Mockingbirds

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Everyone who lives on a small, nameless street hidden away in the French Quarter of New Orleans still talks about the murder sweet Annabelle and the butcher's son. But, as some say, it wasn't really a murder. They never found bodies or any blood, it was just assumed that the poor things were killed.

Annabelle was just a sight to see. Long dark auburn curls framed her thin face and made her pale skin shine. Her cheeks were untouched by rouge and her lips were naturally a pouty pink. But the icing on the cake were her eyes. The left was the color of the sky after a hurricane and the right resembled the exact same green of the kudzu vines that were slowly strangling our Dixie.

She sat on a blue velvet window seat looking out on the alleyway below and she would sing. Most of the songs Annabelle sang were nonsensical, but the pedestrians down on the street did not care. They were haunting and stayed with you the rest of the day.

“ Oh, I'm going to fly away

Out the window, into the sky

‘Cause Im a mockingbird, singing my days away.”

Annabelle lived in a brothel ran by her widowed mother. But that doesn't mean that Annabelle herself was a whore, she was as pure as the Mother Mary herself. It seemed odd that a beautiful creature such as Annabelle could blossom in sordid place, but she refused to live anywhere else.

She never left her room, it locked from the inside and the only time the door was opened is when her mother dropped off her meals. When her mother was too busy with entertaining a client she had a hired me - the local butcher's son - to bring the meals up. I would pray to the Lord everyday that I could just get one glimpse of my angel Annabelle.

“ Come fly with me, dear one

The wind will carry us away, far away

To a land where we can be free.”

I suppose you can say that I was in love with her. I guess you are right in a way. I was really more in love with the idea of her. The idea of Annabelle sent chills down my spine. I never thought lustful thoughts about her, as did many of my friends did. “I wish Annabelle was one of her momma's working girls. I'd love to --”, but I'll stop there. I couldn't stand the way they talked about her. Talkin' about her like she was an object; something to fuck and play around with. I even got into a fight with my friend Charles after he said he'd like to pop Annabelle's cherry.

You just don't say that about an angel. You just fuckin' don't.

Annabelle never said a word to me. She just kept singing whenever I entered with her tray of food. I didn't care; I got to see her and that made me happy. Sometimes I would sit and try to imagine what she'd look like if she ever smiled. It gave me little pricks of pleasure in my eyes and put me in tears. Once my father stumbled in during one of my little daydreams and screamed at me to be a man. He hit me once or twice and then went on his way. The entire time while he was hitting me I thought about one thing; my Annabelle. Bruises and cuts seemed such worthless physical things. Annabelle and I were above the physical.

“ Lets go to our Paradise, only us no one else

Well spend the day in each others arms

Mockingbirds hand in hand.”

I knew something was wrong when she suddenly spoke to me. Her song stopped when I opened the door. She turned and looked at me, her mismatched eyes gleaming with tears. This sent a bolt of anger surging through my body. My mind raced with possibilities; some one hurt my Annabelle. Some bastard hurt my Annabelle! I kept my face empty with just the hint of curiosity. She spoke first.

“What is your name?”

Oh, sweet Gods. Her talkin' voice was sweeter than her singin' voice. It was soft and barely there, yet you knew that you heard it. It had just a hint of an accent. I stood there in shock, not believing that my angel just spoke to me. She repeated her question slowly, “What is your name?” “P-Peter. I'm t-th-the butcher's son.”

Her lips formed a small smile that contradicted the teary eyes. I had a mental orgasm at the sight of her smilin'. I nearly passed out from joy. “You come up here a lot,” her voice suddenly got sad, “You didn't come yesterday...” Another wave of pleasure. She had missed me. I managed to recover from the sudden attack of emotion and I spoke thickly, “My pa had me workin' the shop yesterday.”

She turned back to the window and started singing again.

“Well hide away in our Paradise

Away from our past sins

Mockingbirds ‘til we die.”

I awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, “That's a real pretty song. Did you come up with it yourself?” She looked at me and nodded, “Yes, I did. It came to me in a dream.” Annabelle got up from her perch and walked across the room to where I stood. She took my left hand in her own and she leaned in close, “Peter, will you fly away with me?” I had never felt so confused in my life. “Fly away? Where?” Her voice became frantic and thin, “To our Paradise, Peter! We can go now! Together!”

Now, at this moment I felt a pang of fear strike me. I had no idea what Annabelle was talkin' about and it scared me. I mutely nodded and she dragged me to the window. She opened it with her free hand and looked back at me, “I've been waiting for you Peter and I know you've been waiting for me too.” She kissed me.

I think, if at all possible, I could of just died from pure joy. If a man could really die from joy, I would have been the first.

“Annabelle,” my voice is squeaky and I blush at the sound. Annabelle doesn't notice as she steps on the window seat and pulls me along with her.

We face the open sky in front of us and I feel a strong gust of wind push at my back. Feathers, some dull and others colors I've never seen before, swirl around us and gather on our backs. Annabelle looked at me and whispered, “We're mockingbirds, you and I.”

And then we fly away.