bluebird {h.s. - au}

.05

Auntie Ida decided, rather negotiably, that I would help Harry with the chores for the first few weeks of doing chores. I begrudgingly agreed, but mostly because I was sick of having Harry harass me day and night. I could show this boy that I wasn’t afraid of a little work.

No matter if that was a lie or not.

Harry burst into laughter when I came out, onto the porch, with Auntie Ida’s overalls on, and a kerchief to pull my hair away from my face. I frowned, holding back tears. Why, Mother? Of all the places you could’ve chosen? Auntie Ida was much more sympathetic, she brushed some cow manure off the pocket of the jean material and smiled at me. “Well, Ella, really. It’s not that bad. Honestly.”

Harry guffawed loudly. “You look, well, different.”

Head held high, I followed Harry into the stable, holding back tears and biting my tongue for fear I’d cry. He showed me how to feed the horses, saying that would be my job from now on.

“Next is chickens,” he said with a slight snort. “I can’t wait to see you do this.”

I stomped behind him and followed him into the chicken coop. There were about a dozen- maybe a few more- chickens, all strutting around. My skin crawled. I detested chickens, ever since I was six and I had seen one eaten to death by its partner. But Harry was watching me, and I approached the prettiest one, determined to make him see I was unafraid. “Good chicken,” I cooed, and Harry raised an eyebrow. I reached a hand forward to pet it. The chicken- much more colorful and beautiful than the rest, looked at me for a moment, ruffled its feathers, gave a loud cry, and flew into my face.

A giant kerfuffle occurred. Feather were everywhere. I was crying, Harry was laughing whilst trying to pry the chicken  from my face, and in general, all the chickens were enjoying the intense rivalry situation inside the small, smelly chicken house. They all cawed and cackled while I sputtered and spitted half dead feathers from inside my mouth. “I can’t believe you actually just tried to pet a rooster!” Harry shouted.

That was it. I grabbed the pail of eggs Harry had collected and stomped out of the hen house. “Ella!” Harry called after me, but I didn’t stop. “Ella!”

I half ran, half limped back to the house until halfway there, when Harry intercepted me. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said softly, but I could tell he was biting back a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, that was the first time I’ve ever seen any girl- no, anyone, try to pet a rooster.”

Anger boiled in my heart. Finally, everything I had been shoving underneath the carpet came up just as Auntie Ida came out, onto the porch. “Ella? What happened, dear? You look awful!”

Tears came spilling onto my cheek, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “So. She does have emotions.”

That did it. I reached up and slapped him. The sound echoed across the yard, ricocheted to the barn. “You know what, Mr. Styles?” I sneered. “I’ve had it with you! Of course I have emotions! Of course I’m going to do utterly stupid things like pet chickens or wear a frilly gown to dinner.” I blubbered through my tears, Harry standing shock still. His cheek was red from my hand. “And I’m sorry! I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for my mother.” My anger bubbled to a simmer, and I stomped up the porch and wiped my tears away. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you.”

Auntie Ida looked stunned, Harry hurt. My heart burst as I walked past them. Why did I always push them away? I had no idea. 

I decided, as I collapsed onto my bedroom floor, that I had- in that moment, a choice to make. Waiting for life to get better wasn't helping anyone. Trying to learn how to forget Father, or even Mother, wasn't helping anyone either. But making the choice- right now, in this very instant, would probably hurt the most. 

Because moving on was life, but it was survival. You know? The birds only fly south because they will die if they do not. The trees only shed their leaves- their memories, their very livelihood because it is time for those leaves to help something else. Everything in nature that moves on has to- there is no paths for creation to wander down and ruin itself upon. Nature has a set course.

I did not.

Which brought myself, vaguely, back to the point of my choice. To go on, or to stay brooding over the life I had once lived. Yet, who can really say how decisions are made, how emotions change, how ideas arise? We talk about inspiration; about a bolt of lightnng from a clear sky, but perhaps everything is just as simple and just as infinitely complex as the processes that make a particular leaf fall at a particular moment. That point has been reached, that's all. It has to happen, and it does happen. In the space between yes and no, there is a lifetime. It’s the difference between the path you walk and one you leave behind; it’s the gap between who you thought you could be and who you really are; it’s the legroom for the lies you will tell yourself in the future. In that space of time- the infinite, breathing moment of a single second, there was a chasm of differences between who I had been for years, and who I had yet to be.

Perhaps it was the rooster. Perhaps it was the too-large overalls. Perhaps it was even Harry himself. But in the next moment, I made my choice. I crossed my chasm. If this was to be my life, then so be it, and if I was going to be miserable, I may as well die trying.