Bird Girl

  Bird Girl

  Megan Rose

  Copyright © 2020 Megan Rose

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Art Painter

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  To My Person

  And to all those suffering with a mental disorder that can't see hope on the horizon - remember that nothing lasts forever. The light at the end of the tunnel is worth the harrowing journey.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  L

  acey Harris was a bird.

  She was a swan, a dove, a hummingbird. She was the picture of perfection, a winged sparkle of a person swirling and swimming through the air, floating contently on Cloud Nine. At least that’s how she felt.

  In reality she was more like a confused seagull on a beach smack dab between a French fry and a fried Oreo. Or a pigeon who had just flown into a window.

  Species aside, she was a bird. And that was Lacey’s favorite thing to be. This morning she had woken up with a smile on her face, just as she had the five days before. Armed with the power of unwavering confidence, seemingly endless happiness, and the ability to get tasks done three times as quickly as normal, Lacey had become Bird Girl.

  Her favorite activity as Bird Girl was skipping on the edge of the sidewalk, arms outstretched like wings, chin pointing to the sky, smiling ear-to-ear. Today, as she made her way back from Julio’s Stop Shop, shopping bags hung from her arms and the items in them sloshed around dangerously.

  To add to the risk of this enterprise, Lacey was tossing Skittles into the air and catching them in her mouth. Obviously, this was a choking hazard, but Bird Girl did not fall prey to hazards. She was carefree and dangerously careless.

  Just as she was hitting her stride, her flip-flop got caught in a groove of the sidewalk and before Lacey knew it she was soaring out of her shoe and experiencing real flight. There was a rush of air and a moment of pure bliss followed immediately by the impact of the pavement against her elbow, face, and knee.

  As she landed, the package of Skittles was whipped from her hands by the wind and colorful candies rained down on top of her. Quick-thinker that Lacey was, she looked up and opened her mouth, catching as many of the Skittles in her mouth as she could. It would be a shame to waste them. Plus, when would it ever literally be raining candy again?

  After coughing up a red Skittle that had gone down her windpipe, Lacey looked around. Her lunch was scattered across the street being feasted on by squirrels, and there were feminine products for what Lacey might have categorized as miles, if she hadn’t just taken a five-mile run that morning.Her elbow was bleeding. She was a wounded bird, and then she realized she must have hit her head and was hallucinating, because racing across the street was Ryan Gosling. (She presumed he was there to say “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird” and fly her up to heaven.)

  When he reached her, though, he squatted down and said, “Are you alright?” She poked him before coming to the conclusion that he was a real person. He looked confused. A little more cautiously he said one more time, “Are you alright?”

  Suddenly, Lacey felt less like Bird Girl and more like Walrus Girl, a superhero whose only power was to roll around in her own fat and try not to drown. A wave of embarrassment washed over Lacey like that time she was seven and her skirt flipped up over head in front of her whole class. (The teacher had to find a popsicle to make her stop crying.) The tampons, the pads, the Midol, the candy bars, the probiotic yogurt, the panty liners all littered the street. She was feeling like she could use a popsicle right about now.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” she managed to utter. Then, she jumped as he touched her lip.

  “You got a pretty bad cut here,” he said. “You may need stitches.”

  Lacey hadn’t heard any of that, though, because a myriad of things happened to her all at once. Suddenly, her taste buds turned into grains of sand. At the same time, the bottom of her tongue felt sweaty, like it was nervous. Her stomach churned like that one time she ate a Hot Pocket, and although she knew he was touching her lips, she couldn’t feel his fingers at all.

  He removed his hand and the symptoms vanished. “I think I’ll be fine,” she said. Ryan Gosling Man looked around.

  “I hope that sandwich wasn’t your lunch,” he said.

  “It was.”

  “Well, it’s not anymore.” He gestured to the sandwich that was now being picked apart by birds. All of the squirrels nearby had their cheeks stuffed full of bread. At least they tried to look innocent; the birds looked unapologetic. Her cohorts had turned on her.

  “Let me help you with this stuff,” he said, standing up and offering a hand to help Lacey up.

  “No!” Lacey had never heard anyone actually holler before; she thought that was just a word old people used, but apparently it wasn’t. She had hollered and it had echoed across the empty street. She jumped up without the assist of Ryan Gosling Man’s hand and smiled nervously, blood trickling into her mouth.

  “I mean…No, thank you.” She looked down to see that her sundress was stained with blood. She also realized that she only had one shoe on. Her other flip flop was stuck in the groove of the sidewalk that had caused this whole mess.

  Ryan Gosling Man chuckled and bent down to pick up a product. His hand hovered over what was a supersize pack of sports tampons. He pretended he didn’t see what it was and picked it up anyway. He grabbed an empty grocery bag that was fluttering down the street and put the product straight in the bag. Lacey gathered as many items as she could. Preoccupied with trying to shove them in the bag he was holding open without him seeing what they were, she didn’t realize a lone package of overnight pads still lay on the street.

