The Tearsmith

CHAPTER 4: Band-Aids

The sun stretched strands of light between the trees. It was a spring afternoon, and the scent of flowers filled the air. The imposing figure of Grave loomed behind me. Lying in the grass, I looked up at the sky with my arms wide open as if I wanted to embrace it. My cheek was swollen and painful, but I didn't want to cry again, so I observed the vastness that stretched above me, letting the clouds cradle me. Would I ever be free? A barely perceptible sound caught my attention. I lifted my head and spotted something moving in the grass. I stood up and decided to approach cautiously, holding my hair back with my hands. It was a bird. It scratched the ground with its claw-like talons, and it had shiny little eyes like black marbles, but one of its wings was splayed out in an unnatural way, and it couldn't take flight. When I knelt down, a high-pitched and restless chirp emerged from its beak, and I sensed that I had startled it. "I'm sorry," I whispered immediately, as if it could understand me. I didn't want to harm it; on the contrary, I wanted to help. I could feel its fear and vulnerability, and I wanted to offer comfort and support.

I felt a desperate connection with the bird, as if its despair was my own: I too was unable to take flight, I too longed to escape from there, I too felt fragile and powerless. We were the same. Small and defenseless against the world. I extended a finger to it, as I felt the need to help. I was just a child, but I wanted to restore its freedom, as if somehow that gesture could bring back mine. "Don't be afraid," I continued to reassure it, hoping to calm its fear. I was small enough to believe that it could understand my words. What could I do? Would I be able to help it? As the little bird retreated in fear, something surfaced from my memories. "It's about gentleness, Nica. Gentleness, always... Remember that." Her sweet eyes were engraved in my memory. I gently held the bird in my hands, being careful not to harm it. I didn't give up, even when it pecked at my finger, or when its claws scratched my fingertips. I held it close to my chest and promised that at least one of us would regain its freedom. I returned to the institution and the first thing I did was ask for help from Adeline, an older girl, while praying that the director wouldn't discover our find - I feared her cruelty more than anything else. Together, we splinted the bird's wing with a popsicle stick we had salvaged from the trash, and in the following days, panting, I brought it scraps from our meals to the hidden place where I kept it. It pecked at my fingers many times, but I never gave up. "I will heal you, you'll see," I promised with my reddened and bruised fingertips, while ruffling its chest feathers. I spent hours watching it from a distance, so as not to scare it.

"You will fly," I whispered with the tip of my lips, "one day you will fly and be free. Just a little longer, wait a little longer..." It pecked at me when I tried to examine its wing. I tried to keep my distance, but I persisted, with gentleness. I fixed its bed of grass and leaves, and whispered for it to have patience. And on the day it was healed, the day it flew away from my hands, for the first time in my life, I felt less dirty and dull. A little more alive. A little more free. As if I could breathe again. I had rediscovered colors within myself that I didn't think I possessed: the colors of hope. And with my fingers covered in multicolored band-aids, my existence didn't seem so gray either.

~~

I carefully pulled at the plastic end. I freed my index finger, the one covered in the blue band-aid, and saw that it was still slightly swollen and red. I had managed to free a wasp that had become trapped in a spider's web a few days ago. I tried not to break the delicate web, but I wasn't fast enough and it stung me. "Nica is with her bugs," the children used to say when we were younger. "She spends all her time with them, there, among the flowers." They had grown accustomed to my peculiarity, perhaps because in our institution, oddity was more common than normality. I felt a strange empathy towards anything small and misunderstood. My instinct to protect all kinds of creatures was born when I was a child and never left me. I had painted my own little and strange world with colors that belonged only to me and brought me solace.

They made me feel free, alive, and light.

