Summer Birdie

H

If you could describe what it was like to come home it would be nostaligic.

The mountainous hill, the houses lining it circling to the top, the lushous tall greenery, the fresh air and then there was home. Your house looked the same as it did eight years ago. There were more flowers now, surrounding the front of the house with such vivid colours and the sweet scent delicately floating in the air. You ring the doorbell, never have you ever been so relieved to hear the chime of a doorbell to sound the way this one did. It was also the same. The door unlocks and the door opens.

"I'm home, mother." You say tears already falling from your face as you gaze upon her being. She was still her. She still had a sparkle in her eyes when she sees you, she still had the same smile with the four dimples in her cheeks. She cups your cheeks and brings you down to her height covering you with kisses, planting them wherever she could as her own tears streamed down her face. It was strange that you were taller than her now but you didn't mind, she was still your mother.

"Welcome home!"

That night your mother had ordered sushi, like she did all those years ago, but this time just enough for the two of you. She had the fridge and cupboard filled with your favourite childhood snacks and treats and your room was ready for use, all clean for when your things arrived from England. It was as if nothing had changed. Even though the two of you had been keeping touch, it was so much different in person. You were able to joke and laugh together and be in each other's company. Through your phone you show her all of your friends, your brother's fiance and all the amazing places in England that you wish to take her to some day. 

You remembered how much you loved her, she was your best friend, and the person that was always there for you, however, you couldn't help but think why she didn't fight harder for you to stay with her? Why she gave up so quickly? You push the thoughts to the back of your mind. Now wasn't the time for negativity.

As it starts to get late, your mother excuses herself first as she had an early shift in the morning. She kisses you on the forehead good night like how she used to when you were younger and heads to bed. You too head up to your bedroom, setting your suitcase down near your old desk, which was too small for you now and begin to unpack your things. In the corner of your eye you notice a small box under your desk. It had your name on it and there was dust covering the top, was this box not delivered to England with you eight years ago?

You open the window to let the dust out and begin to rummage through the old forgotten memories. At first it was nothing more than a few simple toys from old shows you use to watch, like your magical girl brooch that sang the show's transformation music when you opened it, and small gadgets like the walkie talkies your brother and yourself use to play with. Just as you were getting to the bottom of the box, you see it. Your heart jerks and your hands shake as your fingertips touch the leather bound notebook. It was smaller than you remembered it to be.

Nothing written on the front or back cover. 

You unfasten the knot that held the book together, your hands unexplainably shaky making it more difficult to open it. Once you get the knot untied, you hold the front cover of the book, your hands becoming clammy. What is in here that's making me so nervous?

When you brave the pages, your eyes start to water as they absorb the contents of the notebook remembering that summer with Birdie. Your memory of him was blurry but you remember small parts of him and your notebook was proof that he was real! As you flick quicker through the pages something red falls from the book. A red feather. Gently picking up the feather, you feel the softness of it between your fingers. "How nostalgic." You whisper through your happy tears, memories begin to flood back to you. Suddenly, you clutch the feather firmly in your hands at the one memory that scared you the most. The day of the accident.

You remember coming down that hill and the bike's breaks were broken. You went to save him, but he ended up saving you. As you lie on the road and the truck was coming your way, there was a flurry of red feathers pulling you away in the nick of time. Your hands begin to shake as you remember the vehicle. It was that white van...

Realising that you were gripping the feather too tight in your hands, you let go of it and stroke it back to its original fluffy shape. Thankfully you didn't break it. Yawning you acknowledge defeat, and get ready for bed, properly this time.