Daffodil Yellow
"Maybe they're just curious."
"Curious," the mouse whispered, letting out a breath. "Or suspicious. Or ... no, it's ... " He went quiet. She was driving. Him in the passenger seat.
"Bats are only 1.6 percent of the population, Field. Mice are, what, 7 percent?"
"That's still not a lot. We're a minority, you know, compared to the felines and canines and foxes and ... "
"But there are more of you ... your kind. Than there are of mine. Especially in the Midwest. Less than two furs out of every one hundred ... is a bat. I'm a bat. They'd probably never met a bat before they met me."
"Yeah ... " Pause. "Well, I never had ... before I met you," he admitted.
"So, they're probably curious. Maybe nervous. They met me once or twice, but that was ... just a quick hello. They still don't know what to expect of me. You've taken me as your mate, and they're ... wondering why. I'm an unknown."
"Yeah ... " Field's nose and whiskers twitch-sniffed. Twitch-sniffed.
Pause.
"Ignore the vampire jokes."
She giggled. "I'll do my best."
"I'm serious. My brothers ... they'll ask. They'll go, 'are you a vampire' ... they'll tease you. Lord knows they tease me."
"For what?"
"I don't know," Field said, trailing. "I'm not your typical male. Let's put it that way. I'm easy to tease."
"Aw ... darling ... "
"Don't mean to sound sad. I'm not sad," Field defended. "I'm just worried. Ever since I left home, got a place of my own ... you know, since then, every time there's a family gathering, or every time I have to see them again, I just ... have this panicky feeling. I wish I didn't. I just ... I don't want them to think you're odd, or ... "
"Darling, I have a family, too, you know. Parents. Siblings. I can handle it ... "
Field nodded quietly. "They just ... I'm the odd-one-out, you know? And I'm the oldest, too. They always scrutinize me. I just don't want them to ... I won't have them scrutinizing you, too. I ... "
"Field ... "
The mouse nodded quietly at her voice. Looked out the window. At the fields. At the greening grasses. Spring. It was spring, and it was ... Easter Sunday. They were going to the Quaker church in Sheridan. For the Easter breakfast.
"Calm down."
"I always feel," he confided, "that I have to live up to some expectation ... you know? Like, when I'm around them, I'm not myself, but ... like I slip into a role. A role. You know? Around them, I act a part ... that they expect me to. Or ... I don't know. I'm the real me when I'm with you, but I'm not the real me ... when I'm with them. With them, I'm acting a part. Does that make sense?"
"It does ... I mean, I know what you're saying. I don't know how to word that feeling. But I know ... how that feels, yes."
"I was always the black sheep, as it were. I still am."
"The black mouse?" she corrected, smiling. "You mean?"
A returned smile. "Yeah ... I guess."
"Well, you must be worrying about nothing, you know ... I think," she said, "that ... as nice as you are, and ... as poetic as you are ... your family must have some of that, too. They must be as nice as you. They seemed nice," she said, "when I met them before."
"But you didn't spend all day with them. They're very opinionated."
"But you love them. I know you do."
"Oh, I love them. Yeah. I do. I just ... I can't stand their scrutiny. I go to pieces when they confront me about things. It's ... they have this bizarre control over me. It's why," he said, "I never visit them."
Adelaide nodded quietly. The pink-furred bat ... her paws on the wheel. Eyes on the road ahead. They seemed to be the only ones on the road. "Well, it'll be okay," she whispered. "I mean, it's Easter. I mean, a day of ... death and rebirth and redemption. Forgiveness. Alright? They're not gonna treat you like an outcast. Cause you're not."
Field closed his eyes. "I'm the prodigal son. The prodigal mouse."
"You are NOT," she stressed. "You're very delicate. Very thoughtful. You are not a prodigal mouse."
His whiskers twitched. "No?"
"No. Field, honestly ... " She let out a breath, easing down on the car's speed as they neared the town. "You were fine with my parents. They thought you were cute. And very shy." Adelaide smiled. "They think you should talk more."
The mouse smiled lightly, opening his eyes. "Mm ... I'm talking now, yeah?"
