*
Birdie
I mean, I took the hint. Jerimiah just wasn’t that into me.
But as I watch him pick up a paint can and get ready to splash the contents over the mural I’ve been working on for a week, I wonder how I could be this wrong about someone’s character. Maybe the pot smoke at the party went to my head in the most severe case of contact high in history, because the Jerimiah of my memory was a gentle giant, albeit with a dirty streak a mile wide. He wasn’t an asshole vandal.
And yet. Here we are.
We lock eyes in the darkness and he pauses with the paint can in mid-air, his mouth moving in a soundless denial…over what?
I wish I hadn’t snuck out of my dorm to put the finishing touches on my section, thanks to my inability to sleep. I wish I’d just stayed in bed and never found out he was capable of something so mean-spirited.
This is for the best, though, isn’t it? Yes. When Jerimiah didn’t show up at the mural this morning as promised, I had some time to think. This isn’t only my college experience. For the last year, I’ve been living for two. My choices have to take my twin Natalie into consideration. What would she have wanted? What path would she take?
Who would she have chosen to be with if she were still alive?
Not Jerimiah. He wouldn’t have been her type. She would have been dancing in the kitchen around her love interest while he tapped the keg. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to live for both of us. To honor her memory with everything I do—and maybe…maybe I take it too far sometimes, but you don’t just lose a twin and move on. It’s not possible. We were created at the same time, grew into humans side by side, shared thoughts and secrets. For all of our differences, sometimes I think we even shared a brain.
Last night, when I left the party, I was easing into the idea of being selfish with one thing. Him. Jerimiah. He was going to be all for me. And yeah, even considering doing something so opposite of Natalie filled me with guilt, but I was weak. I still am weak for him, even as he prepares to do this awful thing. This awful thing that makes it much easier to walk away. Stay the course. Continue living the only way I know how to do now. Half for me and half for her. It’s the only way I know how to keep her with me.
Jerimiah takes a step in my direction. “Birdie—”
Behind him, paint splatters on the wall. Wow. Direct hit. Almost half the surface is taken up by a wave of white, rivulets running down over the mural, eating up the careful choices of color and hours of work. Grief thickens in my stomach like an overbaked cake when I think of the unlikely friends I’ve made while standing at the wall with a paintbrush in my hand. The endless sketches in my backpack of my portion—a tree trunk that splits into two branches. One for me and one for Natalie. It’s completely gone.
My throat closes. Tears prick behind my eyelids and I start backing away. No way am I going to let Jerimiah see me crying. Not a fucking chance.
I turn and run full speed down the path, the wind roaring in my ears. But not loud enough to drown out the sound of him calling me. His voice is so loud and deep, it’s a wonder the ground isn’t shaking under my pounding boots. I’m not answering him and I’m not going back. I just want to make it to the sanctuary of my dorm and lick my wounds. Did he like me? Or was what happened between me and Jerimiah nothing more than a keg party hookup?
How come I can’t believe that even after I saw him wrecking the mural?
As I crawl into bed, still dressed, the grief and questions in my head are vying so loudly to be heard, they seem to cancel each other out and I fall asleep face down on my pillow, the softness soaked in my tears.
*
When the knock sounds on my dorm room door, it feels like only a minute has passed since I fell asleep. My eyes are gritty from salt and moisture. There’s also a distinct ache in the center of my chest. Just like the night before, I dreamed of Jerimiah. Dreamed of being held against his chest, hearing the reassuring thunder of his heart. It seems my subconscious needs a little more time to catch up with reality.
Another knock jolts me from my thoughts and I climb out of bed, sending my snoring roommate a dirty look. Or maybe I should be grateful she’s a heavy sleeper, since I was free to sob without being discovered last night.