Fledgling (eBook)

Chapter 5

Expressive Behavior

“Momma, really, you do not have to throw such an extravagant party this year. I will be fine with just a family thing. My sixteenth was incredible. This year we can chill a little. Even go on a family outing. Or we can invite our friends and closest family over. It will be fun. It will be enough, Momma, honest. How was that, John Boy?”

“Honestly Tori, I think you need to try it with a bit of oomph. Determination? Aggressiveness? All of those, and let it come from your gut. Also, ‘chill a little’…very appropriate.” Tori took in a deep breath and placed both hands out in front of her with her index fingers touching her thumbs. “Okay, here it goes. Mother, honestly, I am tired of these lavish birthdays already—all the guests and the doting. ‘Victoria, what could you possibly get this year?’ or ‘Tori, I racked my brain on what to get you, geez, you are one of my besties, but you have everything. I hope you like your romper and flip-flops so now we can twin.’

Tori clapped her hands together sarcastically. “Or again ‘Wow, this house gets bigger every time I am here, I swear it, it’s like…you just have such an amazing house.’ Seriously, mom, I can’t take it! I am too old for this. The fancy dresses and indirect compliments from kids and girls that I am not even sure like me for me. Megan—Megs—she is my best friend and the only one I care about coming. Then I could say most people just come to see how the Lee family has decorated and celebrated this year. It makes me feel like I am five years old and getting a pony, again! And I’ll end it by running my fingers through my hair with a big suggestive UGH! Is that better?”

This example was reminiscent of her drastically overdone sweet sixteen of last year. “Well, Bird, I can tell you one thing, I would hate to be in that frilly little sun dress and sun hat that Momma laid out for you to wear for your big day during that conversation.” This comment did not go over well with Tori. I was reminded that she had a middle finger and she knew how to use it. “Hey, no need for obscenities, I am just pointing out that Mother Bird has been throwing you these lavish parties for sixteen years now before you even knew what a birthday was. I don’t think she will take too kindly to your protest.”

Tori sat down on her bed, placed her hands in her lap, and folded over. Her next sentence, although muffled, I understood. “Stupid yoga didn’t help at all. Do you have an extra set of balls I could borrow or something?”

“Language, young lady, and no, I already had to have a talk with Momma and Daddy about college graduation this week, and that was hard. You can do this. You are the one who wants to spread your wings and gain more independence.” Tori gave me a dirty look, raising an eyebrow—a signature stare she had been practicing from the age of four. I walked over and sat down on the bed beside her. “Come on, you’ll be fine. Stand up for yourself a little, Tori, or else you will never know how to make it in the actual world.” Tori lifted her head abruptly and looked at me as she said,

“Live in the actual world! Seriously, the actual world? The actual world? That’s hilarious John Boy, especially since I am stuck in Never, Never Land, and my mother is Peter Pan. Look at my butt…it must be glowing.”

“No, but you are showing your ass. Watch the attitude, Tinker Bell. Come on, you know how to have a grown-up conversation, you have always been good with words.”

“Yes, with you and Daddy, but you know how hard it is to have grown-up conversations with Momma. She seems to think I am speaking at her, not to her, and it all goes awry. I know I can do it; I just don’t want to disappoint Momma, you know. She has been living vicariously through me. Good grief, I guess I should just be happy that she didn’t go as far as renting the Grand Ol’ Opry and paying for a private concert, inviting the entire town…or city!” Tori put her hands on my shoulders. “You will stick around, right, John Boy? Wait in the wings, have my back?”

“Only if you go now, while you still have the courage. Weston is picking me up soon.” At the mention of Weston’s name, my sister made a little Minnie Mouse sound. Lately, the mention of his name had been bringing that out. “Easy,” I said. She didn’t think I’d notice.“What?” she replied, lifting both shoulders and feigning innocence. It became a running joke between us, mostly because she knew it upset me. “It feels like a professional gymnast is doing her floor routine in my belly.” That is what Tori would say these days when referencing Weston. Leave it to Tori to come up with such a creative analogy.

