“Uh huh,” he said, his tone suddenly cheery, “So… that means I can do it? Or I go do it and then say sorry after?”
I sighed. “Rose and I are rubbing off on you.”
“Seriously though,” he said, his tone changing. I knew exactly what he was referring to. He didn’t finish the thought.
“Seriously,” I said, “You’re… putting me in a tough spot. I want you to enjoy the stuff you should be enjoying, as a kid-”
“Dead kid.”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s a magic bird.”
“Yeah. My point stands. I-”
“A magic bird who could be a terrifying blood sparrow,” Evan said.
“Evan,” I said, and my tone was harsher than I meant it to be. Sharper than it should have been.
I kind of regretted doing that. I might have sworn I wouldn’t do it again, just to give myself a serious reminder, but I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t slip in the heat of a moment, and the heat of the moment was the only time it was liable to come up.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m nervous and I don’t know how to act, so I’m trying to be me, but I guess I’m being a nervous me.”
“I’m sorry too,” I said. “I’m- I guess I’m trying to be careful about what I say and how, and the interruptions aren’t helping.”
“Okay, I’ll shut up, then. You, um, you know I wasn’t really asking about the blood thing, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I wasn’t talking about it either. I want you to enjoy being a kid, whether you’re a bird or a kid or whatever else. You’re doing an awesome job so far. A ridiculously good job. But there’s stuff we’re dealing with that isn’t pretty, and that-”
Memories flashed through my mind’s eye.
“-That-,” I stumbled, my train of thought interrupted. “was some of them. The stuff we’re not exactly talking about.”
Not what I’d been meaning to wrap up with, but I’d rather finish the thought somehow than keep stumbling.
I was purposefully taking my time trudging through the snow to Maggie and Rose, watching my back in case the kids emerged. My jeans were soaked up to the knee already, and the cold just passed right through it.
“I’m kind of glad I didn’t have to grow up if that’s the sort of thing you have to deal with,” Evan said.
I let out another small laugh, more as a response than out of any genuine humor. I didn’t feel up to saying anything in response, and the alternative to laughing was letting the floodgates open, and I needed to stay functional.
Unhealthy, maybe, to bottle it up and slap a thin veneer of cheer over it, but I wasn’t sure there was a healthy way to deal with stuff of this caliber.
“I don’t think you should assume my life was typical in any way,” I said. “And you really shouldn’t say that.”
“I got stuck in the woods because a giant monster and his ghost chew toys trapped me there. I’m not typical either. Life can suck, and mine sucked toward the end, and I’m sorta glad it stopped sucking. Not totally glad but sorta glad.”
“Evan-”
“No, nuh-uh. You said I shouldn’t interrupt you while you’re all borked. You also said we were partners, so that goes both ways.”
I sighed a little. “Fine. Say what you want to say.”
“You told me I shouldn’t say that I’m kind of glad. But I have to because I’m supposed to tell the truth. I miss my parents and I miss parts of my old life, the video games I never got to finish playing, and sometimes I do something awesome and I think I should tell my friends, and then I remember I can’t. Because dead.”
True to my word, I didn’t interrupt his spiel.
“But I am glad that I get to do stuff now instead of being alive and waiting for the next crummy thing to happen, or being dead and not getting to do much at all…”
I’d arrived at the end of the driveway by Maggie and Rose. Maggie sat on the back of the car. She held a mirror, presumably from the side-view mirror.
Rather than approach them, I cast a glance backward, making sure there weren’t pursuers, then held up a finger for their benefit. I walked a short distance away from them, keeping them out of earshot of Evan.
“…I’m a freaking kick-ass magic bird. Most of the time the worst that can happen is you go kaput and I gotta go head off to the land of the dead. I don’t have to worry about stuff the usual way. Only thing I gotta worry about is helping you with the stuff that you worry about.”
“The way you phrased that makes me feel kind of conflicted,” I said.
“It’s true! That’s the deal, isn’t it? You make my life better, you stop monsters with my help, and I help you through stuff.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s essentially it, I guess.”
“So,” he said, and his tone shifted. More careful. “That stuff.”
“I’m not majorly comfortable talking about it,” I said. I stuck my hands in my pockets for warmth. “It was what it was, and I can’t shake the feeling that people think less of me when they know, and I’d much rather be the guy with the cool friends and the motorcycle than… what you saw. And don’t tell me it didn’t change how you think of me, because it had to, and you can’t lie.”
“I can’t,” he said. “And even if I really want to tell you I think you’re more amazing…”
He trailed off.
It hurt. I had to admit it. It hurt.
I respected him for being mature enough to say it, but it hurt.
“That one vision-”
“Evan,” I said. Interrupting him, despite myself. Reflexive.
“Being beat up? Seeing you sleeping on the streets, all dirty? Not so amazing. I don’t blame you, but it’s not so amazing. I do think those guys suck for being cowardly and attacking you by surprise, all as a group. I thought I should say that.”
“Okay,” I said. “As much as you want to comment-”
“I need to comment,” he said. “Because we’re stuck together. If I don’t say something, then it becomes this thing we don’t talk about, like the time my mom and my dad separated for a while when I was really young, and my mom had a boyfriend right away after my dad left, and my parents got back together and nobody ever talks about the guy that was around back then, like they think- thought I didn’t remember.”
“You want to keep channels of communication open,” I said.
“Yeah, that.”
“Okay,” I said. “Channels of communication are open. Thank you for being honest. We should really hurry to the others and do what we can-”
“Not yet. That other one, the second vision memory thing?”
“Evan,” I said.
“I didn’t understand it. I mean, I got it, sort of. I- I can pick up on how unhappy it made you. I can put the pieces together.”
“This is one of those things where talking about it doesn’t always make it better,” I said.
“I’m- okay. Right. But if you ever do want to talk abut it, we can, and the channels are open.”