Free Silhouette of a Sparrow by Molly Beth Griffin

wants his mother to be proud of him. He wants—wanted— me to be proud of him.”
    Then I had to ask: “Do you regret it?”

    “What?”
    “Running away.”
    “No! Heavens, no. I love the freedom. And I’m doing pretty well for myself with the dancing. At least, this is a really good gig. There were other places that, well, that weren’t so nice as this.” Her body stiffened, then with a deep breath she relaxed again. “Now things are better. I’m happy I left. But Mitch—I regret leaving him behind. I just don’t know if he’ll ever make it out of there like I did.”
    She went to work on her ice cream then; it had been melting while she talked. “I’m babbling,” she said through a bite of chocolate mint. “Tell me about you.”
    “Nothing to tell, really. Nothing exciting.”
    “I don’t believe that for a minute. What are you doing out here for the summer, for instance? With this crazy aunt of yours, or whoever she is?”
    So I told her everything. About Mother and Father and the war; about Alice and Adam; about Teddy and the hope chest; and finally about Mrs. Harrington and Hannah and the hat shop. When I stopped to finish off the tip of my ice cream cone Isabella said, “What about the birds? I mean, you’re passionate about them, right?”
    “Well, yes. In some other life, I’d maybe go to college and study science. Keep the Miss Maples of the world from allowing beautiful creatures to be killed off in the name of fashion.” I laughed.
    “Some other life, huh?” She wasn’t laughing.
    “Oh, my mother would never let me. I’m supposed to get married and have babies and run a steady middle-class household like a good girl.” I told her about the
note from my biology teacher, and she stared at me in disbelief.
    “Why don’t you run away?” she said. She was serious.
    I licked strawberry from my fingers and thought about it.
    “I suppose because I love them, you know? My family I want to do right by them. I want them to think well of me. I want to make decisions that will make them happy too.”
    And there I felt the conversation, and possibly our friendship, grind to a halt.
    Her face turned blank and stony; her eyes hardened.
    “I don’t mean . . . Oh, Isabella, I’m sorry. I’m not criticizing you. I’m sure you made the right decision for you. I admire you for doing what you love—I really do. You’re a beautiful dancer.” She just looked at me and looked at me. I withered.
    A long moment passed as a little girl chased her brother in circles around the picnic tables. The roller coaster clattered by overhead. A streetcar boat sounded its deafening whistle down at the docks. Isabella just looked at me with those hard, dark eyes.
    Finally, I got up from the table. “I’ll go,” I said. I got four whole miserable steps away before she called out to me in a small, sad voice I could hardly tell was hers.
    “Do you really think . . .” I turned, with a heavy sigh of relief still mixed with worry. But the stone face had crumbled around the edges and the eyes were glossy with tears behind them. “Do you really think that I’m a—a—beautiful dancer?”
    “Of course,” I said. “You’re like. . . fireworks.”

    And the tension broke into a hundred pieces at our feet.
    “Can I see you again?” she said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with the napkin from her ice cream cone.
    “Anytime you want. Just come by the shop, or have Avery give me a note.”
    “I will. Soon.”
    “Okay.” Then I turned to go because I was grinning so hard I thought my face would crack. I knew I probably looked like a fool and I had to get out of there before I embarrassed myself further.
    “And Garnet?” she said. I composed my face as well as I could and turned back. “What is that?” She pointed to a little brown bird that hopped around under the picnic table, feasting on crumbs.
    “Just a chipping sparrow,” I said without hesitation. “Why?”
    She smiled. “Just wondering.”