Cape Town

You Can Breathe Now

-Cali-

My mother always said that she wished she could be a bird. She wished that she could fly away from anything or anyone at a moment's notice. She wished that she could take a long trip out west without her family; without anyone. Just to be with herself. Just the blue sky, her thoughts, and the sound of her wings beating the air. But she wasn't a bird that belonged to the breeze. She was Elvira Hafwen of Stillwater Crossing, Indiana. She belonged to my father, Darrel Hafwen, and she hated every second of it. She hated every second of Midwestern life. All she wanted was the desert or palm trees. That's how I came about my first name and my nickname. California Jean Hafwen, also known as Birdy. My name embodied everything that she had wanted but had never been able to have. That was until the accident, when she got her fifteen fleeting seconds of the freedom she had longed to taste for decades. But the thing about freedom is that it always has to come to an end. There's always a cage out there somewhere, just waiting to trap those feathery, carefree birds.

But I was never like my mother had been when she was raising me. I had never wanted to be a bird, unless I was a flightless bird that stayed in one place. I had just wanted a family, a stable environment. I had wanted those warm feelings I got when I stayed over for dinner at my friend's houses. I had wanted that faith that they shared as they bowed their heads to say grace. My mother had cursed me. She had given me the curse of a bird. She gave me the curse of being flighty. She cursed me with leaving home once the season passes. She gave me the life of a traveler who had absolutely no desire to ever leave their county lines at all.

I'd known it for years, it just hits me all over again when I least expect it. Today, December 30, it was triggered by the fact of someone else's mother being just as horrible as mine had been. So I called him up, willing to pay that long distance phone bill if I could just hear his voice. Whenever we spoke on the phone, I'd shut my eyes and pretend that I was back on the beach. My eyes were just closed and he was right next to me, the beach stretching out around us. We weren't separated by an ocean, only by a few inches of sand. He picked up, just like he always did. But these days his voice didn't seem as welcoming compared to the years before. It was frustrated and annoyed, but familiar. Sometimes I thought he held the capability to feel trapped just like my mother had. Maybe I was wrong, but once you're raised by a bird, you can't help but think that everyone else in your life is going to fly away too.

"Cali?" I could hear the sounds of people around him.

"Isn't it like three a.m. where you're at? Where are you?"

"I'm out." He replied stiffly. I didn't say anything right away. I leaned back in my desk chair, waiting for him to make the next move. "What's up?"

"You sound too American when you say that."

"I thought you liked it when I sound American."

"Only when you're in America and you don't seem too foreign."

"England isn't China, love." He sighed. "We speak the same language, after all."

"Sometimes I wonder about that."

"What can I help you with?"

I paused again, standing up and walking over to the window. I looked out of it. An endless cornfield stretched out into the night. A sea of corn instead of a sea of salt water. "She's got a boyfriend." I almost laughed at how ridiculous I sounded. Of course she had a boyfriend. She was beautiful and lively. At thirteen, every girl's story starts with a pair of charming lips and lingering eyes.

"A boyfriend?" He asked. I could almost see him running a hand through his caramel colored hair. "How long have they been together?"

"Ten days." I stated simply and he laughed.