"Well, to them. To other furs. You shouldn't be so afraid of what everyone thinks about you. Or what they'll do to you. You know?" Pause. "We shouldn't fear our own families, Field. We shouldn't build walls to keep them away. You know ... ? I mean ... someday, they're not gonna be there. Cliche, but ... the truth. And, also, we might start our own family, and would we want our children to do that to us?" she posed, trailing.
"No," the mouse whispered. "But children, they ... are a paw-ful. I've seen what they do to families. They ... the burden. The stress. I was a burden. I fear," he told her, "being a burden."
"I know." A breath. "But the joy," Adelaide added, "that children create. Life is joy. Is a gift. Renewal." She swallowed. "Not that we're ready to be parents."
"Not 'til our thirties."
A giggle. "Thirties, yeah?"
"Nine years away ... and we're thirty. We wait 'til thirty-five, maybe, and that's ... gives us fourteen years to live and ... do all the youthful things we've dreamed of. Then we settle down."
"We live on a farm, Field. We have no money. We're as settled as you can get. We're not exactly going anywhere." She smiled softly.
"You know what I mean ... time. I'm not ready. We're not ready."
"I just said that," she reminded.
"Well, I'm just ... why are we talking about this?"
"Spring things. Family. We were rambling."
"I never realize I'm rambling," he admitted, "around you. Not until I stop to take a breath."
"I like your words. So ... ramble away," she told him. "Anyway, it'll be okay," she said. "We've both been at odds with our families. Often. But ... I love mine, and you love yours, and ... we're mates. So, we better get used to each other's families. And they better get used to us. Yeah?"
"Yeah ... " The mouse let out a breath. He loved his family. He did. So, why did they make him so nervous? Why was he nervous about bringing Adelaide to the Easter breakfast? Why? Why was he afraid they would find something wrong with her? Or find something else ... wrong with him?
"Do you bite?"
"Bite what?" Adelaide asked, poking a fork at her scrambled eggs. Inside the church, sitting at one of the card tables. Sitting in a folding chair.
"Furs," said Field's youngest brother. Dandy. "You have fangs, so ... you bite furs? Like vampires do? Like in scary movies?" His eyes went wide. Wide with energy. Whiskers twitching. He was a live-wire, that one.
Field rolled his eyes ... and smiled. Exchanging a silent glance with Adelaide, who smiled and told Dandy, in a confidential whisper, "I only bite when I want to." Adelaide did have fangs. But she didn't use them to draw blood. Didn't use them ... to hurt. She used them during mating. Sank them into Field's neck ... and it didn't hurt at all. Quite the contrary.
Dandy blinked, not understanding the bat's smile. "What's that mean?"
"It means for you to mind your own business," Field told him. Making a wide-eyed head-bob motion at his brother.
Dandy made the motion back. Sticking out his tongue.
"Stop it. We're eating," Field replied.
"I can stick out my tongue if I want."
"Your muzzle will freeze that way if you keep doing it."
"Will not."
"Keep doing it, and find out," Field dared.
Adelaide giggled, eating some eggs. The breakfast was being attended by some 47 furs. A lot of them ... were related to Field. A lot of them were mice. A few squirrels. But this was a farming town, so ... a lot of field mice. Sheridan's Quaker (or Friends, as it was called) church ... was an old church. It's current congregation being a very small one. The Easter breakfast was held every Easter. It was a simple affair. Just a breakfast. Afterwards, a little service.
The breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, coffee cake, doughnuts ... orange juice. Chocolate milk. Things of that variety.
"So, Field," asked a mouse. One of his relatives. "What are you doing, huh? I mean, what are you up to? We never see you anymore ... "
"Yeah ... " Field took a breath, fiddling with his fork. "I'm working."
"Where?"
"A restaurant."
"Yeah?"
The mouse nodded.
Some other mouse asked, "Is that all?"
Field flushed beneath his cheeks. "Well, it's ... hard work. It's ... taught me a lot, but ... I'm gonna try and go back to school in the fall."
"What for?" another asked.
"Um ... well," Field stuttered. He wasn't a good speaker. Not in groups. Alone, with someone he loved (like Adelaide) he could speak. Oh, he could speak! Whispered poetry. Shy, timid, heartfelt things ... but in this room, with eyes on him, with constant, mousey chatter, and with his family hearing it all, he seemed to be self-conscious to the point of incapacitation.
