Mockingbirds

Chapter Two - Mack

It's a sad song, the one Mack hears nightly. And it's a loud one at that, despite it coming from the other room.

    It starts with percussion. Maybe a broken plate, a creaky window, or the shuffling of feet. And then, the melody, sung by a deep, male voice. It's scratchy yet warm, like an old sweater. You're supposed to fit right into it, but there's always discomfort. And the melody starts smooth, fluid, legato. That's the trap. Because as soon as you become used to the noise, it shifts. Forte, piercing, marcato. Overwhelming.

Occasionally Mack, this ten year old Mack, can make out a countermelody, a woman's voice. The little she hears of it is quiet, soothing, calming. But the male's voice quickly overwhelms it. At this point, Mack can hardly tell why the woman tries to sing along anymore. Is there a strength to it, to continue to sing when you know you won't be heard?

It's nightly Mack has this question, and nightly too when percussion shuts her mind off from answering it. Smack, and she's out the window.

Being able to shapeshift has its perks. It's the one thing Mack inherited from her dad she doesn't have total disdain for yet. And in this case, she turns into a woodpecker, and flies away. Into the night. Away from the intense song that is her home. The birds make nicer songs anyway.

And that's what she listens to, as she lands and detransforms. Two mockingbirds are making a nest in a forest. She hears an owl hoot from across the way, and the mockingbirds respond with a hoot of their own. It's close to the real thing, but not complete. There always seems to be something missing from their call.

And yet, Mackenzie Darby finds a beauty in this. Who's to tell these birds not to sing? They live lives just like she does! They have every right to sing like an owl, even if their pitch is a little off, or their tone is a little too light, or their beak is a tad too long.

She needs to get out more. See people her age. Father doesn't let her out very often. She's his best kept secret, is what he always tells her. She has a gift, one that people will hate her for, if not treated with the care it deserves. And she understands that. But at the same time, it hurts.

Because she feels like a mockingbird, everyday. A mockingbird who isn't allowed to have a voice anymore.

"Mack?"

That voice, that countermelody. It's followed her here. She really has to find better hiding spots.

"Hi Mom."

Mack turns to see her mom. A woman with fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes. She's wearing her nightwear right now, a long gray nightgown and sandals at her feet. She's beautiful, Mack thinks, despite the bruise on her left eye. Mom sits by Mack, underneath the large tree.

"I'm sorry if you were scared, Mack, but you can't just be running off. You had me worried sick."

"Are you going to leave us? Leave me?"

A pause.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. He's a monster. But-"

Mack tries to get the voice out, but it refuses. Mom takes a breath, and puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Your father is a... complicated man. He has a heavy responsibility he puts on himself. And sometimes he expresses it in ways that don't make sense."

Mom stutters on that last part. Mack knows this is it. But then Mom does something unexpected.

She takes off a heart shaped locket from her neck and puts it on Mack. She opens it up, and inside is a photo: the two of them at the county fair. It had been a nice day, one of the best in her life at that; Mack had gotten a plush cow from the whole affair.