  "Wings,” Ryan Gosling Man said and laughed nervously as he looked down at them.

  “What?” Was he on to Bird Girl?

  “No, nothing. I just…I never understood how those things could have wings. What, do they fly away?” Again, he laughed, pretending this was a normal conversation for two people who had just met.

  Lacey picked up the package and stuffed it in the bag. “No, it’s for…You know, like when…” His face made it clear that he didn’t actually want to know. “Yeah, they fly away,” she muttered.

  “Okay, so—“

  “Menstruation Celebration,” Lacey blurted.

  “What?”

  Lacey tried to explain what Menstruation Celebration was. She worked at a hair salon, and the girls were together so much of the time they had all glommed on to each other’s cycles. Every second week of the month was “Menstruation Celebration,” in which every female employee would receive a goodie bag filled with celebratory/practical items for the week that was to come. It had been Bird Girl’s idea. Thinking about it now, she seemed to recall some sort o
f hesitation among the rest of the staff, but she had thought it was brilliant.

  “It’s next week. I’m getting a jump on it.” Why had she said that? This Ryan Gosling man didn’t need to know her cycle.

  “Okay, sure,” he said, backing away slowly. As he did so, he slipped on Lacey’s Snapple which, miraculously, hadn’t shattered.

  Lacey rushed over to him. “Are you okay?” He bent backwards a little, cracking his back, and nodded before he picked up her Snapple.

  “Anyway, so what are you doing out here?” Lacey hoped that changing the subject was a more mature choice then grabbing the Snapple and physically running away.

  “Oh, I just moved here,” he said.

  “To Whindry?”

  “To New Jersey.”

  “Oh, where are you from?”

  Mark explained his pilgrimage from Kansas to New Jersey to take over the space that his late uncle had bought on Main Street. He gestured across the street where a temporary sign was up that said Gamble Health and Fitness – Coming Soon.“Oh, I work right across the street,” Lacey said, pointing to the sign that said The Mad Cutter. He looked concerned. “Oh, no it’s not, like, a knife shop or anything, it’s a hair salon. Yeah, I never really liked the name either.”

  “Anyway, thanks!” Lacey finished putting her lunch back in the second plastic bag and made her way to the crack in the sidewalk where her flip flop was stuck. She yanked it hard and it hit her in the face. She turned around and rolled her eyes at herself, putting her flip flop back on.

  “I’m Mark,” Ryan Gosling Man called over to her, apparently trying to hide laughter.

  “Oh. Okay. Um...I’m Lacey!”

  ✽✽✽

  Mark made his way back to his unopened health store and gym trying to hide his smile. He didn’t want that girl to think he was laughing at her; he wasn’t. Usually he wouldn’t have the patience to deal with a grown woman acting like a child, walking on the curb and throwing Skittles in the air, but something about her just made him smile.

  He shook his head at the idea of a “Menstruation Celebration,” but the girl actually seemed to be genuine about all the stupid crap she had been blabbering about. And that was somewhat refreshing.

  Mark liked to think he was pretty blunt – but in a good way. He rarely lied, and when he did it was almost never to spare someone’s feelings. He was a firm believer in “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all” philosophy, which is why he had stayed mostly silent during his interaction with the girl.

  Lately, though, he felt like he was being silent about everything. He was opening a store and gym he didn’t really care about because his uncle had left it to him. He couldn’t just sell the property – Uncle Jerry had been like a father to him and he had been so excited about opening the gym and health store. Mark was trying to honor his great uncle’s wishes and do him proud, but moving to a town he had never been to before to open a store he had no interest in was crushing his soul a little bit.

  He begrudgingly admitted that his interaction with the blonde mess in sandals was the most fun he had had all week. He wouldn’t mind if he ran into her again.

  Checking the clock, Mark flicked the TV on to watch The Price is Right.

  ✽✽✽

  Lacey made her way home that day walking on the sidewalk, like a normal person, carrying only her beautiful “geranium” Kate Spade bag that she had bought with the money she made when she sold her car earlier that week.

  Bird Girl had convinced her that she didn’t need a car in this town – you could walk practically everywhere – and it was good exercise, which was good because there was no gym in this town. Well, not yet.

  Now that had turned back into Walrus Girl after her embarrassing incident, she realized there were a few reasons having a car might be a good idea. What if it was raining? What if it was snowing? What if there was a heat wave? What if she had to go somewhere outside of town? Walrus Girl was always secure knowing that she had a car for any type of emergency that might occur. Now she had nothing.

  She had planned on donating the money she made from selling her car to an Oprah-approved charity, but what had actually happened was there was this dress. It was like something out of a fairytale. The spaghetti straps were sparkly and the back was bare except for the straps that crisscrossed like a corset (except classier), and it was called the LACEY dress. It literally had her name written on it. It must have been a sign. And who even cares about the price tag when one side of it says YOUR NAME? Clearly, it was meant for her. She tried it on and she knew it was destiny.

