Page 15 of Until Next Time
Birdie Banks always felt off limits to me, but she was the only girl I ever wanted the attention of.She still is.
If there were any particularly shocking ones, she’d always pipe up, “Oh my gosh, you guys need to see this!” and basically force us to read them.
It was her thing.
I wanted to be her thing.
I remember one of the Friday’s she ran down the basement stairs, arms flailing, voice full of joy, “The town put a secret submission box in the front of the book store downtown!” River didn’t give a shit and started getting annoyed with her, but I looked forward to those Friday afternoons, sitting next to her, watching her scroll and fixate on each secret like they held the meaning to life.
“I’m jealous of these people. That they are so courageous to even write some of these confessions down. Let alone, send them out into the world.”
“Is it courageous though if they’re anonymous?” I asked, because I’m not so sure.
“I’ve always wanted to share my own secrets like this, but even with the security of anonymity, I’m still terrified to do it.” She said, and I’ll never forget the look in her eyes, and the softness in her voice.
“Maybe start with something small? Like, something silly, then it will make it easier someday to share the ones that take courage.” I suggested.
“I like that idea. Maybe I’ll just submit one to the box in front of Nook & Novel? That seems less intimidating.” She twirled her hair between her fingers, like she was contemplating the idea.
“Will those get posted to the blog?” I asked, genuinely curious, because I was absolutely interested in trying to find out Birdie’s secrets. Does that make me an asshole?
Her face lightened a bit at my question.
“No. I guess it’s not related to the actual experiment, but Mira said she’s going to post them on a wall in the bookstore forpeople to see. I think it’s mainly supposed to be another tourist attraction in the town, but I think it’s romantic. Reminds me of those people who put locks on that bridge in Paris, or wherever they do that.”
* * *
On Fridays when she’d pull up a chair at the computer, River started to tease her and poke fun, but in a mean way. I could tell she started to get embarrassed. She started to share less with us, and then after awhile, she would just retreat to the computer in silence, scroll, then head back up the stairs without a word.
I would check the blog on Fridays when I got home. It made me feel closer to her even though she had no idea. Knowing that I was reading the same things as her, felt like our own little secret.
I was driving around town one afternoon breaking in the new Dashboard Confessional album—because everyone knows driving around back roads with the windows down is the best way to experience new music, when my thoughts naturally wandered to her. I got curious and decided to head to Nook & Novel for the off chance that maybe she’d left a secret and it would be posted up on the bulletin board. I still remember the look Mira gave me when I stood at the board, scouring each postcard pinned on the board, searching for one that could be Birdie’s.
She was eyeing me speculatively when she cleared her throat, “Top right corner, dear.” She said, seeing right through me.
I looked up and saw one of those old postcards, the ones with an oil painting of some landmark on the front. I knew it had to be hers, because she had been collecting ones just like it since she as just a girl.
I knew the right thing to do was to read the secret and pin it back up on the board, but where Birdie was concerned, I had no interest in doing the right thing.
I reached up and removed the pin that was holding it up, turned it over and made sure that I was the only one who ever got to experience her secrets.
From that day forward, I felt like I had a piece of her that nobody else did. I craved that feeling, I needed that—it was the beginning of my sick habit of checking that damn board for years and taking home every single damn postcard she put in there.
* * *
I pulled on my favorite worn in pair of jeans, a flannel and my boots. I love fall in Saddlebrooke. The leaves have all turned and there’s just something about it that feels like possibilities. I’m in a good mood despite my lack of sleep—which I’d like to think is because of the crisp air, and the promise of coffee, but I think it has more to do with her being back in town, and the hope of seeingheracross from me at breakfast this morning.
I hop into the cab of my truck, turn the heat on. It’s a 1970 though, and the heater leaves something to be desired. I layered up in my waxed trucker jacket and I always keep a spare beanie in the glove box, so it doesn’t bother me much. I guess I’m just used to it. I head down the road to Mel’s to grab a coffee and wait for Nook & Novel to open up.
I haven’t checked that board in years. The novelty of the whole project wore off a bit in the town, and I guess I just started trying to give her up. But like anything you try to quit, it only takes a tiny hit to drive you mad.
I finish my coffee and check my watch, it’s about a five minute walk from Mel’s to the book shop, so I make my way outthe door giving Mel a nod and a wave as I push open the door. I’m greeted with a cool gust of air, and I head towards the Nook.
As soon as I arrive, I see Mira inside shuffling around some books at the display by the door. I groan and rub my hand across my scruff. I was hoping Mira wouldn’t be working today. That woman has been onto me for years and I’d really like to avoid her comments this morning.
I push open the door, “Good morning Mira, you’re looking lovely as ever.” I say warmly. “Do you happen to have the latest issue of Hook and Barrell?”—a magazine that I do in fact read, and have sent to my apartment, and is in fact sitting on my coffee table as we speak.
“Cut the bullshit, babe.” She says with a smug look.
