Fly High, Fly Low [ON-HOLD]

Chapter 7

FLY HIGH, FLY LOW
By GinoongONEGANI

CHAPTER SEVEN

JAY NEVER dares to use the television again. Never dares to touch anything in the house ever again. Self-pity is slowly kicking in. Never once does he feel as though he isn't belonged. Whenever he's out of his room, basically a prison by now, he feels like he's trespassing in someone's home. He's always so conscious of the possible trails he leaves behind as he goes and about the house. That said, he can't help but to look back, anxiously observing if footprints will magically show up so he can wipe it clean.

One morning he decides he's suffocating, a breath of fresh air is a must. Otherwise he will die before the vacation ends. He braves the curious look of strangers as he strolls outside Lacopia's Compound. He's seen a gas station, some vacant lots, and few run-down houses. When he decides it's enough, he threads along the path back home. He lingers at the vicinity, still hesitant to go inside. At that moment he spots a man from afar, a lot older than he is but probably decades (or so) younger than his grandparents, making something like a dog house. He wonders if he can ask for some woods he can use to make a shelf, he looks like he has a lot of spares. Closer, he realizes it's Edmar, the younger brother of Grandma.

"Hi," he says to get the busy man's attention. Edmar looks up at him, smiling broadly as their eyes connect, recognition visible on his face.

"Hey, Jayden," says Edmar, struggling a bit to stand up, abandoning his work in favor of facing him completely. Edmar has a button nose and is small in built. He needs to angle his head up so he can have eye to eye contact with Jay. "I've never seen you since you were twelve but look how much you've grown. A very fine man I must say. Look a lot like your father."

Jay looks down to hide the blush. He gets really flushed even with simple compliments. "Just Jay is fine, Edmar." He jerks his head in the direction of the plywoods. "By the way, can I have some of those?"

Edmar seems like he's really cool with it. "Where will you use them for, though?"

He rubs at the back of his earlobe. "I need a shelf for my books, I thought I needed to make one."

Edmar offers to help which Jay accepts albeit reluctantly because he knows better his capacity to do physical work. Stories are shared over the sound of a hammer hitting the nails. It's not a dog house, Jay learns, but a shelter for Grandpa's pigeons. Within a couple of hours, the pair manages to transform the plywoods into a mini two-deck shelf that can cater all of Jay's books.

He stays until sunset, forgoing lunch at his grandparents' house, instead has some biscuits from James, Edmar's older son, after declining an invite for a proper meal, and waits until the paint goes dry. James helps him transport the finished product up the stairs and into his room. He decides that Edmar is better than Grandpa who seems to know nothing but to look daggers at him every chance he gets.

Jay's so happy he feels as though there's a large balloon swelling inside him as he lines up the books inside the pink shelf. He's not really fond of pink but as it's the only paint available at Edmar's house, he decides it's better than nothing at all. Then it's dinner, how long has he been marveling at the shelf, really. The sight of his grandparents at the dining table makes him feel as though the happy balloon inside him has got a puncture.

This time they prepare caldereta for him, while they enjoy the same soup like they had yesterday. The caldereta seems relatively okay, so he gets a little pumped up and takes a spoonful, only to gag because of how salty it is.

"Sorry," he chokes out, dabbing the back of his hand at the mouth where spit is evident. It's so salty he might get sick. Actually, they haven't given him a proper meal yet since his arrival, if it's not too bland, it will be this salty. He can't help but wonder if this is really intentional.

"If you don't want to eat --- if you don't want it," Grandpa says and there's a hard edge to his voice, "you can leave it there." And for once, he averts his gaze from him, instead focuses on his own plate.

"No," he comes to his own defense, picking up the spoon and fork which he abandons by either side of his plate, "it's not like that."

The pieces of chicken soaked in sticky sauce start to look inedible, like it's made out of paper, only they taste so much more horrible than paper. Jay would rather eat paper. He's hyper-aware of his grandparents' attention to him anticipating his next move. He can't move to eat. Frankly, he doesn't know if he still wants to eat.

There's a sigh, followed by a screech as the chair scrapes against the floor.

"No. That's how I'm seeing it," Grandma says, reaching a hand so she's cupping Grandpa's clenched one. And what is this, are they ganging up on him now? His grandmother looks like a mother hen protecting her one and only chick that is his grandfather. "You could have just said you don't want it. What's with the stunt?"

"I told you it's not like that!" Though, he knows it is. He needs this though, because hunger is finally catching up with him for all the activities from earlier.

"Kids of this generation are hard to please," Grandma continues, red in the face. "Give them fried chicken and they will complain. Prepare caldereta for them and they will still complain."

She rounds the table, snatching his plate, leaving him only the spoon and fork to grip onto, and dumps his barely-touched caldereta into the cat's bowl. He is shocked to say the least, he can't make a sound. Grandpa doesn't say anything.

Jay darts into his room before his stomach can growl in hunger. He pays it no mind. He sleeps it away. The next day, which makes him even more furious, they act as though nothing has happened. Grandma lathers a toast with peanut butter and offers it to him kindly, like she did just not snatch his food away last night for the cat to feast on instead, leaving him with a stomach begging to be filled.

Outside, Grandpa is waiting for him, beckoning him to follow. The nasty smell assaults his nostrils, sourly like a spoiled food and a bit fishy, and they are yet to reach the destination. A roof springs up to view, and hundreds of pigeons are flying around. He can't almost breathe when they stop in front of a wooden house with trapdoors through where the pigeons are flying in and out. Grandpa disappears for a while to get two buckets of birdseed, one of which is handed over to Jay.

Minutes of entire silence before Grandpa speaks, the wind scattering the pellets which he's thrown. All at once, the birds come swarming around them. Jay takes a step backwards, overwhelmed.

"Do you like pigeons?"

Jay releases his breath, a little shaky, trying to get used to the smell. He doesn't answer. Instead, he grabs a handful of the birdseed, strewing it on the ground, a little far away from where they stand so he will have enough space for himself. He doesn't really like being near them.

It doesn't take long before the birds look up at them, asking for another handful. Jay obliges. The coos vibrate through his entire body.

"They can't talk," Grandpa says, "but they can still get their intentions across."

Jay gives them more.

And more.