25 – Eastern Bluebirds
I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes to find Seven exactly where he was when I drifted off – seated beside Asher’s bed, still as a statue except for the slight movements that make him appear more human. Papa walks across the large room toward me, somehow managing to move as quietly as Seven sits.
“Did you rest well?” Papa asks, stepping next to my bed. He’s already dressed and sipping hot tea, a smile spread across his face. I haven’t seen him this happy in a while.
“Your sleep patterns indicated deep rest cycles,” Seven observes from his post. “Though there were occasional muscle spasms in your proths that suggest possible recalibration may be needed.”
“I think it’s the best night of sleep I’ve had in…” I try to put a time frame on it, but it’s hard. “…in a long time.”
“Thirteen days, based on your observable relaxation indicators,” Seven adds helpfully. Asher, who’s just waking up, gives him a fond but exasperated look.
“Any idea what’s for breakfast?” Braam asks as he stretches and works to get his body moving. From the looks of his bedsheets, I would say he moved all night.
“I have cataloged several distinct cooking aromas from the main house,” Seven says. “Including proteins, carbohydrates, and what appears to be a local variant of pre-Shift coffee.”
Finally freeing himself from the tangle of bedcovers, Braam sits on the side of his bed, rubs his eyes, and reaches for his shirt. Papa hands me his mug of hot tea. It is half-finished as always. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he loves to share it with me. He sits down beside me as I enjoy the hot liquid. In our silence, we watch Braam struggle to get his shirt over his big head. He is victorious in getting his upper body clothed and looks over at us in sleepy triumph.
“Your garment is oriented incorrectly,” Seven states matter-of-factly. Asher quickly shushes him, and I hide my smile in Papa’s tea mug.
Exiting the barn a little later, the morning air is crisp and fresh. I breathe deeply and fill my lungs with it. The sky is turning from pink and yellow to bright blue as the sun climbs above the horizon. I pause and follow a sweet sound with my eyes.
“Papa!” I whisper with excitement as I reach out to grasp his wrist.
There are tiny birds, like the ones I have seen in some of my books from the old world, sitting together on the limb of a nearby fruit tree. I gasp in childlike wonder when I realize there are also a few hopping around the base of the tree.
“Eastern Bluebirds,” Seven says softly, his head tilted in observation. “Pre-Shift records indicated their numbers were declining, but they appear to have adapted well to post-Shift conditions. Their songs were often used in pediatric therapy to calm anxious patients.”
Papa chuckles, places his free hand on top of mine and gives it a squeeze. “There is much you have missed my child, growing up on the streets of Coghaven. The world isn’t as it once was, but it still holds many things I hope you get to see and experience.”
Braam gives a little grunt of acknowledgement to the creatures, elbows me, and says, “I’m hungry.”
When we enter the main house, we find Isaiah and his family sitting on the floor, lined up from biggest to smallest, with their legs crossed and their eyes closed. The sound of their rhythmic breathing fills the room.
“They’re practicing mindfulness meditation,” Seven explains quietly. “A technique that predates the Shift by several thousand years. Studies showed it reduced stress hormones by approximately twenty-eight percent and improved cognitive function by-”
“They were like this when I got here,” Amari interrupts gently from her chair.
“How long ago was that?” I whisper.
“A while. I woke up early.”
“Precisely forty-seven minutes,” Seven adds. “They maintain remarkably consistent breathing patterns.”
“Hey. Is anyone hungry?” Braam shouts.
Isaiah turns his head, his ritual interrupted. The children open their eyes and stare at Braam, their brows furrowed.
“Your shirt is on backwards,” Cornelius says to Braam in a no-nonsense tone.
Braam looks down and laughter fills the room at his expense. Seven looks confused by our reaction, but I notice Asher grinning behind his hand.
Papa apologizes for interrupting their quiet time as the four of them unfold from the floor. Lydia smiles and assures us no apology is necessary. Her tone is soothing, yet strong. It portrays a confidence and wisdom I admire.
She makes quick work of breakfast and places it before us on the table. I’m surprised to find even after last night’s feast, I feel as if I’m starving again. Seven stands near the window, keeping watch while trying to appear casual, though his posture stiffens slightly whenever someone passes by outside.
The kids play and giggle through breakfast while Amari and I tease them. I pretend I don’t know which end of the fork to hold, and Amari blows bubbles in her drink. Braam grunts at them, holding back a grin. Seven provides running commentary on proper utensil usage and the importance of adequate nutrition, which only makes the children giggle more.
“Have you given much thought to what you’ll do now that you’ve escaped Arcmire and survived the Dread Wastes?” Isaiah asks.
“We’ll have to do something,” Papa says. “A body gets strange when it has nothing to do.”
“You’re already strange,” I say, which makes Braam laugh and nod in agreement.
“You’ve been delivered,” Isaiah says. “Something brought you here and I think you might consider it the will of something greater than you.”
Seven tilts his head at this, perhaps accessing some database of religious studies, but Asher touches his arm before he can comment.
“You should think about staying. Making a home here,” Isaiah continues. “The settlement could use people like you with all your skills and abilities.”
“We couldn’t put you out,” says Papa. “You’ve already given us so much.”
“We have the space right now,” Isaiah says. “You could use the barn until you make your own homestead. We’ll have to figure out different arrangements during kiju pickups, of course.”
“You could sleep in the bathtub,” Maggie says with a mischievous grin.
We all laugh, and she is tickled with herself, clearly proud of her jab. Seven begins to explain why sleeping in a bathtub would be suboptimal for human spinal alignment, but Asher manages to stop him with a gentle shake of his head.
As breakfast ends, I help Lydia clear the dishes while the men gather in the living space, discussing something that includes hand motions and exaggerated facial expressions. Seven watches them with fascination, probably cataloging human social behaviors. The entire scene before me is something I never imagined being a part of.
I join Lydia at the dish tub, admiring her perfect ringlets and asking about her hair. Our conversation turns personal when she asks about my mother, and about Amari’s. The warmth in her eyes makes something in my chest ache.
“How about we have some girl time? Just us four girls? Right now?” she suggests with a bright smile.
“I’d like that,” I respond, not sure exactly what this entails, but I’m definitely interested.
She gives my hands a quick squeeze and steps into the space where the men can easily hear her. “I am sorry to interrupt your story telling, but I need you grungy guys to take yourselves out to the yard. This home is now declared a girl only space for the next few hours.”
I watch as Isaiah takes in her statement and begins to make his way across the room without a single word of protest. Seven looks genuinely puzzled by this gender-based segregation, and I can see him preparing to ask questions about it.
“But this division appears arbitrary and-” he begins, but Asher gently guides him toward the door.
“Sometimes human customs don’t need to make logical sense,” Asher explains as they exit. “They just are.”
Braam is the last to walk through the door, and I swear he appears to be pouting. He closes the door behind him, and Lydia sets to work with a smile. Through the window, I can see Seven still trying to understand what just happened, while the other men settle into conversation under the fruit tree where the bluebirds had been.