Chapter 27 Bird #2
“All right,” Jessa says, ejecting the CD and flipping through our massive collective stash.
“I’ve got it.” She inserts the new CD and at first I don’t recognize the song, but it’s still familiar—I thought I was pretty much caught up on the Tori Amos discography since we discovered her music is something we share.
“Wait…” I glance over and she’s watching me, mouth slightly open, grinning like she’s waiting for me to catch it. “This is a Joni Mitchell song.”
“Yes! ‘A Case of You’—I knew you’d recognize it! Such a good cover, right?”
“Where did you get this?”
“It was a B-side.”
I’m quiet as I listen, soaking it in. “I remember that time you told me ‘Love is touching souls…’ ”
“That’s my favorite line of the whole song,” I tell Jessa.
“Hmm, yeah.”
We sing along together, and I roll my window down so the wind is flowing in. Jessa turns the volume up over the road noise.
As the song starts to come to an end, she’s already searching for her next selection.
“Can we listen one more time?” I ask.
She smiles and puts the song on repeat.
We listen again and sing loud and then quiet and we listen over and over.
So many times I lose track, and then I suddenly realize I’ve also lost track of the detour signs.
And we’re in the middle of nowhere. I can’t remember the last time we saw a gas station or a street sign of any kind.
Just farms and pastures with horses and cows in every direction.
Jessa turns the volume down, reading my mind somehow. “What’s wrong?”
“I think we might really be lost this time.”
“Keep going,” she tells me, not seeming worried. “There…” She’s pointing up ahead on the right side of the road. “Stop there.”
There’s a little wooden booth up close to the road with a hand-painted sign that says Farm Fresh. “What, at the fruit stand thing?”
“Yeah.”
I pull up slowly into a patch of dirt that serves as a makeshift parking lot. Jessa’s already getting out of the car before I come to a complete stop.
She walks up, all friendly confidence, and the man in the booth is looking at her like she’s an alien with her faded blue hair. She buys us two pears and a bunch of apples and figs and asks for directions.
He directs us ten miles ahead, where we’re to make a left at the gas station and follow that road another five miles. At the gas station, we stop to fill up and take turns using the bathroom.
I pull Daniel’s car around the side of the building and we sit there with doors open, eating our fruit and looking out at the pretty rural landscape, made much more idyllic now that we’re not lost anymore.
“What are you smiling at?” Jessa says, through a mouthful of fig.
“You.”
“Want some?” She offers me the rest.
“No, I’m enjoying watching you eat it.”
She laughs and looks down for a second, then back out at the scenery, the wind blowing her hair across her face.
“Jessa?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“I was going to wait till later, but…” I look around, and this feels like the right time. “But I have something for you and I kind of want to give it to you now, if that’s okay.”
She nods and smiles. “Is it like an un-birthday gift?”
“It’s a poem. For you.” I open my notebook to the page. “Do you want to read it or do you want me to read it to you?”
“I want you to read it to me,” she chooses. “Always.”
“Okay. It’s called ‘Trespassing.’ ” I clear my throat, suddenly nervous, but begin anyway:
“Now when the sky turns gray
My heart stutters to catch up to itself.
With the earthy scent of petrichor heavy in the air
I close my eyes; I taste you.
Lightning crashes and
I see your silhouette in the afterglow.
Thunder rolls in the distance and
I can feel you moving closer.
Wind fills the lungs of this empty space
And your breath becomes my breath.
The first few chilled drops fall on the dusty ground
Like your autumn fingerprints on my skin.
In haunted houses I’m not afraid
Because of your hands, my hair, your thighs, my mouth
And two hearts, trespassing.
Each creak in old wood a comfort
Your soft sounds echoing in me forever.
Every time it rains, I think
Of you
And us
And that
Night in the storm.
How you reign over all of me
All the time now.”
I close my notebook slowly and wait before looking up at her, needing a moment to prepare myself for whatever her reaction might be. She could think it’s stupid. It could be too simple or too lofty or, or—
“Bird,” she says through a sigh. When I look up, she has her hands clasped together over her heart. “I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”
“Because… you… liked… it?” I ask, hopeful.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I loved it.” She looks around and then leans across the seat and kisses me so sweet and small and soft.
Her lips taste like honey from the fruit.
“No one’s ever done anything like that for me.
I know I don’t know anything about poetry, but I feel it.
” She takes my hands. “And I feel exactly the same way about you… and about that night.”
“Good,” is all I can manage to say in return.
With our detours and stops, we make it to Charlie’s campus with a few hours to spare before the concert.
I park in the student housing lot like he told me to, and Jessa’s so confused about what we’re doing.
I keep laughing and telling her she’ll see, while I lead the way, trying to act like I know where I’m going or what I’m doing.