Miey and the Chicadee

The sky illuminated in a colorless haze, though the sun was not yet up. I stood still in the middle of the room, where the coffee table had been, just staring at the couch for a couple of minutes. Something settled in one of the moving boxes and my feet left the floor. I sighed, bit my lip and went over to the right side of the white mammoth, gripped underneath its bottom edge, lifted it a few inches and set it back down on its stubby metal legs. My eyes swept the room. I swiveled around, scanning wide-open kitchen cabinets, all empty. Thank god there was still cleaning left to do.

By eleven, basically everything was done. My appetite soared, so I put on a jacket and left. It was about time, too, as the now-bare walls of my apartment had begun closing in on me. Down at the corner I ordered banh mi to dine in and waited longer than usual in a small booth by the window as it was prepared. My phone vibrated an inch across the table. I did not recognize the number and held my breath as I opened the text.

"Hello Wyatt. This is Sophie. I got your number from Mikey's phone. I'm aware that it's not my place to be sending you this, but I just don't care anymore. Mikey is destroyed right now. I understand that you have already decided to go, but don't let your doubt of his commitment be the reason. Please let it be anything else. Just not that. No matter what was said, you should know that he cares very deeply for you. We're at work right now and I know he would never forgive me if he found out what I've done. Don't reply to this message. Hope to see you again sometime."

I put my phone in my pocket. My order was announced so I went to the counter, retrieved it and returned to the booth to eat. Just outside a woman stood on the sidewalk, guiding someone who reversed a large car incrementally into a narrow parking space. She put up her hand for the driver to stop but the car continued to roll back, so she shouted and waved her arms until it halted suddenly, just an inch or two from a metal post.

This text offended my present sensibilities. Fearful of the conclusion at which I would certainly arrive and variety of conceivable subsequent actions, I had suspended any estimation of Mikey's wellbeing (or lack thereof) so much that I became aware of my own mastery of the task. This text offered me more than conclusion; it was confirmation and I ingested it as such, along with my sandwich, which I ate now with great effort as a practical means to sustenance, and no longer to satisfy any actual hunger.

With nothing left to do at the apartment and no wish to return there, I stood in the parking lot ten minutes later and considered my options. There were many, it occurred to me suddenly and with a fantastic feeling of immensity. It struck me that my behavior must become different from how it had recently been. It seemed as good an idea as anything else to walk to a nearby branch of the public library, sit down at a terminal and type a third chapter to the story.

I labored over it for the entire rest of the day. I wrote slowly and carefully, occasionally turning to my phone and scrolling through the previous two chapters for reference. I was grateful for the library's generous hours of operation as it became dark and a fourth digit now prepended the time at the top of the screen. I made up my mind that I was finished not long after and left for home, reacquainting myself with the charms of the nighttime by virtue of its ambassador, the warm, familiar and abiding wind which both dispatched through and inspired the trees, and came to brush itself against my hands and lips.

I sat at home, finishing off a few leftovers from the refrigerator, content with my use of the day. Before bed I double-checked that everything was ready for my parents' arrival in the morning, then looked over what I had written, correcting a fair number of objective errors but otherwise not interested in changing it. If it still felt like the right thing to do, I decided, I would send it to Mikey the next morning.

I slept deeply and woke up without much time to spare before my parents were supposed to show up, although I was all but certain they would be late.

"I hope you enjoy the third chapter, if you still want to read it," I texted Mikey. "I want to meet with you. If that's okay with you, please let me know. It will have to be in the evening or tomorrow because my parents are helping me pack today." I attached the file and then sent it.

The Acura droned noisily up the hill and my mom emerged alone from it. Her footsteps pounded their way up the stairwell, impossibly energized. "Morning, sweetie," she said after I let her in. "I can take off my shoes if you like, or is that no longer a thing?"

"Just leave them on," I told her. "I think Dad and I will be able to get the couch. I want it out of the way. You can guide us down."

"He's on his way. I had to use a pry bar to get him out of bed this morning." She laughed, and then stared at me for a moment. "Is something on your mind?"

I looked at her. "Didn't have breakfast. Hungry, I guess." I drew the final bagel from a clear bag by the sink and began to gnaw at its cold, unsliced flesh.

"Did you talk to Mikey?"

"Sort of."

She paused. "Okay, well that's good." It was clear she was not satisfied with my answer.

"I sent him a text."

"When? Did he reply?"

"No. It was only half an hour ago. And I wasn't really asking for a response."

"I bet he'll answer you anyway," she said, glancing around the room. "Christ, Wyatt, I should have you come clean up the house. Did you do all of this yourself?"

