Spirit, the Sky, and American Pie

The stars always shined in Melderian forests. Covering the night-bound travelers like a protective blanket, the sky was a comfort and a roadmap, leading whoever followed them back home with a quiet smile. Falda traveled along them often. She and her meager traveling party often made a game of drawing pictures in the sky, using the dots of lights as a guideline. Cirivan would tell stories to accompany them, and what stories they were.

“See how they twist and turn in the sky?” She’d say, voice sounding like a violin and full of certainty as she traced the air with a glowing finger. “There’s wars being fought up there, beings made of galaxies are having their own adventures, just as we are.”

Then, like clockwork, she’d sigh and run a lit hand over Falda’s upper back. “I hope you grow your wings soon, so we can go up there, drink our fill of starlight, and hear the stories from their perspective.”

There are no stars in New York.

Even in the apartment scraping the edge of the town, the city might be a star itself with how it glowed and fizzled at night, blocking any competitor from sight. 

There were drinks, though. None are as sweet as Melderian ale, and it certainly was no starlight, but it was enough to lay down and drink away the memories with.

 Even if the grey sky wasn’t much to look at.

The balcony’s hard stone would make for a rude awakening when the sun came cracking through the horizon, but until she saw that natural light, Falda didn’t care. For now it was her, cheap beer, and a song she swore she had forgotten so long ago, in a language only she remembered. She hummed the tune quietly, tapping a tempo on the almost empty can. That is, until a new voice joined the chorus.

Crimson eyes flashed open to the light of the apartment surrounding an hourglass figure like a halo the owner didn’t deserve, flowing black hair as dark as the world overhead. 

“What are you doing up at this hour?” Falda asked Amelia, wondering how she knew the song she was humming. 

“I could ask you the same question,” Amelia replied, sleepy blue eyes twitching to life as she padded onto the balcony. “What’s got you in the...er...spirits?”

Falda snorted a laugh at her antiquated language leaving Amelia’s mouth. “Oh, you know, memories of Ye Olden Lande. The usual suspects,” she said as she came down from her fit of chuckles.

“What’s Don McLean got to do with the World Before?” Amelia furrowed her brow, taking great care to avoid either m-word.

Falda returned the expression in kind. “Never knew a guy by that name. It’s a song from home. I’m surprised you’re familiar.”

“No, that’s American Pie. I would know, I practically grew up on the thing. My dad loved it.” Amelia picked up the song where the two had stopped humming, “Them good ole’ boys were drinking whiskey and rye..”

“...O’bdina cigage dae.”  Falda answered in her mother tongue, to both their befuddlement.

Amelia took a minute, but then took a seat next to Falda. “You know what, I’m not going to go through the mental gymnastics to try and explain that. Bangers are bangers no matter the world, I guess. What’s yours about?”

Falda sat up on her elbows and looked at the blank clouds with a wistful sigh. “Enjoying summer on a dying planet, I think. How the earth was burning under their feet and using the heat to dance and have bonfires. Wishful thinking and the like.”

Now it was Amelia’s turn to snort. “Ours is about a plane crash. Well, much more than that, but y’know, plane crash. Y'all fairy folks really were on something, huh.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh please, I’m right. Also, stop drinking that garbage. Let’s talk about shit with something worthy in our systems,” Amelia said, taking the can that Falda had been nursing for the better part of an hour right out of her hands. 

As Amelia returned to rummage the fridge, Falda’s eyes wandered back up, brushes of color filling the empty canvas above her head. Little dots where stars would be roared to life with warfare and celebration. There were villages, a castle, and a legendary hero to defend it. Then, a dragon, baring cosmic teeth as it tore it’s claws through everything without mercy, the hero falling from the sky-

“Shit, did what I say actually hurt? Fuck, I’m so sorry it was a joke love-”

“What? No, no-” Falda stammered, not realizing the tears rolling down her chin. She sat up, wiping her eyes with one hand, the other feeling around for the drink Amelia had promised.

“You never remember Memdia in a good way,” Amelia said, abandoning the unspoken courtesies as she lead a bottle of cider into Falda’s wandering hand. Falda chugged down a good half of it in an instant, appreciating the lack of burning as it fell down her throat.

“Not my fault, none of this shit fills my brain enough,” Falda admitted, her hand moving up to grab tufts of snow-white hair as her eyes looked hopelessly at the bottle’s label.

Amelia would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if she laid into her about how drinking bad memories away wasn’t healthy. Besides, that’s the last thing she needed. So she didn’t.

“That’s because you ain’t doing it right! All alone, all quiet, good God aren’t you dragon types supposed to be smart?” said the angel with cider in her hand. Falda sarcastically flashed a fang as Amelia took out her phone. “If that’s what ya’ll did in Melderi, it didn’t work, just creates alcoholics. You’re in America, so you’re going to do things the Star Spangled Eagles up your Ass way.”

That earned a much-needed laugh. “And what’s that method, as I get the impression that you’re an expert.”

“Damn right I am, don’t forget that,” Amelia said, finally pressing to play. “You need a drinking buddy and loud music. That way if the booze is too shitty, or the thoughts too dark to work, the music and the conversation will make sure not a deep thought enters your head. Cheers, rookie.”

The two clinked their bottles as Don McLean’s voice danced its way out of Amelia’s speaker. 

“You know,” Falda said, laying back down onto the stone. “I don’t think it’s very angelic to be doling out drinking advice.”

“Don’t give a shit,” Amelia said, taking another swig. “Dragons shouldn’t need drinking advice.”

“I hoard tainted memories and regrets.”

Another laugh. “How dramatic. Now, I'm going to teach you the right version of this song, no sad fairy mumbling, alright? We sing loudly like sad magicians in this country.”

“Ma’am yes ma’am.” Falda said, nodding weakly. Eyes fluttering closed, Falda was much less focused on the actual music and much more so on Amelia’s voice. It was rough, accented, and already a little slurred but Gods it was so uniquely hers, and everything about Amelia was beautiful.

Rowdy, reckless, stupid Amelia. The mistake angel who could make all the hurt go away, even if just for an evening. 

“Hey, hey, you been listenin’? The chorus is coming up and you better sing it! Or I’ll shove this bottle down your throat!”

As she poked her thigh, Falda merely gave her a soft smile and tried to follow along.

“Bye, bye Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry

Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye

And singin' this'll be the day that I die…”

In the echo, Amelia joined in and two voices became one.

“This’ll be the day that I die.”

Cruel words for someone who didn’t have that privilege.

Amelia cheered and giggled in delight as the next verse came in, but Falda was back in the sky, painting away. A dumb angel and a dumber dragon, singing together in a scene that the stars put clouds over so they didn’t have to see. What did they know, anyway?

Hours ticked away into the early morning, American Pie shuffled to Run Around by Blues Travelers, then the entirety of the Counting Crows discography, as if either of them cared. Exhaustion was about to take Falda there in the cold when suddenly she felt Amelia’s warmth fall against hers, soft laughter like bells chiming in her ears and heart. 

“It’s shit like this, man,” she said, inky black hair falling over icy blue eyes. “It’s this shit that reminds me why I love you.”

“I love you too,” Falda said in return, with so much warmth in her voice.

Amelia stared at her almost empty bottle of cider. “Yknow…” she began, “I hope one day we don’t need to get drunk to be happy.”

Falda shrugged. “That would be nice, but until then, I like this method a lot.”

“It’s much better when you’re in a pickup and under the stars, if you think this is great..”

Falda wrinkled her nose at the thought, before pressing a kiss to Amelia’s forehead. 

“I don’t know, I think this might just beat it.”