Mikey and the Chickadee

Chapter 11 - Part 1

Mikey broke away from me with apparent reluctance, canceled his alarm and then stood haphazardly on the bed in order to crank closed the window near the ceiling. "Damn, it's cold," he said. "This should not have been open all night."

The sight generated above me was magnificent; I looked away out of a strange new estimation, perhaps tied with our recent revision in intimate dealings.

He sat, throwing himself quickly back under the covers. A small separation between our bodies now made its return; I did not resent it, nor did I expressly welcome it back.

He kicked his left foot out once, toes skimming the side of my calf, adjusted his pillow and tilted his head toward me. "What's going on at work today?"

I closed my eyes briefly and said, "I have to confirm that I'm moving today. For my job."

"What? So soon?"

"Well, the move is only about three weeks away. They need to know so they can make all the arrangements. They're the ones paying for it, after all."

"I meant to ask—are they paying for your housing, too?"

"There's a stipend for that, but it's pretty small. They said they'd cover the moving costs, though."

"Okay," he said. He picked up his phone, fiddled back and forth between home screens and set it back down on his nightstand. "What happens if you change your mind after today?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "I know it would be very frowned upon. And then obviously I'm out of a job."

"Right. Gotta take care of yourself. Three weeks. Okay." He shifted his weight restlessly and seemed to puzzle through something, but said nothing else on the subject.

We chatted back and forth for the next few minutes about nothing in particular. Mikey offered for me to shower before him. The bathtub, which I supposed to be original, sat proudly on stubby legs and was adorned with a green curtain that hung from an elongated chrome hoop, completing one full lap around its rim.

As I waited for him to finish showering, I flipped through the handful of drawings sitting atop his desk, an act which by now felt entirely permissible. He had sketched at least two more birds (sparrows, or something) and a mid-rise building, about a century old in appearance, which I did not recognize.

Once Mikey had rejoined me I asked him about it. "Where is that building? The one you drew, I mean."

He stood in front of his dresser, buttoning a white shirt over a tight cotton undershirt. "It's in downtown Seattle, right along the I-5," he said. "It kind of stood out to me on the drive, so I looked it up later."

"Oh. I see. It's a great drawing."

He smiled. "Breakfast?"

There wasn't much time left over, so we quickly downed some cereal and left the dishes in the sink. I grabbed my coat off the rack as he fastened the gleaming black buttons of his peacoat. Around his neck he cinched a checkered tie.

"You look handsome in that," I said.

"No compliments," he said. "You're fueling my ego."

Mikey seemed content to be by my side as we stepped down to the street, although we said little to each other during this time, a reticence that persisted as we waited together for the bus. I grappled with the raw facts this morning—to be clear: fact. Calculations based on my current trajectory would land me in Fern Hill at the beginning of next month. At some point I had come to understand that I would, with certainty, confirm my willingness to move. No longer did this register as a decision, nor, for that matter, any other sort of enigma with more than one possible outcome. Maybe I had always known that I would go. It was just that this day in March held, trivially, the moment in which it all became official.