Work Text:
BLUE BIRD
It just happens.
There is no need to stack words on top of each other to describe the phenomenon, a la Proust or a la Toïlsoi, although she loves both. It's like the coming and going of the seasons or waking up in the morning. It's also a bit like the universe in general. We know it's there, we can observe it through big telescopes, but at the end of the day, nobody knows how or why, although scientists do their best to explain.
Franky starts to look.
If she is honest with herself, she used to look before, only occasionally, here and there, once or twice, in a corner, from afar. But now it's with more attention, more precision, as if her field of vision has suddenly narrowed and her eye sharpened. (I'm into people, she tells the girls, as they try to put a label on her. It's not really their fault. They've been shaped that way). Over time, she has learned the warning signs, the symptoms, and they are all there, naked and proud, but quiet.
They are an echo, a ripple in the water after throwing a stone in it, a raindrop, or the movement of a fish fleeing to safer depths. (you're into people). She is. And she never knows how or why. It just happens. It happens like a lot of other things. It happens. She does know when, but not why. In the end, Franky doesn't give a damn. All that matters is that it happens.
It happens and the signs wave at her in every room she enters and when she is asleep and they smile at her in that quiet way of those who are perfectly aware that they will be freed one day and who wait in silence because there is no point in forcing the door. She walks in, sees them in the corner of the room, walks out and they are still there, standing with their arms open. Franky has a plate in her hands: she is about to offer it to them, and to feed them.
She suggests tea to the girls, a day when the weather is nice and not this usual greyness which seems to reign on all Bristol. The sky is pastel blue, embroidered with clouds. She takes them to a pretty café she discovered while walking through the streets: its front is lined with wood beautifully carved in elegant figures, like a Victorian store. At the top, the name is written in delicate curly letters, like Mini's hair. All of them are delighted. They sit down at a nice, cute little table while the menu is brought to them. Liv and Grace choose pastries. Mini only takes tea.
She never eats anything. At the cafeteria, Franky sees how she pushes away every piece of food and settles for as many vegetables as possible. She gives Franky all her desserts, now that they are friends. Franky eats them, and looks at her. Sometimes she wants to feed her, give her that special plate, watch her enjoy a good cake and smile at her.
At home, she places two of her mannequins around a small table, puts croissants she created based on a model from the Internet in front of them, and adjusts the arm of one of them to mimic the movement of eating. They're new ones. The one eating has long, curly blond hair, the other a loose black jacket. His father notices. "Newbies?" he asks, marveling at the staging. Franky nods but says nothing more. She just looks, films and takes pictures. One evening, she stands motionless in front of the two mannequins, then makes them lean towards each other, their heads all close, inclined as if for a kiss.
It happens.
Then she looks, and in her heart, in her belly, a little bird flutters, singing softly a melancholic ballad.
She can't control it, will never be able to, and doesn't want to. It would be like trying to maintain a dam leaking from all sides. No point. You might as well try to prevent the transition from day to night, and vice versa. You can't control these things, and in a way that's for the best.
Mini has freckles that spread in harmonious galaxies all over her face, and she has very blue eyes, like the plumage of the European Roller. Franky has seen a picture of it somewhere, she doesn't remember exactly where. She just remembers the name, and the colors, turquoise and aquamarine, azure. In Mini's eyes, as she raises them toward Franky as they're alone at the table, Liv and Gracie gone to retrieve their orders, Franky sees a bird unfold its wings and fly away (I'm into people). She recognizes it, since she has the same one in her chest. No more fucking circus, no more mud, no more taunting, no more bullying.
Sometimes Mini's hands shake from the stress. She presses them together whenever she feels anxious. Sometimes she looks very sad.
Franky sees all this, she looks. She is like a birdwatcher, with her binoculars and her notebook to record things, the details, the movement of the wings, the sound of the air they bend underneath them.
During the parties, with friends, with strangers, at home, in the nightclubs, Mini drinks very little, hardly smokes, avoids drugs and mushrooms, dances while being tense like a thread about to break. If you know her well, if you look carefully, it would be easy to compare her with Franky. Both of them are quiet, settle down somewhere and rarely step out of it, except that Mini has learned to pretend, because she wants to look like everyone else, to fit in with everyone else, when she is much more than that, like everyone else. Franky doesn't know who started the "be all the same" trend, but she's sure it was some huge dick.
