birdie

1. quondam: former; what once was

                                                  quondam: adjective; former, what once was.

      As the storm raged on outside, the sounds of children giggling echoed throughout the old woman's home. She smiled softly, lines framing years of smiles, as she watched over her grandchildren playing. Sipping idly at her coffee, and rocking in her old, wooden rocking chair, she beckoned the children to come sit close.

  "Come now," She said, calling to them. The children filed in and sat at her feet, holding toys, stuffed animals, books, and phones.

  "Gram, are you gonna tell us another story?" One of her grandchildren asked, eyes wide.

  The old woman smiled, and nodded in lieu of answer. She looked out over the kids, four in total, and how different they were. For a moment, she studied her grandchildren, and their vastly different appearances. Darla, with her big brown eyes and blonde hair; Percy, with his curly brown hair and dark eyes; Leah, with her swath of red hair and blue eyes; and David, with his dark hair and green eyes. Each were as different as could be, yet they all sat before her, almost a testament to faith.

  "Life, it's funny. It never works out quite the way you planned. There are days that seem completely useless. Days you spend at home, at the grocery store, at school; they don't seem important in the moment. It's those small details, however, that make up our stories," she reflected.

  "I was about 16, not quite 17 yet, when I learned how much you need to love those small days," She continued bitterly, "when I was younger, storms used to terrify me. I remember that night so clearly, it feels as if I'm there again, just thinking about it. It was one of the awful storms, the kind that shakes the house, that makes the trees creak and croon. My phone, well, I heard the buzz on the nightstand."

  "Who was it, Gram," Darla asked, peeking curiously over the edge of the book she'd been reading.

  "My dearest August. Before me, of course, he'd fallen in love with a girl, and they'd ended on terrible terms," the old woman mused. She smiled at Darla, who pulled her glasses further up, and closed the book to listen closer.

  "At this point, August and I had been broken up. He'd texted me, just talking about a situation, and of course I was concerned. Sometimes you love people so fully, so wholly that the love outweighs all the pain," she continued.

  Percy looked up from his phone, a brow quirked, as he asked, "But, Gram, no offense, why?"

  She chuckled at his blunt question, and responded, "Life is funny. We may not understand it's sense of humor in the moment, but looking back? You learn to laugh along too... August and I, we were different. In that moment, however, I believed we were the same. In that moment, he was hurting, and I picked up that phone and called him. My reasons to this day, I'm still not sure of. I assume I was so used to being the one hurting that I finally wanted to be the one people leaned on."

  By this point, she'd captivated all her grandchildren's attention, as they stared expectantly for her to continue.

  "And?" Leah and David asked, in unison. They looked at Percy and Darla, who also looked expectant.

  "Well, he answered my phone call," she laughed, "I loved him then, like the moment I first loved him."

  She closed her eyes, and relived the scene she'd played over millions of times.

  There she sat, in memory, many years younger, back to her door in her childhood bedroom. The baby pink phone cradled next to her ear was the only noise other than the storm that night.

  "I don't understand Birdie, I don't get why Emily hates me. I... I just don't get it," August said, sounding thoroughly defeated.

  "I mean-" Birdie started.

  "I've dealt with so much recently. Like yesterday was my 19th birthday, and she has to pull this? It's an utter load of bull. All I do is help, help, help. I do it because I want to, don't get me wrong. But none of you, not a single one of you know just how much I do for you," August interrupted.

  "August, sweetheart, I get it. You're there a whole bunch, especially when you don't even have to be. I appreciate it, I really do. At least, I've tried to," she said.

  August made a noise of disagreement, "No. No, you really don't. You don't 'get it,' Birdie. Not a single person gets it, gets me. You act like you do-" his voice broke.

  "I don't have to understand, August," Birdie choked out, "I never have to understand you. You're logic, facts, thinking things through. I'm emotion, I'm empathy, and dammit, August, when you do feel, I feel it too. I'm feeling what you feel, and it's killing me... It's killing me because... well, because I still love you."

  August began to speak, but Birdie cut him off, saying, "I love you, and I care about you so much. I can't stand the thought of you hurting. It breaks my heart into pieces. I know I've messed up, Auggie. That's why we aren't together anymore."

  "Birdie, you know damn well that's not why we aren't together. I told you it wasn't you," he said.

  Birdie took a deep breath, and pulled the pillow she'd strewn on the floor earlier closer to her  chest. "I know, I'm still sorry, Auggie. I'm sorry for what I said when I was upset, I speak before thinking, I lead with my emotions."

  "I know that, you just-"

  "But I will not apologize for how I felt when I said those words. I won't apologize for how you made me feel. I'm selfish, I'm stupid, and there's a million things we could have done differently. There's a million things you and Emily could have done differently, there's an infinite amount of different paths we could've gone down. As much as I hope and pray I can undo all the hurt that's happened to you, I can't. And for that, August, I'm sorry."

  Birdie brushed the stray tears rolling down her cheek out of her way. She was bearing her heart, finally speaking directly how she felt.

  "You don't even know why you're sorry. You don't think about anyone but yourself. When someone comes to you about their problems, you just talk about yours, and how you got through them. That's not advice, that's self-centered. That's selfish," August spat, clearly mad at Birdie.

  Birdie's finger hovered over the little red button on screen that'd end the call, end the suffering she was forcing herself through. Instead, she simply breathed out a defeated, "Okay."

  Birdie's once upright shoulders now held a weight, a defeat she wasn't prepared for. The tears flowed down her cheeks, pooling on her collarbones, as she tried to keep her breath even.

  "I-I... I didn't mean to sound like an ass. Someone needed to tell you, Birdie. It came out wrong because I'm upset," August sighed out, sounding thoroughly insincere.

  "Thank you," Birdie said, cooly.

  "All us guys, we love you, you know that, right, kid?"

  "I love you all too."

  "Look, Birdie, I gotta go, take care of yourself."

  As the phone let out a beep to signify that the call had ended, Birdie let out the sob she'd been holding back. She bustled over to the old, white desk in the corner of her room, and opened the top drawer. The delicate paper held a scrawl, a letter from August. She tore it into pieces, as the tears glinted in the dark light.

  Birdie opened her eyes again, grandchildren and her living room in the place where her memory stood.

  "That night August taught me the most important lesson. I learned that sometimes, as much as you love someone, you have to let them go. I do still love him, but in a much different way. The love you have for an old pair of socks, you know? Worn, comfortable," She explained.

  "Can we hear another story?" Darla asked.

  "Well, this one time..."