-zee-zee-zoo-zee

Chick-chick-chickadee

Nashville thought that if someone heard the birds from outside it would seem, once again, as if a tree were singing. But what would this tree sing about? Perhaps, like most, the tree would sing of the wishes she had trouble putting into words. Maybe the tree dreamed of lifting her roots and dancing. Maybe she dreamed of mossy slippers, and each leaf of her tutu buoying her as she spun in a pirouette. When she finished, she would curtsy to Nashville.

“Thank you,” the tree would say.

“Any time,” he would reply as the other trees fluttered their leaves in applause.

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