Mini is one of those caged birds who won't allow herself to be anything other than what she imagines is expected of her. With Nick, the smile on her lips is distorted, she talks loudly, fusses at everyone, says things like "we fuck all the time with Nicky" and acts like a manager during a meeting. She's a control freak, Franky knows it, and to be quite honest, Franky doesn't give a shit. She looks over and sees the little bird fluttering frantically in jail, hers, Mini's. It's all the same.
When Franky pushes her away at Alo's party, she sees the bird appear more clearly, swoop in, open its wings, and Mini's eyes become sad. One could say an eye for an eye, since Mini gave her a hard time, but Franky doesn't get any particular joy from it. There is just the song of the bird, and the idea of a very small, tiny, very simple kiss. It would be nothing, just a kiss. Liv asks "do you like boys or...?". (I'm into people leave me the fuck alone I'm into I'm into I'm into and MINI MINI MINI MINI MINI MINI). And the dam to collapse, the signs to welcome her with open arms, as expected.
I could tell you things about Mini that would surprise you
Things about Mini
About Mini
Mini
(I'm into people)
It's not about Matty, or Liv, or anyone. It just happens. It's above her, like space, and the stars, and the galaxies, the ones on Mini's face.
Liv and Grace take a long time to come back. Mini and her are sitting across from each other (like the wood dolls with their croissants), sharing a smile, but not a word (who are you into right now)
She would have said Matty. But in her head and chest, it's still the blue bird.
Things about Mini
MINI
Oh, it's a chorus and a beat like the heels of Mini's shoes, a river and then a waterfall full of glitter, like the clothes Mini wears. It's the kind of obsession that keeps you awake at night and makes dummies move, tilt their heads to join them together.
Mini has blue eyes, freckles, she doesn't eat enough, she wants to control everything, she cries when things don't work out the way she wants them to, she drinks and does drugs when she wants to avoid seeing what might hurt her, she's tall and blonde with curls, she's always wearing heels and shiny things, she can be the most gorgeous bitch and the sweetest friend, day and night. She acts badly. Very badly. Liv calls her "excessive," which couldn't be more appropriate. She puts her arms around Franky's shoulders, rests her hands on them, presses her cheek against his.
(Franky likes to watch, right?)
She can't help it, but Liv is on the wrong track.
Behind her back, Franky feels Mini, the beating of her heart, how easy it would be to lean against her and let her wrap her long arms around her neck, to look at her blue painted hands. She wears blue because she finished her bottle of dark pink. Her toenails are painted too.
The blue is still there at the café, during the rehearsal of the play, during the kiss they share at Grace's request. The blue of her eyes when Mini steps back and looks at her, pupils dilated, cheeks pink, her blond curls straightened, the blue of her jacket, of the walls of the room.
A blue kiss.
She is not Matty, never will be, and so much the better. Matty is not blue, but of another color, which Franky likes, but it's not the same thing.
Little bird, little bird (MINI).
She is soft, and confused in a beautiful way, in the existential questioning way, and if there weren't the others (for fuck's sake if only the others weren't THERE), probably it could have happened a bit more, turning into a flock.
They're at the café and now they're both alone, without anyone else. Mini looks at her while Franky looks at her. This could be awkward and weird, but it's not. Mini smiles at her. She broke up with Nick, and her voice is a caress.
"Hi," she says in a wavering, emotional voice.
"Hi," Franky replies.
Mini's hand is on the table, right next to hers. Franky's fingers timidly brush against her skin, following the contours of her knuckles, then the lines of her palm as Mini turns it over.
She looks at Franky now as she did that day during the rehearsal of the play, after their kiss, with a touching shyness, a dense, powerful, complicated emotion.
Then her fingers touch Franky's, and her polished nails catch a ray of light. Franky thinks of her mannequins in her room, of the little living room she has built, of their faces tilted towards each other, of that kiss exchanged in the emptiness, modest and forever. Mini breaks the silence, almost whispering:
"Are you still into people?"
Franky looks at her for a long time, entirely.
"Yes. Yes, still am."
(MINI)
"Okay," Mini says. "That's... that's good."
She can't add anything else, because Liv and Grace burst in cheerfully, pushing away the pleasant silence that had settled at their table, surrounding them tenderly.
Mini leaves her hand open, next to Franky's. She looks at her, and Franky believes, hoping not to be mistaken, praying not to be mistaken, that in her blue eyes appears that same echo which sings inside her (FRANKY).