Sparrow: Chapters 5–10

I take my seat and begin to pick at the stitching on the arms of the chair. From how frayed it is, I’d say I wasn’t the first to have this idea.

I don’t recognize the song she puts on, but it’s not the hippie stuff I am expecting. It’s a man’s voice, which surprises me for some reason. I figured if she was going to play anyone, it would be Enya or something, something soothing and therapisty.

When I get home from therapy, I see an extra pair of shoes by the coatrack downstairs and I know Aunt Joan must be visiting. The blare of video games tells me that my cousin, Curtis, is here too.

I walk by the family room and see him completely obsessed with shooting something in some gross Shoot Lots of People game he loves.

I throw a couch pillow at him, make him lose a round of artillery or something.

I stop at the swing door between the dining room and the kitchen. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I haven’t heard Mom’s voice in normal conversation for so long I can’t help it.

It’s muffled but it doesn’t take much to figure out the topic of conversation.

He scrawled his name and stuffed the gift card inside.

“A little bird mentioned that you’d prefer to sit here.” Usually bird puns off my name are irritating, but it’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“A little bird mentioned that you’d prefer to sit here.” Usually bird puns off my name are irritating, but it’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“I’ll put some on. Meanwhile, I want you to take a look in that notebook. Write something if it strikes your fancy.”

Eventually, a great crested flycatcher came. It landed right next to me on the grass.

I was afraid Mrs. Robbins was going to kick me out of last-period science when I woke up with a start in the middle of one of her fifteen-minute lectures about why it is of utmost importance that we memorize the periodic table, how it’s about becoming disciplined adults, how we’ll never get jobs if we can’t manage a simple task such as this.

“So, how are you?” she asks, crossing her sneakers as she settles into her chair.
“Tired,” I mumble, suppressing a yawn.

“Ha. Yes, that’s very true. I could sit here and meditate, I guess, beat my next level on Candy Crush. But I think I’d rather talk to you.”

But telling it this way, not like some family joke that makes me scowl and pretend I’m not related to them, I feel like I’m right back in that minute.

“How did that feel?”
I shoot her a look. “What a very therapisty question.”
“Sorry, occupational hazard. But seriously, how did it feel to be hidden there and have her look for you?”

I just go to my stall, put my feet up so no one can see me, and take out my sandwich. It’s not great, I guess, but it’s better than the cafeteria with its lights and noise and human degradation.

After lunch, Mr. Rothman drones on about the Silk Road.

George from downstairs has already brought out my hammock.

“What?” She’s expectant, even hopeful. Maybe I’ll finally give her the answer she’s been waiting months to hear.

I have to find the teenage angst within me to push my stool away and storm upstairs.

The best part was that my cousin, Curtis, gave me another iTunes gift card that I want to use to listen to the music we listen to in therapy. The worst part is contemplating saying that sentence out loud.

When Mr. Phillips turns his full, earnest attention to Brie, who is talking about her love for tempeh and how excited she is to work her parents’ shift at the food co-op, Monique makes the she’s-so-crazy sign, twirling her finger in a circle by her head, looking at Sasha and pointing at me.

After our mandatory bonding, as we are filing out for lunch, Mr. Phillips stops me.

I stay curled in a ball until the sun sets. I fall asleep, I guess, but fall isn’t really the word. I plummet.

I feel dread climbing its way up my body.

She walks me back to my room and makes my bed for me, shaking out the crumpled sheets and smoothing the duvet.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine,” I say, sounding lifeless even to my own ears. I can’t even reassure myself.

Soon the smell of macaroni and cheese wafts up to me and carries me downstairs by the nose.