Show Me the Stars

Apodis

Apodis: Bird of Paradise

When I woke the next day, I expected to see Peter waiting by the windowsill staring off into the rising sun. After I had rubbed my eyes and cleared them of dirt encrusted in the corners, I looked over at where he should have been, but saw nothing. I scanned my eyes across the room but failed to find a trace of him. 

I sat myself up in the bed and reached for the glass of water by my bedside. The liquid was the same temperature as the room so it did little to wake me up from my lingering slumber. As the seconds ticked by, I continued to scan my eyes across the room, searching for a sign of him. I knew that he was not there, but I was desperate for someone to talk to. No, not just someone. Him.

You see, I was going to tell him. The truth , I mean. What truly happened that night when I fell off of the bridge. At least, what I believed to have been the truth. It had come to me in a dream for many nights in a row and each time it felt as if I were truly plunging to my death. With each passing night, my visions had become more vivid and the sounds more audible. The night before had been the first time I heard them scream.

"Hello?"

The voice was timid, yet burly. It sounded light as air but had a bite to it. I wait for the nurse to come inside, but they remained in the hall.

"Hello?" they asked again.

"You can come inside," I said.

A second passed by until they summoned the courage to enter the depths of my dungeon. When they became visible, I saw immediately that they were not a nurse. A part of my stomach started to flutter when I looked into the two pools of dark blue.

"Hello Anthony."

He smiled and nodded his head. "Pleasure to meet you...I mean how are you doing. Sorry, god." He shook his head, centered himself and stuck out his right hand towards me. "Hello, Edith."

I laughed and while his cheeks grew pink. I gestured to the part of my bed that my legs had not inhabited and told him he could sit there. "What brings you here?" I asked.

"You, actually," he said with a shy smile. "I wanted to show you more of my sketches. I mean, if it's alright with you. Not many ever want to see my sketches, but you already know that because I told you yesterday, and now I'm talking too much am I?"

We both began to laugh, and I fell back onto my mountain of pillows. He stayed sitting on the bed's edge and gave his body a shake. 

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm not usually this nervous."

"It's alright," I replied. "I haven't laughed this much in some time. And of course I'll see your sketches."

"Great," he said excitedly as he reached into the pocket of his large brown coat and pulled out his notebook. I sat myself back up and crossed my legs to have both a better view and provide him with more space to sit. 

"This was the first one I drew in here," he said as he opened up to the first page and showed me a sketch of a woman lying across a bench. Her body was draped in fabric, and she had the mystery and awe of a Greek muse. 

"This is beautiful," I said. 

"Thanks. This was my wife."

I wanted to ask him about the use of was in his sentence, but I knew it was none of my business to pry into. I observed his body language and all the signs pointed to a sort of tragedy that had occurred or perhaps a messy divorce. Either way, I knew whatever he was carrying was his business, so I gave his arm a squeeze as a sign of my understanding.