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Your grateful little bird,
Birdie
Little Bird,
No, don’t cry.
Did I fuck up?
I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.
Callum
Dear Callum,
My heart is brimming.
I’ve heard that idiom before, and I thought it sounded trite, but god, it’s true. It feels like you took a pitcher of affection and warmth and care and poured it into each chamber of my heart until it was overflowing.
You made my birthday great. Perfect. I don’t even remember the other stuff that happened. You made me feel special. All you.
You wrote me a song, Callum. A song of my own. I don’t know how to thank you.
If you were here, I’d probably stare at you for a while. I wouldn’t ask you to take me anywhere special. We could go for a walk—you’d have to go slow because I’m very, very short—and we wouldn’t have to worry about eye contact awkwardness because we’d be beside each other. I guess I should think of something more exciting, but that’s it. I want you to take me for a walk.
Want to know something sad? My parents forgot my birthday. When I mentioned it to my mom, she got defensive and angry. Told me I’m an adult now, I shouldn’t expect to be celebrated for being alive. She said if I’m going to be ungrateful, I should go live with my great-aunt Jenny in Queens since I clearly like her more than my mom. My dad got in the middle, and for a second, I thought he was going to defend me, but he backed my mom. He called me a bitchy little brat on my nineteenth birthday.
So, I want you to know how perfect your song was. It erased everything and patched me up so well, I barely even feel the barbs my parents threw at me.
Tell me how you are. Where are you? I want every detail.
Xoxoxoxoxo forever,
Birdie
Little Bird,
Fuck them. Go live with Jenny in Queens if she treats you right. There’s no reason to stay with parents who don’t appreciate and care for you. Family is only a word if it’s not backed by feeling and action.
You aren’t any of those things your parents said. You are the most thoughtful, sweet, and real human I’ve ever known.
I wish I could do a lot more than write you a subpar song, Little Bird. You deserve everything. I’m sitting here feeling stupid and helpless. And you want to go for a walk with me. Look at you, Little Bird. I tell you I’ll take you anywhere, and it’s a walk you request.
One day, when I get my shit together, I’m going to ask for your address and show up for our walk. Would you want that?
I’d walk slow for you. Tell me how tall you are. Are we going to look silly side by side?
I’m in Chicago for the next couple months. Adam, Rodrigo, Iris, and I are sharing a two-bedroom apartment in the basement of Adam’s friend’s house. I sleep in the van half the time just to get space.
How are you? Tell me the truth.
Callum
Dear Callum,
I’m okay, I promise. My birthday was rough, but I’m okay. Your emails are always a bright spot.
Sometimes I think about moving in with Jenny. But she’s single and lives this fun, amazing life. She doesn’t want a teenager with social anxiety cramping her style. And I’d have to transfer schools, get a new job, become a city girl...I don’t think I’m a city girl. But I could be, I think? One day.