"Marie came by the other night," I said.

"You've hardly left anything for us."

A deep rumbling sound buzzed through the front window.

"That'll be your dad with the pickup. He put the trailer on it last night. I think we'll get everything in. Stephanie said she'd come by later, but I'm not sure there will be anything left."

My dad showed up at the door not long after and the three of us began the long journey downward with the couch, resting on each landing, giggling endlessly at the array of absurd maneuvers necessitated by the awkward confines of the stairwell.

After moving the bed, coffee table and drop-leaf table, as well as several of the boxes, my dad suggested that we break for lunch. We drove back to the house and made sandwiches. I knew I had been brought in for questioning once they finished arranging themselves across from me at the table in the dining room. I looked from one of them to the other with a mouth full of deli turkey.

"You're absolutely sure about this move, sweetie?" asked my mom.

I continued to chew. "I'm as sure as I'll ever be."

My dad cleared his throat, peered into his sandwich and then closed it again. "Wyatt, if you were really trying to convince someone, I think you would put it differently than that."

"I guess I'm not trying to convince anybody." I swallowed the bite. "I mean, come on, both of you know I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. I've made a decision but honestly I have no clue whether it was built on the hard rock or the sand-isn't that how you always said it, Mom?"

"Not the sand," she corrected. "The wet marshes. And Fitzgerald said it first-I took it from him."

"Thank you, yeah, the wet marshes. Look, I've fallen in love with him. That's my fault. It was bad timing. If it weren't for him, I'd be going. That's why part of me still thinks I should go."

"But you can do whatever you want, sweetie," she said. Her expression was strained.

My dad touched her arm. "Just let him do what he decides is right."

"I'm sorry for the way this is happening," I said. "I didn't mean to bring everything down to the wire like this."

"It's how things happen sometimes," said my mom.

"It's okay," said my dad.

Stephanie showed up as we returned to my apartment to finish loading boxes and smaller items.

"I don't like this day," she said, pulling me close to her, not letting go for several seconds. She looked up at my building. "Will you miss the place?"

"In a strange way, yeah."

She didn't ask me what I meant. She probably knew already, in her own way.

After another two hours spent at the relaxed pace to which my family was accustomed, the last of everything was packed away into the truck. My dad chugged away, one arm out the window, waving back at us as he left for home. We stayed behind to do some final cleaning.

"Jesus, Wyatt, did you ever mop this floor?" Stephanie was down on her hands and knees scrubbing at a dark spot in the linoleum close to the stove.

"One or twice," I said. "I didn't ask you to do that, by the way. Keep in mind that it wasn't perfect when I moved in."

"When was this place last renovated?"

"Once in the 80s, I think."

She stopped scrubbing. "Oh my god, it's older than me."

My mom laughed from the bathroom.

All the while I checked my phone for an answer from Mikey. I only half-expected something. Based on the text I'd received from Sophie, I figured he would want to see me, too, but I didn't know for sure. Nothing had come by the time we were ready to leave around four, so I tucked it back into my pocket and left both copies of the apartment key on the kitchen counter. Carrying my vacuum under one arm, I locked the door from the inside and closed it behind me for the last time. I followed my mom and sister, who made their way down the steps.

My phone wouldn't make a sound until after we'd finished dinner, once Stephanie had left and my mom and I had cleaned up after a game of Scrabble. I had denied myself any real hope that a reply would ever come at all, but that's exactly what it was.

"Sorry," it read, "had to go into work today to prepare for being gone again. I got home and decided I should wait to text you until after I'd read it. Beautiful. I don't know if you're trying to say anything by having it go down the way it did. I'm worried I'm reading into things. I want to see you so bad. Please come over tonight if you can."

"Mom," I said. "Mikey texted me back. He wants to see me tonight."

She looked up from her tablet. "Well, Jesus Christ, go see him."

I went down the hall to the bedroom, where my dad lay reading. I thanked him for all his help and he smiled back at me.

"Wyatt," my mom said quietly as I put on my shoes, "all your things are safe here in the garage."

I looked up at her. "Thank you, Mom."

"What I mean to say is, if we're not bringing it up to Fern Hill tomorrow...no matter what we end up doing with it all...it's safe here for the time being." Her eyes returned to the screen.

"I understand," I said as I straightened up. "What you're saying means a lot to me. I'll let you know what happens."

I left the house and waited for about ten minutes at the side of the highway for the next bus. Once I had boarded, I began crafting a text to Jennifer. I struggled with it, keenly aware of the full impact of my actions. Finally I came up with something I could live with. I looked it over once more, removed the middle of three apologies and sent it.

