Love Language

I always know when he's happy, for when he is the mockingbirds erupt into a chorus of elated chatters- and as they take flight my heart soars away with them.

It began when we were children, our farms right across the street from each other. Our parents refused to let us speak to each other, our loud banter and shrill laughter causing a loud disturbance on either side of the black-top. We were forbidden to approach the fence-line barring us from the road, leaving us both to our own lonely devices, staring at each other longingly and wishing to close the ever-growing space between us. Our friendship only seems to grow though we couldn't speak, and one day through sheer accident we finally realized how we could bridge the gap.

A sad tune was the beginning of it all. The radio in the barn that day had played a sad, slow-tempo piano ballad that had lodged itself in every groove and fold of my brain that I couldn't shake it no matter how hard I attempted to. I had whistled it softly as I followed my mother through the pasture to her favorite grazing spot, my eyes languidly scanning the pasture across the cracked pavement where I saw him and his mother replicating our actions. He seemed as down-and-out as I was, sulking behind his mother, bumping into her rump when she stopped abruptly to snag a few fresh shoots from the sodden earth. I sighed, starting up my whistling once more as my mother and I reached the far end of the field, where the noisy mockingbirds seemed to congregate ordinarily. My whistling had been loud enough for them to pick up on, their high pitched chittering slowing down and crudely replicating the sad and somber tune that had then faltered on my lips. As soon as it had begun, it spread like an invisible wildfire, the forest erupting with the tune and carrying over to the families of birds nesting in the trees that canopied over his fence-line. His head had snapped up, eyes trained directly on my form and I could feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, hoping the mockingbirds wouldn't mimic the awkward chuckle that escaped me. It was then that I had watched it in slow-motion, the way his lips formed a perfect "o" before closing once more, his head trained to the trees; and as the second verse of the song's chorus slowly filled the forest on my side, my heart had melted down to the wick.

We continued talking through birdsong constantly after that, our parents never truly figuring out what had made the two of us so musical as of late, and we relished in the giddy feeling of their ignorance. We told each other every day of our emotions, whether happy, angry, or sad through the birds, and continued to do so even when we had become old enough and ready to move on to greener pastures. Our songs The songs littering the forests that day were somber and yearning as I watched him be ushered into the back of a rusty trailer and driven out of sight, taking the fragments of my shattered heart with him. It wasn't long before it became my turn, my mother sobbing quietly as a representative of my new home coaxed me into the spacious and tidy trailer, straw already laid out for me and a bucket of fresh water at my disposal. The ride was smooth, the treeline blurring as we increased speed and the tears began falling from my cheeks. The ride was long and grueling, though thankfully the trailer was large enough for me to be able to lie down and have a fitful sleep. Sonata Stables was a beacon of light slicing through my dark thoughts, my new herd-mates wonderful and welcoming as the staff. I had made friends easily and at a rate I never had before, and their comfort and presence helped me forget about my childhood friend for a long while... Until one day when I had decided to follow Bravado to the fence-line barricading us from the road, a familiar shiny coat glistening in the pasture across the way.

My heart had begin leaped in my chest, Bravado glancing over at me quizzically before shrugging and leaving me to gather myself on my own. I couldn't help but look to the trees above me, the newly built starling nest alight in soft chirps, and I whistled to them the song I had whistled all those years ago. My heart fluttered as the song flooded the woods, hopping over the road and entering his pasture. I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear when his head had snapped up in the direction of my pasture, his eyes lighting up and his form racing toward his end of the fence. Once more, we had begun whistling to each other from across the way, the feelings I had buried deep within the recesses of my heart sprouting up and flowering once more, as we communicated in the only language we've ever known, the melody of our love dancing on the tongues of the songbirds.