The bat felt for him ... and used her mental abilities (her telepathic powers ... which she told no one of; bats had telepathic powers, but it wasn't something they broadcasted). She used her abilities to reach out to him. Soothe him. Calm his speech.
"Um, I ... well, I have hopes for my writing," said the mouse. Swallowing. Clearing his throat. "And my photography. Stuff like that."
"He should be doing something more practical," said another voice. His mother.
"You good with computers, Field?" asked an uncle. "Lots of jobs with computers. Pay good money, too."
"I don't really like computers," said Field. Feebly. As if he'd gone over this before. Being accused of being "impractical" ... in such roundabout ways.
"Well, you don't have to like them," said his father, joining the conversation. "Get a job with computers or something, and do your ... whatever it is," he said, "on the side."
"I don't like computers," Field repeated. "I really don't." He wasn't big on technology. He refused to own a cell phone. Had never had one. Never would.
"Math and science. That's where it's at," said another uncle.
Field quietly stared at the tablecloth. None of them were coming out and saying it, but what they really felt was: art is a waste of time ... art isn't REAL work. Doesn't take REAL energy. It's just ... a sideshow.
They continued talking about what Field SHOULD be doing ... while the mouse exchanged another look with Adelaide.
She gave him a reassuring smile. One that seemed to say, "they mean well."
The mouse just nodded at her gaze.
Soon, the conversation shifted. To Adelaide.
"Where are you from?" they asked.
"Indiana."
"Not many bats around here."
"I know," she said.
"Your family live here, too?"
"No, they're out-of-state."
"Where?"
"Australia."
"Oh ... you don't have an accent."
"I was conceived there. Not born there. My parents were ... are," she said, "missionaries there."
"Really?"
A nod.
"Where did you get your name?"
"Femme bats have names that start with 'A' ... by tradition. I was conceived in Adelaide, so ... and it fits me. I like it."
Dandy frowned. "What's conceived mean?"
Field shot him a look. "Nothing."
"Tell me."
"No."
While the two brothers volleyed back and forth, Field's family continued playing "twenty questions" with Adelaide. Asking about her this and that. Her everything. Some questions, she only gave half-answers to. Some things ... she left out. Some things were only between her and Field. But she tried to satiate their curiosity as best as she could. Maintaining a patient air all the while. She had more patience than Field had. She didn't get flustered around other furs ... like Field did.
Eventually, the conversation drifted. To this, that, and the other.
And, Dandy, a twitching ball of fur and energy (seemingly) kept asking Adelaide about vampires.
"You know any vampires?" he asked.
"Dandy," Field interrupted. "Vampires aren't real. Let it go, huh?"
"Who says?"
"I say," Field replied.
"Listen to your brother, Dandy. There are no," she whispered, "vampires." She winked.
"Adelaide, please, don't ... don't encourage him," Field giggled.
"Your mate knows vampires, Field. She must be cooler than you."
Field just giggled.
And Adelaide leaned over and whispered something in Field's ear ... and he blushed and smiled. She whispered something more, giving a glancing kiss to his cheek. Raising brows. Such young, energetic love, and such affection ... that it seemed to warm the room. Seemed to draw all eyes.
Field flushed and whispered something back to her.
Two hours later, they were in the countryside ... at Field's grandparents' house. Watching the little ones engage in an Easter egg hunt.
Adelaide's light, spring dress (with the straps on the shoulders) was ruffled a bit ... by the breeze. As were the daffodils on their stems. And the leaves in the trees. A warm, blue breeze.
Field let out a deep breath. And took one in. Breathing of the day. Honey-tan fur soaking the sun. And walking to nearer the gravel road. To the ditch. Where daffodils grew in clusters. Oh, he loved daffodils. His favorite flowers. He was going to pick some for her. For Adelaide.
His mother wandered over to him. Standing and grooming her own tail ... while Field was kneeling in the flowers, sniff-twitching of them. Looking for the brightest ones. The ones at full flower.
"She seems nice," his mother said.
"Yeah," Field whispered. "She is."
"Maybe too buoyant. Too playful. Seems she might get you into trouble."
"She won't," Field muttered. Frowning.
"Well, I just know," she continued, "you aren't very good with temptations."
