My Little Sparrow

She reminded me of a sparrow as she flit across the road. Her soft grey cardigan danced in the wind, while her legs, draped in tight brown pants, moved with precise dedication to the coffee shop in front of her. I saw her just about every day, wearing nearly the same outfit for each corresponding day of the week. Dark reds were Monday, Blues on Tuesday, and today, Wednesday, was supposed to be pink.

I wondered what changed to upset her routine. Maybe it was an upset with the laundry room in her apartment complex. Or, maybe, she was branching out. Becoming less predictable. Trying to reinvent herself. I was not a fan of this later option.

Looking both ways, I crossed after her, heading down the sidewalk as she slipped into the café. The bell rang for her, as it did my hand as I caught the door. The smell of roasted coffee beans and sugar cookies wafted through the area. The rest of the group was already around the back table, black covered books sitting in front of them beside the little number placards held by oak branches shaped to look like their tree.

“Hey Jessie!” Joe smiled at me as I took my usual place. His peppiness was overwhelming as usual. He slid one of the fake trees my way, the number 11 twisted in the ‘branches’ to hold the metal in place. “Remembered your usual. I noticed you were running behind. Hope you don’t mind; you can just pay me back later by getting mine next time.”

I looked at him and forced a smile. He wasn’t always bad, but today, he grated on my nerves.

“Morning everyone.” Zion greeted. She walked up, black bag hanging from her arm, black book gripped in stiletto nails painted the darkest shade of purple I had ever seen. She sat down in the only seat that was left, right next to my sparrow.

The next hour went by nicely as we talked through the stories we’d written, but my mind couldn’t focus on anything but my sparrow. The newest of the group, but the most interesting of us in my opinion. She sat across from me, taking notes with her little pink pen in her black book. How I wanted to look in that book. How I wanted nothing more than to walk her home, talking of her stories of adventure and abandonment and let her know I would never-

“Jessie?” Zion asked. I blinked, breaking out of my imagination to look into the leader’s dark eyes. She raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for me to answer a question.

“Oh, sorry.” I mumbled, sipping on the lemonade that was sat in front of me. It was unpleasantly bitter. I made a mental note to arrive before Joey always to avoid anything else like this. “What- what was the questions?”

“No question, just making sure you’re good.” Zion shook her head. “You look ready to murder someone, and we were talking about Rebecca’s romance. So, is it the story’s main guy being a bit sulky and rude, or something else?”

I forced another smile.

“Oh! No, sorry. It was a busy day at work. Sexists and all that,” I smile, waving my hand. “Just- stuck with me more than I expected.”

Zion’s gaze softened in sympathy. “Totally understand, girlie. Customer service sucks. So, what dickhead did you write about today for your horror fic?” She gave me a wicked smile.

“I- actually didn’t finish it yet.” I lied. The newest story sat right there in my lap, within the pages of my own black book.

“What’s the ideas of it?”

I look at my sparrow, trying not to show I savor in her voice.

“A woman goes camping alone along the Apalachin trail. While hiking one night, to avoid people, she hears whispers and finds a creature. It follows her for the next three days before she starts finding rotting animals next to the fires she quenched each night.” I say, letting the story continue to tumble out. I look into my sparrow’s hazel eyes as they continue. She doesn’t break my gaze, but I can see the movement of her pen on her paper.

“Sounds like ‘The Thing” Joey commented. My sparrow’s eyes break from mine as she tries not to laugh.

“Sounds like you’ve never seen ‘The Thing,” Zion rolled her eyes.

I shrugged. “Monster stories are interesting. What makes us human? What would make us a monster?” I look back at my sparrow, but she’s looking down at her phone. Quickly, she puts it down and starts gathering her things.

“Cecilia, everything okay?” Zion asked.

“No.” She stood up, pulling her small satchel off the floor and tucking it under her grey cardigan. “I’m sorry.”

The others protest, jumping up to ask her what’s the matter, but she doesn’t answer as she flits to the door. Her hair is coming out of her bun, the effects of a long night. I watch after, unable to move myself as the others try to follow her. Left alone at the table, I feel a coward. There Cecilia goes, unanswering of what could be wrong, and I sit here. Wanting to be with her but unable to open up to her on my feelings.

I suppose it is best to let her fly away then. If I can’t be there in this moment, if I can’t even get up out of my chair, what could I do for her?

Like slow motion, I feel myself stand and start walking. It’s as if something else is moving my legs, something drawing me towards the door where the others have stopped. While we’ve been talking over our stories, the little things in our lives, clouds had gathered outside. The windows are splattered with rain, and, through them, I see Cecilia wrapping her grey cardigan closer. It soaks her thoroughly, but her stride doesn’t even slow as she makes her way down the block. She reminds me of a sparrow returning home as she flits across the road.