Untitled...for now.

So, I started a new novel. One that I have been mulling over the last few weeks...It's different from anything I have written before, but I think it's a good story.

Anyway, the first small part is written (not revised, so this is not BY FAR a final draft) but a beginning.

Enjoy.

She swore under her breath as the lone bulb dangling from the ceiling flickered. There was a small whir as the electricity punched into overdrive from the small power failure. Shoving aside the rumbled newspaper on the tabletop, she reached for the phone on the wall and punched the all too familiar number into the key pad and waited.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line was heavy with sleep and she rolled her eyes, picturing the man’s state of being based solely on that one word.
“Mr. Slemmes, if the power surges one more time because of your crappy wiring, I am moving out,” her voice was testy, full of the aggravation of too many months in such a small and cramped apartment.
“Now, listen here missy…” his voice lowered in volume until she found herself pressing the earpiece tighter against her ear to catch his faltering words, but regretted it as he started yelling the next phrase to cover up for falling asleep, “That wiring is fine! You just can’t have more than one or two things on at once, that’s all!”
“You mean to tell me that sitting at my kitchen table with one light on and the radio is overusing electricity Mr. Slemmes?”
“Err, perhaps.” She could hear humming growing loudly over the phone line.
“If it is not fixed by tomorrow, I am calling the city to complain and they’ll come and find your numerous violations!” Her eyes caught the edge of the newspaper, tipping precariously over the edge of the table. Snatching it, she saved it from falling over the side and onto the cracked linoleum floor.
“Now see here, you can’t threaten me.”
“As a paying tenant, I most certainly can Mr. Slemmes.” With that, she slammed the phone back on the wall and let out a loud grown to the empty apartment.
The state of the apartment had changed little in the time she had been living there. The floors in the kitchen and bathroom were cracked, the edges by the molding pulling up and curling. The carpet was stained in the tiny living room, and a large water stain the shape of Texas dominated the ceiling above a small camp bed in the closet she called a bedroom. The living room held a small futon and a large array of boxes, most still packed from the day she moved in. There were books in stacks all over the floor, coupled with old newspapers and notebooks. The kitchen was empty, save for a small coffee pot, a avocado green refrigerator, and the beaten up card table she bought from the man upstairs for $5 when she had grown tired of sitting on the floor.
Pushing away from the table and newspaper, she walked to the small window overlooking the courtyard three stories below. In the fading light from the setting sun, she took in the yellowed grass from lack of rain and the few trees which were stunted and awkward in such a confined space. Her back ached from the hours sitting in the chair and she stretched slowly, back cracking up her spine as she did so.
Had her eyes not wandered, she might not have noticed the boy in the grass below. He was half-hiding under a tree, looking around nervously. Slowly she opened the window a crack and was greeted by a small breeze of cool air. It looked as though he was talking to something, but she could see nothing else in the courtyard.
Nodding, she took off out of the small apartment and walked down the stairs to go investigate the boy’s actions. No one really used the courtyard. It wasn’t a pleasant place to spend any length of time and she was unsure of whether it was even safe to venture onto the scorched grass.
With that in mind, she proceeded cautiously once on the main floor towards the cracked glass door leading outside. The boy was still under the tree, kneeling and cradling something in his hands.
He turned to stare at her when she came out to meet him. Realizing instantly that he was far older than she suspected, she almost turned around and went back in until he stood and a quick glimpse of what he had been cradling flashed before her eyes.
“You’re Bridget, aren’t you?” His voice was deep and oddly familiar.
“Yes, and you’re Andy. You live next door to me.” He nodded, eyes sharp and darting as he looked behind her. “I’m alone.”
“Yes, well…” Weight shifting from one foot to the other, she caught another look of the red object on the ground.
“I saw you, from my kitchen. I thought you might need help with something…” Her voice trailed off as she saw his shoulders tighten and eyes narrow.
“I don’t need help with anything.”
“Well, I’ll be going upstairs then, won’t I?” Turning on her heel, flip-flop slamming against her foot, she moved back towards the door.
“Wait.” It was said softly, but she had been listening for it. She stopped and waited, refusing to turn back to look at him. “I could use some help.”
“You won’t be rude to me again?”
“Rude?”
“I’ve had enough rude encounters today, with Mr. Slemmes.”