"I'm in love. I'm in love," Field whispered. Barely audible. "Not lust." His eyes squinted.
"Hmm ... "
"What?" Field whispered.
"Nothing."
"What, mother ... "
"Nothing. You just ... I should've guessed you would go for the rare type."
"What does that mean?" He quietly picked a daffodil. And surveyed for another.
"Nothing. She has wings."
"Yes, she does," Field whispered. Closing his eyes for a moment.
"Does she ... know," she asked, "about you? Your ... "
" ... past?" Field asked, opening his eyes. "Yes. Yes, she knows. And she doesn't care." The mouse's voice was a bit defensive.
"Well, I'm glad ... for you. For the both of you," his mother said. "I am, you know. She does seem nice. I just would like to get to know her more. You've only known her a few months, and you're already mated. But she seems nice," she repeated.
Field's eyes watered. He looked deeper into the river of daffodils. "Yeah," he whispered.
"Well, I'm just ... saying."
"Yeah," Field said again, taking a breath. He swallowed. Cleared his throat. "I don't ask," he whispered, "for you to understand me. I know we don't see eye-to-eye ... on everything. But ... " He trailed. Not knowing what he was trying to say. What he wanted to say. If he should even be saying anything at all. He picked a second daffodil. A third.
"Dandy's taken a liking to her."
"Yeah, well ... " Field picked a fourth daffodil. Now held a fresh bouquet in his paw. "Well, he's too young to be thinking of such things ... anyway, he better keep his paws to himself."
"We all like her. Really. I just want the best for you, is all ... you make me worry."
Field's throat ached. He closed his eyes. "You ... you like her, though?"
"Yeah. She's got definite personality. She sparks."
"I was afraid you wouldn't like her ... "
"Why?"
Field didn't answer.
"You staying with us for supper?"
"I think so," Field whispered, taking a breath. Standing. Avoiding his mother's eyes. Not knowing why. But, then, he couldn't comfortably make eye contact with anyone but Adelaide. Eye contact was too intimate a thing. Windows into the soul and all that. Eye contact intimidated him. Maybe he feared, if he looked his mother in the eyes, he would cry, or ... something. Or ... something.
"I'm gonna," Field whispered, "give her some flowers."
"Well, I'm gonna corral your siblings. Almost time for lunch. They shouldn't have done the Easter egg hunt 'til after lunch. All that candy." A pause. "Your sister's with her friends today. She never comes to these family things." Pause. "I'm glad you do, though."
"Yeah," said Field, eyes welling. And he hesitated. "It's not a problem. I don't mind ... " And, for all his worry, he really didn't. There were worse places to be. Worse furs to be with. He was blessed, and he knew it. Even if he was too stubborn to verbally admit it. He stood and moved off, flowers bunched in his paw.
He moved toward Adelaide. Came up beside her, from behind her, and whispered, "I, um ... don't have a vase with me, but ... we can take them home. Put them on the kitchen table."
She turned. And smiled. "Daffodils," she breathed. Giggled. "Thank you," she whispered, taking them ... holding them. Putting her nose in them.
"They glow," Field whispered. "Like you do. They're all bright ... like you. And sweet. They smell," he whispered, "sweet. Like you."
"Darling ... "
"I'm just ... "
She slipped a paw against his. And gave his paw a squeeze. "I love you, too, okay?"
The mouse beamed and bit his lip. And giggled. "Okay ... "
They stood in the yard. In view of the pastures and the fields. And under the sky. Knowing they would not die. Breathing of redemption, salvation. Buoyed by their faith, and the love it had brought them.
Field nuzzled her neck. Not caring that he was being watched. Not caring that his ears blushed as he did it. Nuzzled and kissed her neck. Gently. And whispered, "Happy Easter ... darling."
"You, too." A beam. "Thank you for the daffodils."
"There's a whole ditch of them. Wanna wade in them?"
"In daffodils?" She giggled. "You can do that?"
"Why not?"
She giggled. Tilted her head and conceded his point. "Lead the way." She held out her paw.
And, in the Sunday sunlight, he took it. Feeling a momentary calm. A momentary peace. Like they could do anything at all ... and come through without a scar.
Such was the meaning of the day.
Such was their hope.