The Blackbird Season

They were sixteen.

The mall was dying. Its deathly black breath wheezed from somewhere deep inside where the fountain used to run. It sat, mostly drained save for a few inches of water and a bottom coated with pennies, unused in front of Bon-Ton. Somebody had thrown bleach into it just to keep it from growing shit and now the water held a thin kind of skin, almost translucent. As if Lucia ran her finger around it, it would come up in her palm like a moss.

Lucia looked into the black depths of an old Hallmark store, the racks black and dirty, still containing cards. Happy birthday! She rattled the cage and Taylor swatted her arm. An old couple in the food court looked over and the woman shook her head in their direction, her mouth twisted like a lemon.

Taylor bought a lip gloss, glittery and bubble-gum flavored, from Claire’s boutique. The cap was crusted on and they had to run it under hot water from the bathroom to open it.

“We have to get out of Mt. Oanoke one day, Lulu.” Taylor watched out for Lucia in a way no one else did: when they met in second grade, when Taylor gave Lucia her midday snack every day, because Lucia never had one, or split her book-fair money.

Where was Lucia going to go? No, she was firmly planted in Mt. Oanoke, like a root. Her father certainly wasn’t paying for college. Lenny was a druggie. But Lucia had Taylor, always, and sometimes, Taylor’s mom. Her mouth shimmered and she made a kissy pout in Lucia’s direction. “How’s it look?”

“Like someone’ll wanna kiss it.” Lucia kicked an errant rubber ball down the beige hallway that led from the bathroom back to the mall. Taylor shrieked, her voice echoing. Taylor had a ring on every finger and seventeen bangle bracelets on her wrist. When she ran her hand over the tiled wall, they clattered and clanged. “You’ll get out. I won’t. That’s a fact.”

“Oh, I’m a lifer.” Taylor smacked her lips again. “If I wasn’t before, I am now. Burt made sure of that when he left my mom. College is . . .” She flicked her wrist, quick, like she was waving. “Nope. I’m here now. You and me forever, can you handle it, Lulu?”

“What are you talking about? You’re rich as shit.”

“Was, dahling. Was. Have you looked at Ms. Jenny lately? Her highlights are do-it-yourself and her Ann Taylor is at least three seasons old. Maybe five.”

Lucia stared at Taylor, who never talked about her dad. Never talked about the scandal. Never talked about all that missing money, where he’d run to, or who he’d run with. Lucia could hardly breathe, she felt so close to the sleeping beast, too close. Before she could think, Taylor said, “Think they miss us in seventh period?”

Lucia shook her head. Maybe Taylor, they’d miss. Never her. “If you get caught, you’ll be benched for at least one meet. Right?”

“Right. So we won’t get caught.” Taylor didn’t care about track. Taylor’s mom, Jennifer, cared about track. Said it would keep Taylor thin.

It seemed so trite to skip school just to go to the mall. So pathetic. An act of rebellion just because they could, not for any real reason. If they kept doing laps, someone would notice, eventually. Besides, Lucia didn’t have any money and she had to be at the Goodwill soon. Her shift started at four. Her stomach turned, slick, and she shivered.

“Look.” Taylor wandered away, to the Piercing Pagoda kiosk. She took one bright pink nail and spun a display of earrings. The hair-bunned lady inside rolled her eyes. Taylor plucked something from the ring rack and waved it in front of Bun Lady’s eyes rudely. “Yoo-hoo, I wanna buy this?”

She was slow to get to her feet, grumbling, her Woman’s World magazine sliding down her tan polyestered thighs and crumpling on the floor.

“What are you buying?” Lucia asked, her attention diverted toward a couple making out on a bench. The girl straddled the man; he looked at least ten years older and her feet wrapped behind him, her legs between the seat and back slats. Her feet dangled inches from the slimy water, a black flat ballet slipper hanging on precariously to her toes.

“Look, I got you a present.” Taylor produced it with a flourish and dropped to one knee. She held Lucia’s fingertips, gazed up at her like an expectant groom.

“Get the fuck up, now. People are looking.” Lucia whispered, laughing. Taylor slid the ring on Lucia’s pinkie finger. A half-broken heart, a single clasp.

BE FRI

“Say you’ll be my friend forever.” Taylor inched toward her, on her knees, her mouth in a sticky pout. She showed Lucia the other half, stuck on her own pinkie: ST ENDS

“Yes, now get the fuck up.”

Bun Lady grunted as she picked up her magazine and Taylor popped to her feet. “We’re friend-engaged now. Can’t ever take it back.” She tapped her lollipop against her two front teeth and Lucia pretended to gag.

“Shut up.” Taylor leaned close. She smelled like cotton candy and cherry Blow Pop. Lucia’s hair tangled in all the stickiness.

Lucia didn’t say anything, she just let Taylor hug her, her arms long and warm, her breasts up against her bicep. Eventually, Lucia hugged her back.

“We need each other and you know it.” Taylor whispered. “b-e-s-t f-r-i-e-n-d-s.” She waved her pinkie, the fake gold of the broken heart flashing in front of Lucia’s face until Lucia swatted at it.

Taylor flicked off her flip-flops and climbed into the fountain, arms outstretched. She looked up at the skylight and twirled in a circle. She laughed and kicked up the murky water, splashing at her calves. The couple on the bench stopped kissing and stared at her. Bun Lady yelled Hey! from halfway down the mall. She laughed, the light glinting off her glossy mouth, shiny teeth.

“Luuuuuu-luuuuuu.” Taylor spun and spun and spun, her black hair flying out to the sides like a dress. “Luuuuuu-luuuuuuuu.” She spun faster, faster, losing her footing and finding it again, stumbling and righting herself, laughing, until even the Gap clerk came out to see what the commotion was about. That thick, chemical water licked at the bottoms of her shorts; her suntanned thighs glistened.

Everyone watched. And no one tried to stop her.





CHAPTER 16


Nate, Friday, April 3, 2015

Kate Moretti's books