“He’s a horrible landlord.” She smiled and turned around.
“I’ll help you, simply for saying that.” He reached for her with a small smile on his face, beckoning her to the spot under the tree and the flash of red on the ground. Kneeling, he motioned for her to do the same.
“I found him a little while ago.” Directly in front of where he was kneeling lay a small reddish colored bird. The feathers were vividly colored, streaking with not only red, but deep orange and a small patch of gold beneath his beak.
“He’s beautiful.” Reaching to touch him, the bird turned his head sharply, cocking an eye to stare into her own. Thinking it was only the last rays of the sun, she brushed off the gentle feeling of warmth on her face. “I don’t think I’ve seen another bird like him in the area.”
“Neither have I.” Andy’s voice was soft, as if he were afraid to spook the little bird. “I think he’s hurt.”
“That would explain why he isn’t moving, wouldn’t it?” She smiled, realizing her comment might be considered crass.
“I don’t have anywhere to put him though, or anyone to take him to.” She stared down at the small bird once more, which was still eyeing her suspiciously.
“I can take him. I have more than enough room and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind the company.”
“Yeah…” He blushed a little before going on, “I notice you are all alone.”
“I choose to be alone.” It was sharp and harsh and she immediately bit the side of her cheek. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I say things without thinking them through and in a way that’s not very friendly.”
“No, you can choose whatever you wish. It’s your life.” She nodded slowly, watching the bird and avoiding Andy’s gaze. “Bridget, we should move him upstairs before any other curious neighbors come down to see what we’re up to.”
He scooped the bird gently in his hands and moved towards the cracked door. Bridget took a moment to grab some leaves and twigs to make a small nest before joining Andy on the stairs. They creaked beneath her thin flip flops and she stared at the small of his back as they climbed to their floor.
Her door was cracked open when they approached and she remembered that it didn’t always latch.
“Damn that man,” she muttered it quietly under her breath as she led Andy into her small kitchen. He snickered slightly and walked further in and looked around.
“How long have you been living here again?”
“About eight months, why?”
“You need to decorate.” There was a wide grin on his face and she couldn’t help but return it.
“Oh, but I already have decorations, including my own replica of Texas on my bedroom ceiling.” He looked confused, so she led him into the small room and pointed up.
“I think I see the Alamo.”
“You and me both.” She could tell he was curious, looking around and seeing nothing on the walls but the paint, nothing in the room besides the camp bed with its blankets and a small crate next to it.
Watching him out of the corner of her eye as he looked, she opened the small door that led to the closet and grabbed an old blanket and moved out into the living room. Andy followed, still clutching the bird in his hands. Realizing she was making a nest for him, he knelt beside her and set the bird down in the small hollow of the blanket. The bird was eyeing both of them, including the twigs and leaves she was arranging to make an actual nest.
“He’s pretty quiet, isn’t he?” Brushing her hands together to loosen the small pieces of plant life from clinging, she leaned closer to investigate the new roommate.
“He was chirping before I found him, but as soon as I started to help him, he quieted down.”
“Do you know what kind of bird he is?” Her blue eyes found his own, almost a perfect match in color.
“I’m not much of a bird lover.” He smiled and lifted his hands in mock helplessness.
“What kind of a lover are you then?” She whispered it and he jumped, eyes searching his own.
“Umm…”
“You don’t have to answer.” Standing, she started searching her boxes, looking for a book that might be helpful. His eyes were boring holes in her back as she dove into the cardboard and set books down on the outside. With a small cry of success, she pulled out a small volume and sat back down by the bird.
Flipping the pages, she could still feel his eyes on her, but chose to ignore them. Colored pages of birds flashed before her eyes, but none that looked similar to the small creature in the blanket before them. He sighed beside her and turned away, looking a little closer at the lack of objects in the room. She knew he was investigating, thinking about how little she had and what her story was. In frustration, she set the book down. The bird was not in there.
“If you want to ask me a question, go ahead. I don’t bite.” He jumped a little and stared at her.
“You’re kind of blunt, aren’t you?”
“I can’t be “kind of.” I either am, or I’m not. But that’s for you to decide, isn’t it?” Leaning back on the palms of her hands, she waited.
“How old are you Bridget?”
“Twenty-five, and yourself?”
“I just turned twenty-two.” She cocked an eyebrow into a defining arch. “I know I don’t look that old, but I swear I am.”