Weston Scott was a family friend, three years younger than me and five years older than Tori. He was like another brother, and that worked out perfectly given the fact that I wasn’t around as much and he helped to look out for her. The way we met was a little unorthodox. In elementary school, Weston saw Tori being bullied by an older boy in the hallway. He was walking to his class and heard the boy call Tori a nerd and push her on the shoulder, causing her book bag to slide off. Weston immediately charged over to the kid and asked him why he thought it was okay to pick on a first-grader. The kid felt intimidated by Weston, whose size and built ensured he did not have to use any more words. After squinting his eyes at the boy as a warning that he should apologize, the kid turned on his heels and ran down the hall.

When Tori told the story, she imitated Weston. After the part where she said he helped hoist her backpack up on her shoulder, her voice got a little lower and stronger, “Come on kid, I will walk you to class.” It was her greatest impression and one of her best memories. It worked out for all of us because when Tori came home and told Momma and Daddy, well, they simply had to meet the newest member of Tori’s hero club. My mom got the Scotts’ phone number and invited them for dinner that weekend. From that night on, we saw one another regularly.

Tori wouldn’t dare say it with any more meaning than a vague ‘I love you’, but she definitely enjoyed having Weston around more as she grew up. At first, he was just an extra brother who came around to torment and upset her, and had super oober goober germs, but not for long.

Victoria’s interest in the opposite sex, from boys to men, went from LED level to incandescent, and they took quick notice of her too. Victoria was beautiful, inside and out. She had big, vivacious cartoon-like green eyes. Her skin was deep chestnut, like Momma’s and matched her long, beautiful curls. According to Tori, boys her age were not even worth her time and were not mature enough. If she was going to have a boyfriend, he would have to be older.

Those words still fill me with chill bumps. It was hard for me, Daddy, and hell, even for Weston to realize that Tori thought about mature relationships with older boys. We became overprotective, moving right up to Momma’s level of worry. Perhaps it was karma for all those times we picked on her. Was Tori ready to ride in cars with boys, hold hands, kiss, etc.? These are the things that dads and brothers, or family friends as close as brothers, did not want to think about.

In all my reminiscing, the time when Tori started noticing Weston in a more mature way stuck with me the most. She no longer saw him as a super oober goober fake brother, but as a man, the kind she felt she could relate to. I would be lying if I said this didn’t make the gymnast in my belly do his floor routine. I had absolute trust in Weston and knew that my imagination was taking hold of me, just like Momma’s gets the best of her. Weston and Tori’s love for one another was platonic. The two of them could never make sense in any other way. That was my narrative; stated with a period. Looking back, I realize that it should have been a question mark.

I remember these instances, from the birthday conversation we had in her room about one month before she turned seventeen, to her being so nervous to talk with Momma. Tori’s loss for words when she had to tell Momma that she was too old for a birthday party of such scale was unbelievable. No doubt that it was a challenge, the biggest one she faced since announcing, at five years old, that she no longer believed in Santa. I will never forget Momma’s face and dismay. “Victoria Lee, what on earth did you just say?” And Tori, eyebrows turned down and hands on her hips, replied in her most mature five-year-old voice, “Come on, there is no way that a plumped man in a red suit slides down our chimney and leaves whatever presents a child wants… seriously Momma.”

I can still hear the inflection of Tori’s somewhat imperfect pronunciation, I embedded it in my brain, along with Momma’s reaction. “I don’t understand Bradly. Where did I go wrong? I realize that bird is ahead of the game when compared to children in her age group but, my heavens, I have ruined her. She should not be able to distinguish fantasy from reality at such a young age.” My mother began to realize that Tori’s ability to analyze, sponge up, and soak in was like a superpower. But being smarter than the average child came with a price, and that year it was my Momma’s sanity. That Christmas couldn’t end fast enough. You can tell a lot from a picture. You could see the tension in Momma’s face. So much...