Bird Song by S. L. Naeole Page A

you’re taking things slowly, but what if he doesn’t want to?   What if-”
    I’d had enough.   She was speaking about Robert like he was some hormonally driven teenager.   I wish!
    “Janice, could you stop?   Please?” I interrupted, upset—not at the fact that she was right, but because she was so wholly and unequivocally wrong.   “Robert isn’t the one wanting to rush things.   I am.   When I said that we’re taking things slow, I meant that he’s taking things slow.”   I stared down at the ground and saw the fading mist pull back beneath my bed.   “He won’t even kiss me without me putting up a fight.   Sometimes it feels like he’s allergic to me or something, and he doesn’t want to get a rash.”
    Janice stared at me, stunned by my little revelation.   “You…”
    “Yes, me.   I’m the one who’s pressuring him!   So you see why you have nothing to worry about?”
    She nodded her head slowly, as though any quick and sudden movements would contradict the act itself.   She had seen the disappointment in my eyes, and heard the rejection in my tone; she knew I wasn’t just telling her this to get her off my back.
    “Grace, I…”
    “You don’t need to worry about it, Janice.   You’re concerned for me.   I get it.   I just want you to know that there’s no need to be.”
    I stood up to grab my clothes from off the dresser, a sign that the conversation was, as far as I was concerned, over.   Janice understood and stood up, too.   She walked quietly to the door and turned to face me before leaving.   “Grace, if Robert wants to wait, I wouldn’t doubt it’s because he respects you.   It’s hard to find boys like that anymore…most boys are bundles of hormones wrapped up in pretty packaging.   He’s a miracle, Grace.   I hope you realize that.”
    I watched as she left, closing the door behind her, and wondered whether she knew how right she was.
    She has no clue.
    I leaned back as Robert held me, understanding that I would need him right then.   “She’s right about more than just that.”
    I knew he was smiling.   I didn’t have to see his face to know.   I could feel it in the way he brought me closer to his body, the way his breathing slowed down, the way he rubbed my arms and leaned his cheek against the top of my head.
    “So, what time are we supposed to meet tonight?” I asked, needing the change of subject before I had to admit that he was right, too.
    I have already asked Lark to drop you off at eleven.
    Eleven.   That was more than twelve hours away.   I turned around to face him, knowing that in a few short minutes, he’d be gone.   “I’m going to miss you,” I whispered, and leaned my cheek against his shoulder, knowing that where he’d be going was a dark and twisted part of his life that I couldn’t follow, even though a part of it always followed him home.
    You are my home.   Wherever you are, that’s where I’m meant to be.
    I smiled at the words that filled my thoughts.   Feeling silly, I wiped at eyes that had started to dew up, and pushed away.   “You should get going.”
    He nodded his head and headed towards the window while I watched his back move lithely and surely.   Suddenly he was in front of me again, and his hands were on my face, his mouth on mine.   It was a gentle, almost friendly kiss, but there were things happening between us that I knew would never happen with anyone else, or to anyone else.   This was what miracles were.   A kiss from nowhere, for no reason, that held every promise known to man.
    I love you, Grace Anne Shelley.
    I felt the glossy cover of my eyes finally fall down my face in ribbons of moisture.   “I love you, Robert N’Uriel Bellegarde.”
    And then he was gone.   Taking with him my heart, and my love, because what he now had to do went against everything the lifeless heart in his chest required.   “Come home to me whole,” I whispered as I touched my lips, hoping that this was