“I believe you.” He settled back into sitting Indian style, facing her and keeping the bird between them. The bird was staring at both of them, alternating staring them down one at a time.
“I heard you guys singing happy birthday a few weeks ago. Was that for you?”
“Yes.” Blushing, he turned to look at the bird.
“Who do you live with?”
“Just my aunt.” She nodded and turned her attention to the small creature as well. He was still staring at Andy, his black eye focused on his face.
“Do you have a job?”
“I work at the public library.”
“So you’re a book lover then.” Grinning he caught her eye.
“You could say that.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I am as well.” She gestured to the boxes and small stacks of books behind her against the wall.
“What is it that you do?”
“Nothing at the moment.”
“Nothing?” The bird was ignored for a moment.
“My parents died and left me a small fortune, so I am living off that for the moment.” Slowly he nodded. “I didn’t get along with my parents, so I’m surprised they left me anything at all. So was my older brother.”
“I don’t have any siblings.”
“You can have mine if you want.” She grimaced and pulled down her shirt in the back. “He’s a pompous asshole. Tried to take the bit that my parents left me, even though they left him his own money. Said I didn’t deserve it, but what can you do?”
They were quiet for a moment, looking at each other and sizing up their impressions.
“What did you do before then?” Andy had started picking at imaginary lint on his t-shirt, lifting the pieces and flicking them from his fingers.
“I was a graduate student.” Raising his eyebrows she went on, “I thought it was what I wanted-to be a great scholar. But I realized it wasn’t for me. At least the subject wasn’t for me.”
“What subject? Literature?”
“Oh heaven’s no. I wouldn’t study anything I really loved. It would take all the fun and enjoyment out of it,” her laugh was soft. “No, I was working for the Chemistry department, doing research and earning my degree.”
He nodded again and stopped picking lint from his shirt. He was intrigued now, she could tell, by the deepened lines in his forehead from utter curiousity.
“May I ask why you quit?”
“No, you may not.” It was said quietly. “I’m sorry Andy, some things I still need to keep to myself.”
“I understand. We just met.”
“Yes, we did.” Again, she caught his eye and smiled. “What about yourself? School?”
“I have a bachelor’s in English, thus the library job.”
“Wonderful. Why do you live at home?”
“My uncle passed away two years ago, right before I graduated from college. My aunt asked and I moved in to help her out.”
“Aren’t you a sweetheart.” Turning away, he stood up.
“I should go.” He began walking to the door and had placed a hand on the doorknob before she caught up to him. Grabbing his forearm, she turned him around to look him in the eye, catching the sight of a large purple bruise edging out from the edge of his sleeve.
“I’m sorry, that was rude. I have a habit of saying things I shouldn’t.” He wouldn’t look at her. “I’m just curious….I hear things…through the wall. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
At that his eyes caught her own and she stepped back from the anger she saw in them.
“You eavesdrop on us?”
“No, not on purpose, but sometimes…I hear things.”
“I can’t believe you. What happens over there is MY business, not yours.”
“Andy…” His eyes were flashing with anger and she took another step back. Shaking his head he opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. The lights flickered with the power of door and she grabbed her chest. Her heart was beating quickly, fluttering beneath her fingers.
Then she heard it, the small chirping from the living room. She had forgotten about the bird, still nestled in the folds of the blanket. It was staring at her as she approached. She sat next to him and reached for it. Surprised, she cradled it when it jumped into the palm of her hand.
She heard him enter the next door apartment and then the screams. His aunt was angry and she could hear the distinct sounds of Andy being hit. His aunt was a large and formidable woman. Bridget had met her once when she first moved in and was scared by the woman who had greeted her none to friendly.
When the noise quieted down next door, she pulled the bird away from her cheek where she had been nuzzling it and noticed its feathers were wet from her tears. Laughing, she set the bird back down on the blanket.
“I must be losing it, to cry over nothing.” It said nothing in return, but turned a black eye to her own blues ones. Again, a feeling of warmth, like the sun kissing her skin enveloped her. He chirped once and the feeling was gone.
Tired, she stripped and crawled onto the bed. She could hear him through the wall, sniffling and muffling his cries in his pillow. Placing a palm flat against the wall, she reached for him, the boy who had been keeping her company every night for the last eight months. He was there and she would help him.