Anna's words on the first day came to mind when she asked me what I was doing in the garden. What must she have thought? Did she find me strange? Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly turned around as I sensed a presence behind me. I widened my eyes, jumped, and quickly moved away. Rigel watched me, and my jump caused the strand of hair that touched his forehead to flutter. I observed him without relaxing my gaze, still frightened by our last encounter. My reaction didn't seem to affect him at all. On the contrary, he simply tightened his lips and gave a crooked smile. He walked ahead and entered the kitchen. I heard Anna greet him while he shrugged. Every time he approached, I couldn't help but shiver, but this time it was justified. I had spent the whole day reliving what had happened, and the more I thought about it, the more those incomprehensible words tormented me. What did he mean by "I won't stop"? "I won't stop" doing what? "Ah, you're here, Nica," Anna greeted me as I entered, taking extra precautions. Still lost in my thoughts, an explosion of colors, a vibrant purple, saturated my vision. A large bouquet of flowers dominated the center of the table, with numerous soft buds filling the crystal vase with grace. I stared at it fascinated, open-mouthed at the marvel before me. "They're so beautiful..." "Do you like them?" I nodded, smiling. "I had them brought this afternoon. They're from my shop." "The shop?" "My shop." Enthralled by her genuine smile, which I couldn't quite get used to, I continued asking. "You... sell flowers? Are you a florist?" My cheeks blushed slightly at the obvious question, but she nodded, direct and sincere. I loved flowers almost as much as the creatures that inhabited them. I caressed a petal, and the sensation of cool velvet kissed the tip of my exposed index finger. "My shop is a few blocks from here. It's a bit old-fashioned and a bit far, but there's no shortage of customers. It's nice to see that people still enjoy buying flowers." I wondered if Anna had been tailor-made for me. If there was something in the way she saw me on the day she chose us, even though we had never exchanged a word. And I wanted to believe... For a moment, as she looked at me through that adorned exuberance, I wanted to believe that it was true. "Good evening!" Mr. Milligan entered the kitchen dressed in a peculiar manner: he wore a uniform of a dusty blue color, and gray fabric gloves peeked out of his pocket; various gadgets hung from his leather belt. "Right on time for dinner!" Anna said. "How was your day?" Norman must have been a gardener; everything about his attire suggested it, including the pruning shears hanging from his belt. I thought there couldn't be a more splendid couple, at least until Anna put her hands on his shoulders and, at the peak of my expectations, announced, "Norman is in pest control." My saliva got stuck in my throat. Mr. Milligan hung up his cap, and then I could see the logo on the visor: a large insect under a prohibition sign. I stared at it with frozen eyes and abnormally dilated nostrils.

"Pest control?" I exclaimed with a high-pitched voice after a moment. "Oh, yes!" Anna smoothed his shoulders. "You have no idea how many bugs infest the gardens in this area! Last week, our neighbor found two mice in the basement. Norman had to deal with an invasion..." Now, those gadgets didn't appeal to me as much. I looked at that cockroach with its legs folded as if it had swallowed something very unpleasant. When I realized that both of them were looking at me, I made an effort to tighten my lips as best as I could and managed to find the impulse to hide my hands. Beyond the flower vase, on the other side of the room, I could feel Rigel's gaze with absolute certainty. After a few minutes, the four of us were sitting at the table. I found it unpleasant to hear Norman talk about his work. I tried to disguise the tension, but having Rigel sitting next to me didn't exactly help me relax. His presence also intimidated me; I wasn't accustomed to having him so close. "Since we're getting to know each other a bit... why don't you tell me something about yourselves?" Anna suggested, smiling. "How long have you known each other? Your director didn't explain anything... Did you get along well at the institution?" I dropped a crumb from my spoon, and it ended up in the soup. Next to me, Rigel also remained motionless. Was there a worse question than that? Anna and I exchanged a glance, and suddenly, the terrifying possibility that she could read the truth in our eyes clenched my stomach. How would she react if she knew that I couldn't even stand being around him? Our relationship was sinister and undefined, far from being a family. What if they decided it was impossible? Would they change their minds? I let panic take over. And before Rigel could say anything, I leaned forward and did something foolish.

"Of course," I felt the lie sticking to my tongue, and I hurried to smile. "Rigel and I have always gotten along very well. In fact, we're like... siblings." "Oh, really?" Anna asked, surprised, and I swallowed as if I had become a victim of my own deceit. I was sure he would do everything possible to contradict me. I realized too late the mistake I had made as I turned and saw that he had tightened his jaw. I had called him "brother" again. If there was any way to turn the situation against him, I had spoken it with my own lips. With forced calmness, Rigel lifted his face, looked at Mrs. Milligan, and with a textbook smile, said, "Oh, absolutely. Nica and I are very close. I would even dare to say we're 'thick as thieves'." "That's fantastic!" Anna exclaimed. "That's wonderful news. You must be so happy to be together! How lucky, right, Norman? That the kids get along so well!" They commented among themselves about how pleased they were, and in the meantime, I hadn't even realized that the napkin had fallen onto my lap. But after a moment, I saw that "my" napkin was on the table. Now Rigel had his hand on my thigh, ready to retrieve his. He squeezed my knee, and that contact overwhelmed me. It was as if he had touched me to the core. The chair scraped against the floor. Suddenly, I found myself standing, with my heart in my throat and Mr. Milligan looking at me perplexed. I was out of breath. "I... I have to go to the bathroom." I slipped away, looking at the floor. The darkness of the hallway swallowed me,--