  Lacey barely glanced at the price tag as she brought the dress up to the counter. Then, the lady at the register very nicely reminded her that she needed shoes to go along with it. And some sort of bag. And a new bra (that turned out to not really be a bra, just sticky stuff on your chest so there’s no chance for a nip slip - not the most comfortable thing in the world, or the prettiest). And a new pair of underwear that wouldn’t give her panty lines and that would match the dress. And of course new makeup to complement the dress.

  And how could she even think about wearing that piece of perfection without a foolproof hair product that would keep her hair shiny and smooth, yet perfectly in place? (Yes she worked at a hair place, but they sold crap. She actually felt bad suggesting people buy some of the items that they had. She was convinced that half of their products were made of mayonnaise and sugar water.)

  As Lacey reached her apartment building, she realized she was tired. Her shoulders were hunched and her eyes were droopy. Thinking about the dress had made her happy, but as she came back to reality and realized she was probably never even going to wear that dress, a mood came over her like a cold shadow on a warm day. She reached her apartment building and walked into the hallway.

  Lacey pushed the door to her unlocked apartment open. A burst of cool air nearly knocked her over as she entered her home. She peeled her sandals off of her feet and tossed them down the hall, pushing the door closed behind her. She made her way into her black and white kitchen and stood under an air vent, spreading her arms out. She had been hoping for a wind like that her whole walk home, but outside it was stagnant.

  The refrigerator was within arm’s reach, and she pulled out a water bottle. She suddenly understood the word “quenched” in a way she never had before, finishing the bottle in about three gulps. Through Lacey’s poor vision, blurred from sweat, the dimly-lit kitchen seemed to meld into one ugly blob of gray.

  Though the kitchen was a blob, the rest of her apartment was more of a defined shape. Like a perfect triangle (equilateral) with razor-sharp edges. It was meticulously organized and decorated. Everything had its place. The floral curtains gave the pale yellow living room a homey feel, and a bright bouquet of (plastic) red and orange flowers adorned the dining room table. She had a whole stash of (plastic) flowers in her linen closet, arranged by color. Monthly, she changed them and tried to match the colors with the season.

  Lacey dragged herself to the coffee table she was so proud of. She had put it together herself. (Of course, it was one of those peel ‘n stick things that you just slap together.) She smiled at her work of art. Seeing that physical monument of her hard work always cheered her up. Dropping her purse down on the table caused it to wobble dangerously and she steadied it with her hand.

  She collapsed on the hand-me-down sofa she had received five years ago when she moved in. Burying her face in the putrid fabric, she decided she would just stay there. It felt like there were weights in her legs, and she couldn’t face going into her bedroom. It was messy. But, worse than that, it had so many windows it was practically made of glass – and there were no curtains.

  Usually, she loved her room (even with the little girl’s princess dresser she had procured from a yard sale and painted to look like it was really nice wood), but she wasn’t in the mood. The afghan that hung over the back of the couch, bright as the sun in the 95 degree heat, had been made for her by her grandmot
her, and she reached up for it to snuggle with. She longed for her pajamas.

  Feeling around for her TV remote, she rolled over and faced her boxy, 90s television set. She pressed the power button a few times but nothing happened. The fact that her apartment and most of her belongings were crappy didn’t usually bother Lacey, but she seemed to be bothered by it tonight. She hurled the remote across the room and flopped around on the couch. She didn’t know why she was so grumpy. She had a lovely evening ahead of her.

  The plan was to order some takeout from This Is Chinese Food (the resident Chinese food place that worked harder on being American than any ethnic restaurant she knew), grab a Snapple peach iced tea from her fridge, curl up on the couch in her pajamas, and watch A Streetcar Named Desire. She had decided recently that she needed more culture in her life, so why not start with a classic movie? It was even supposed to be in black and white, just like her TV sometimes was. Then she would have some of her Ben and Jerry’s and go to bed early – maybe read some Homer before she fell asleep. You know, for culture’s sake.

  Lacey managed to perk herself up enough to get off of the couch and get into her pajamas. She ordered her Chinese food. As she hung up the phone she pushed the Streetcar video into her VCR. This would be perfect. A night of foreign food and culture.

  Thirty minutes later Lacey woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing. She blinked a few times and tried to remember what she had been doing. She swiped her big fuzzy socks from the edge of the couch and shoved them on.

  Lacey heaved open the door and saw a familiar face staring at her. Connor Furbis, the 18-year-old college freshman stood in the hallway of her apartment complex, a greasy bag of Chinese food in his hands. He smiled widely to reveal some leftover cheese ball stuck in his braces.

  Besides that little faux pas, he actually looked pretty good. He wore simple jeans and a T-shirt, and although his hair was slightly reminiscent of that of Chuckie Finster, it was a little more tamed than usual; it looked like he either tried to style it or just slept on it right.