Page 22 of Let the Light Shine Through

“There’s Leila,” my mom says about a tiny Hummingbird hovering near one of the feeders full of specially made nectar before it darts away.

She does this thing where she compares people to birds. In fourth grade, just after her own mom had passed away, she attended a class field trip to a local nature preserve. She said she was holding a cap of sugar water the center provided to all the students when a Ruby-throated Hummingbird came right up to steal a drink. It made her think of her best friend, Leila, who loved sugary drinks and would steal sips off my mom’s any chance she got. Laughing for the first time since her mother’s death, she told Leila about the comparison, which she swears was the moment that changed the trajectory of her life by kick-starting her passion for birds and everything they symbolize. The Hummingbird didn’t just remind my mom of her best friend, it taught her about the beauty in the world. The laughter, the fun, the things life’s all about.

I’ve even started making them too sometimes—the comparisons—but the girls at my school don’t always appreciate the way I view things, people, life, so I save all my observations for Rowdy instead. Before—before my mom was bedridden without much hope—when I’d still get out and go four-wheeling with my best friend, I’d stop to snap a picture of any birds we might encounter in the woods, and even though he’s the fastest rider I know, Rowdy would always slow down and wait for me, knowing who they were for. My mom and I’d go through the pictures afterward and I’d tell her all about their behavior, since the hospital she spent most of her days at didn’t have many birds for her to watch. People, but not birds. Sadness, not joy.

Death, not life.

I’d bring it to her though—all of it…birds, joy, life.

Now I can’t even chance that. I’ve already missed most of my sophomore year to stay at home with her. We can’t afford that kind of help. If we could, my dad would be here right now, taking a day off to be with his dying wife. But that’s just it, he can’t.

Eventually, I’ll have to return to school, but I don’t really want to go back to the all-girls academy. I want diversity. I want acceptance. I want to go where people don’t whisper behind my back because I walk and talk differently than them. Some girls like it, how I am, and I’ve even liked a few of them back, but never in the way they want. They want like a boyfriend, or whatever, but I’m not a boy. They assume because I dress like a guy that I don’t still feel like a girl, but I do. I’m just…me. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t fit into a box and sometimes that’s exactly what the archaic school feels like—one big box full of required knee-length skirts.

But knowing our family’s current situation, my academy actually offered to let me finish the rest of my high school career there on scholarship, as long as I help out other young women in our community, which is pretty hard to argue with.

I just want to make my mom proud and she’s the reason I went there to begin with, so I’ll do it, but I’ll do it for her. Whether she’s here to see it or not is irrelevant.

“I wish I was a Hummingbird,” I say under my breath.

My mom’s forehead wrinkles, revealing a light sheen of sweat. “Why?”

I sit up, telling her, “So I could go backward, too.”

Hummingbirds are the only birds that can not only fly backward, but do it with great speed and accuracy. If I could, I’d go back in a heartbeat. I’d go back and cherish every moment I could with my mom because I already miss her and she’s not even gone yet.

“Oh, but sweetheart, there’s nothing back there for you.”

Eyes on her rapidly reddening cheeks, I say, “You are,” then reach up to feel her forehead. The skin under my palm burns and I yank my hand back, searching for the thermometer. She cannot have a fever right now. She can’t have one ever. If she does, her body isn’t strong enough to fight off whatever infection might be causing it. Her body isn’t strong enough to do anything anymore.

No thermometer in sight, I run my hands over the rest of her body, my stomach a giant aching knot.

Something touches my back, but when I peek over my shoulder, I don’t find anything. Frowning, I wipe a hand across my face, pulling it away from my own hot skin.

What the hell?

Now that I think about it, my entire body feels flushed. No, not flushed. Like it’s on fucking fire.

Why am I hot though?

I’m yanking on the clothes stuck to my overheated skin as a ray of light cuts across the room suddenly, making me blink.

“The Cardinal’s here, isn’t he?” Cardinal? He?

My mom’s eyes close softly, her breathing slowing.

Tearing my gaze from her, I scan the yard quickly, not seeing the bright red bird anywhere.

What is she—

“Gia…don’t scare this one away. Okay?”

But the only Cardinal I know is—

My eyes pop open, only to close again thanks to the harsh streak of sunlight reaching through the blinds straight to my brain.

That can’t be right. The sun usually shines on the foot of my bed first thing in the morning. Unless I slept in.

I spring to sitting, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. Only grasping air, I look over to find nothing. Not my nightstand. Not even the…wall?