swampy mouth, he’s barely got any coffin liquor left, but from long force of habit. “Hoos, hah. They started packing up and running away from here long before you were born—before Teresa was born, but she still sees ’em everywhere. Behind every tree.” He pulled a jay from its hiding place in a bush, snapped it dead in his fingers and crunched it down feathers and all, not faltering a step. “Gives Billy and them something to think about, though, other than dethroning her.”
This was true. Billy and Ben never said no to watch duty, always shouting about how if they did find a goddamned hoo then by God they’d make it sorry (unless, like always, they’re so lazy or stuffed full of deer they can’t be bothered). I didn’t mind either; really, it got me away from her. And I liked trees and riverbanks now, in a way I never had when I was alive; I’d wanted to save all the animals, but nature bored the piss out of me. This way was better.
“You still gotta wonder where she goes, when she takes off.” I rubbed my shoulder socket against some tree bark, getting in a good scratch. “I don’t see what’s so special and secret about—”
“You ever miss your folks?”
Florian loved to do this, pretend he was listening and then interrupt with some dispatch from Pluto—like I said, he was old—but the question made me tense up. “Why’re you asking now?”
“’Cause I wondered, that’s why. Do you miss your folks?”
I thought about the first few weeks after joining the Flies, how I would lie awake mornings waiting to hear their brain-sounds getting closer—those nervous strings, furious drums. Waiting for them to find the gang and get joined up too. But they never did. No other gang I knew of either. They just disappeared. It happens. Would definitely have happened to that Renee, if Teresa hadn’t dragged her back. But it didn’t matter; we always pretended we’d never had any other family. “No point,” I said. “Gone’s gone.”
Florian watched me, one sunken eye moving independently of the other. “Gone may be gone, but that don’t make gone fun. Just asking.”
“And I just answered, so can you find a new useless question?”
He shrugged and pushed his walking stick—the branch Joe had torn away in his fall—against the softening ground as we headed forward. The birds twittered and screeched overhead in two-note complaints, rising to a roar of mass discontent as the river snaked through a clearing and past a wall of oaks; this was a migration stop-off, and twice every year that sea of bird sound up high signaled autumn turning to winter, then winter to spring. We paused to listen.
Fighting, they were always fighting. Fighting to the death, the last I ever saw them. That’s all I really keep with me about my parents. They must’ve loved me, I suppose. I don’t know. When I needed help with a science project, or a ride somewhere, or someone to yell back on my behalf, I went to my brother, Jim. Lisa, my sister, for everything else. I don’t blame them for clearing out like they did—I was counting the hours myself—and I could call them whenever I wanted. And Lisa, whose college was closer, would come visit sometimes just to get me out of the house, but it just got worse and worse after they were gone.
“I still miss my children,” Florian murmured, as the birds squawked and cried. “Sometimes. Two daughters and a son. Grandkiddies. Don’t know what became of them. If they ever tunneled up too.”
And even if they did they might just turn their backs on you for half a rabbit, old man, so what the hell do you want from me? They were always like that, since I could remember, my mom and dad. “Ma” and “pa,” I guess Florian would say. I wonder why people say “mom” and “dad” now, instead. Language evolves, my English teacher said. He’d intone it all solemn like a Bible verse, lann-guaaage evolllves, but never explain how or why it did. Always shouting. Always
This was true. Billy and Ben never said no to watch duty, always shouting about how if they did find a goddamned hoo then by God they’d make it sorry (unless, like always, they’re so lazy or stuffed full of deer they can’t be bothered). I didn’t mind either; really, it got me away from her. And I liked trees and riverbanks now, in a way I never had when I was alive; I’d wanted to save all the animals, but nature bored the piss out of me. This way was better.
“You still gotta wonder where she goes, when she takes off.” I rubbed my shoulder socket against some tree bark, getting in a good scratch. “I don’t see what’s so special and secret about—”
“You ever miss your folks?”
Florian loved to do this, pretend he was listening and then interrupt with some dispatch from Pluto—like I said, he was old—but the question made me tense up. “Why’re you asking now?”
“’Cause I wondered, that’s why. Do you miss your folks?”
I thought about the first few weeks after joining the Flies, how I would lie awake mornings waiting to hear their brain-sounds getting closer—those nervous strings, furious drums. Waiting for them to find the gang and get joined up too. But they never did. No other gang I knew of either. They just disappeared. It happens. Would definitely have happened to that Renee, if Teresa hadn’t dragged her back. But it didn’t matter; we always pretended we’d never had any other family. “No point,” I said. “Gone’s gone.”
Florian watched me, one sunken eye moving independently of the other. “Gone may be gone, but that don’t make gone fun. Just asking.”
“And I just answered, so can you find a new useless question?”
He shrugged and pushed his walking stick—the branch Joe had torn away in his fall—against the softening ground as we headed forward. The birds twittered and screeched overhead in two-note complaints, rising to a roar of mass discontent as the river snaked through a clearing and past a wall of oaks; this was a migration stop-off, and twice every year that sea of bird sound up high signaled autumn turning to winter, then winter to spring. We paused to listen.
Fighting, they were always fighting. Fighting to the death, the last I ever saw them. That’s all I really keep with me about my parents. They must’ve loved me, I suppose. I don’t know. When I needed help with a science project, or a ride somewhere, or someone to yell back on my behalf, I went to my brother, Jim. Lisa, my sister, for everything else. I don’t blame them for clearing out like they did—I was counting the hours myself—and I could call them whenever I wanted. And Lisa, whose college was closer, would come visit sometimes just to get me out of the house, but it just got worse and worse after they were gone.
“I still miss my children,” Florian murmured, as the birds squawked and cried. “Sometimes. Two daughters and a son. Grandkiddies. Don’t know what became of them. If they ever tunneled up too.”
And even if they did they might just turn their backs on you for half a rabbit, old man, so what the hell do you want from me? They were always like that, since I could remember, my mom and dad. “Ma” and “pa,” I guess Florian would say. I wonder why people say “mom” and “dad” now, instead. Language evolves, my English teacher said. He’d intone it all solemn like a Bible verse, lann-guaaage evolllves, but never explain how or why it did. Always shouting. Always
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