Little Blackbird

Driving through the high desert is my favorite place in the world to decompress. I come out here when a decision feels hazy or when my heart feels heavy. Tonight it was the latter. The road out here is endless and gives you the space to think, something a bedroom can’t compete with.

When we were growing up, my siblings and I used to make fun of people who loved the Southwestern landscape. There was a type of person, not born or raised here in New Mexico, who would too readily adopt the Native American flutes and Santa Fe scarves and turquoise jewelry. That whole lot. But now that I’m older, I get it. When you can smell a thunderstorm right before it hits, when the clouds are an indigo canopy across the muted red and orange mesas of a place lost in time, you can’t help but fall in love. There was a reason Ansel Adams called the skies exquisite. It’s for that reason I could clear my mind out here. Windows down and the warm air blowing through me.

My phone buzzed and lit up with a message from Adam. It was a gif of a rather eerie looking blackbird, his typical response to me. It was a little code we started using with each other when we were in college. We lived some hours from each other now, but when we needed a good chat, or really when I needed a good chat, I would text him two words: Little blackbird.

Zincs at 9? I text back.

K

I hated the one-letter response. But it was efficient and Adam liked "efficient".

I was coming up on the view of the Sandia Mountains, their silhouette towering over the twinkling lights of Albuquerque, like a gentle guardian of the Old Town. While I didn’t come out here all that often anymore, it was familiar enough that I didn’t feel like a tourist. It wasn't quite home either, somehow, but it was a space in the world we shared.

Adam had beat me here which was unusual as he was plagued with time blindness. I saw he had already ordered me a bottle of Merlot. That was our little blackbird. A bit of trivia he shared with me years ago, was the meaning behind some names of wine. He didn’t drink wine but knew all there was to know about it, the notes, the perfect pairings, how to catch the orange glow on a glass of merlot to see the difference from a Cabernet Sauvignon. He knew a lot about a lot. And he remembered the little things.

I sat down across the table feeling more refreshed after my drive, a little windblown but clear-minded. We weren’t the hugging type of friends, which was kind of a relief, to be honest. The knowing looks were always enough.

“I love the smell of the desert right before it rains,” he said.

“Dude, me too. It smells like childhood. Salud.” I said before taking in a cozy sip of wine.

“So does this, I said tipping my glass towards him. “Just kidding, well kind of— Catholic mass. You getting anything?”

“Of course.” His voice sounded softer than usual. Distracted maybe. Everything felt just a little different than usual.

We talked about his work at the radio station, the cougars who still fancied him, the boss he was interning for who didn’t value him. We caught up on family news. Adam was my little brother’s best friend back in high school, so he knew my family quite well and I knew his. The familiar felt good.

We both ordered green chile tapas, annoying to our server no doubt. Maybe we’d order dessert later.

He dropped off the food and we welcomed the sneaky, rolling heat of the chile as it climbed around the inside of our mouths. Neither one of us willing to admit it’s too damn hot. I coughed a bit to clear my throat but he took that as a sign of weakness. I rolled my eyes as I took a hearty swallow of wine.

“Easy, there. He said as he polished off the last of the appetizer.

“So what’s going on? Why the Batman signal tonight?” I could see beads of perspiration on his forehead appearing, a sure sign the green chile was a bit much for him too.

I sighed. I wasn’t sure where to start. So I just talked about how I felt like I didn’t know what to do next in life. I loved working as a mentor for young girls. I loved teaching but I was over being alone. The guy I had been pining for was not interested in me, and as much as that should have answered some unknowns, it was still disorienting. I thought I was a catch, but I guess I wasn’t young and mysterious enough to warrant interest.

A moment later, a friend of ours from back home spotted us and came by our table on her way out.

“Oh my gawsh, Michaela, imagine seeing you two out here! What’s it been, two years? Three?”

“Elisa!” I said, standing up and giving her a hug for the ages.

“Wow, it's so good to see you. She looked at us both, a grin covering her face. “When are y’all gonna finally just get together?” She winked.

Which was a funny thing for her to say, being that she had a crush on Adam back in the day. As did many of my friends.

I waved off her suggestion.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, hit me up the next time you’re out here. She squeezed my hand and started to walk away.

“Bye Michaela, bye Adam!” she yelled with a bit of playground sing song in her voice.

He laughed and nodded a goodbye her way.

And then the strangest thing happened. It was as though the fence that had guarded a lifetime of vulnerabilities just dissipated. Here was this fascinating and intelligent person I had known for a decade and I’d always brushed off the possibilities. Too familiar? Too close? Not each other’s type? It all seemed rational and yet entirely irrational.

Maybe it was the wine speaking but without a second thought, I said,

“Don’t count me out.”

The sudden rush of reality hit me, I started to feel dizzy. I couldn’t believe my voice. I wanted to gather the sounds and syllables back into my hands but then they hung there between us for a second. Disturbed by nothing.

“What do you mean?” He finally said, the sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting a dialogue to take place. It was a fluke, what did he mean, what did I mean?

“I dunno. I mean, like when you’re considering a wife, don’t count me out.” I shrugged, embarrassed by my lame assertion. Don't count me out? Really? Were we talking about picking a team captain or a lifelong partner?

He leaned back in his chair and cocked his head as though in serious contemplation. At first, I thought he was annoyed that I had unceremoniously ruined our friendship. That with a single off-hand comment I crossed an unspoken line in the sand of our history. He crossed his arms and looked at me intently.

And it was that very moment that would remain in my memory. The shape of his face, the hue of hazel in his eyes, the movement of his mouth. I knew I would remember it always.

Years later, I would recall the way the bar lights looked behind him, the smell of the wine, the little freckle on his right hand. I would recall this moment on our wedding day. On the day we lost our first baby. And the day we lost our second one. I would remember those eyes when our first son was born, and on the day I almost died in childbirth. I would remember it during our first really big fight. And our first tearful makeup. I would think about that dumb phrase I just said knowing I wouldn’t change a single moment.

Those eyes. Gentle and deep and knowing.

“Well, he said, “that’s not a conversation you have every day.”

I exhaled. Relieved that his humor was intact despite my fumble ridden memo from the heart. Not all was lost. We could move past this.

Then he smiled and poured me another glass of wine.