Her reply came back quickly, as if she had already prepared herself for this outcome. "Aww, Wyatt, I know you. You wouldn't be doing this without a lot of thought. No hard feelings. We can work out the details later. I'll miss you up there. Proud of you for following your heart."

As I turned down Mikey's street I saw where light spilled out of the window by his bed, just barely illuminating the rails of his balcony. I entered the lobby, where I was wordlessly buzzed in, and began making my way up to the fourth floor.

I knocked, the door swung open, and there he was, taller and broader than I remembered, his hair wild as ever. "Hey, Chickadee," he said softly.

I had wanted to say something to him in that moment but couldn't, instead stepping forward and putting my arms around him. He started crying, and so did I. We stood in the doorway like that for a minute or two before parting and stepping back into his apartment.

We sat down together and I said, "I'm so sorry. I've handled this whole thing in weird ways that are so hard to understand. You're good at letting your emotions guide your decisions-at keeping things simple in that way. I should have trusted you."

"Did you change your mind?" he asked. "I need to know that now."

"Yes, Mikey. I'm not moving. You're right, I don't like my job anymore, but mostly it's that I've realized I'm in love with you. And I don't need you to tell me how you feel about me. It's not important for me to hear it."

He looked straight into my eyes. "Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. I should have said that I was in love with you, too, because I am. You were right. I was very afraid to say it. And now that I know you're staying, I want to start calling you my boyfriend."

"You don't have to do it for me."

"I'm not," he assured me. "And if you're worried at all about whether or not I would make a good boyfriend, please know that I will honor you every day. I'm not going to hide who you are to anyone. You'll see that I will be very good to you."

"I'm not worried, Mikey," I said. "You've already been good to me."

He looked away. "I realize what you're giving up by not going."

"I know you do," I said, looking down at our hands, which were pressed into the cushion with just an inch separating them, "but it's the right decision, for so many reasons."

I looked up to see his face just as his massive grin made its return. "Well, fuck, that's true," he said.

"God, Mikey, I missed everything about you."

He stood up. "You really missed all this, huh?" He gestured back at himself with both hands, up and down his body. "If you say so." He came over to me, knelt down on the couch, straddling me where I sat, and kissed me. He kept it brief, sat back with his hands on my shoulders and said, "I missed you, too, Chickadee." He stood up and looked around the room.

"Are you packing already?" I asked, coming to stand next to him. His suitcase lay open and mostly full near the foot of his bed.

"Yes. I'm leaving tonight. So...the thing is, I decided I didn't want to be here when you left town. I thought it would be, you know, just that much harder for me. So I canceled my plane ticket. I figured I could make it past Seattle tonight and find a hotel somewhere."

"Oh. Okay," I said. "Yeah, I understand."

"Is there any way I could convince you to go with me?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes," he said. "I planned it so I would have some downtime. I promise you, it's nice there. And I'm only going for a few days."

"Of course I'll go with you."

"Okay," he said. "Alright."

"I won't be in the way?"

"Are you kidding?" He began moving excitedly about the room, straightening up his playstation controllers and finishing his packing. "I can't believe this is happening." He stopped and turned to me. "We'll go by your place so you can pack a bag."

I shook my head. "There's nothing left there. All moved out. I've got a bag already packed, though, at my parents' place."

"Wow, I completely forgot," he said. He closed his suitcase. "I'm gonna miss it there."

I shrugged. "I only ever liked it when you were there with me."

We left in a hurry. The ride to my parents' house flashed by; I remember the heat from the palm of his hand against my fingertips. He kept glancing over at me, flashing his smile, telling me he was just so happy I was coming with him.

The light was off in the living room and I had left my bag just inside the door. Having begun at whatever age such noiseless discretion becomes relevant to a young person's life, my years of practice served me well now. I leaned inside, lifted the bag and was gone.

As I crept back across the lawn, I picked a cherry blossom from the tree and then looked and saw his earnest face through the passenger window. I stepped toward the car, holding the flower up for him to see. He smiled, incredulous, like he still couldn't believe I had come back to him. I wanted to cry one last time, but I didn't. I opened the door and told him I was ready for the trip.

THE END

*****

Thank you all so much for reading. Mikey and Wyatt will always have a special place in my heart. Your support means more than you could ever know as I continue to write new stories. You can find my other story, The Heart is a Poor Judge, on Literotica as well. Please email me anytime with questions, comments, or just to chat. Peace to you and yours, KB