The Sisters of Nowhere

t w e n t y - t h r e e : p a n c a k e s

Birdie rose early on Saturday morning out of habit. Usually, she'd be getting all of the details in place for her obituary pieces before going to the Post and setting up the printing press.

Today, she had nothing to do. She wouldn't be going to the Post.

Because she'd been fired.

The thought stung Birdie's heart like a wasp. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a free weekend.

So she stared up at the ceiling, tracing the wood grain with her eyes until pictures formed in its patterns.

Everyone else was still sleeping when she crept out of bed and tiptoed downstairs.

Dawn was just illuminating the dew-covered yard as Birdie rested her elbows on the lip of the kitchen sink and inhaled the scent of percolating coffee.

Her soul was tethered to the ghosts of Nowhere just like part of her was tethered to the Post.

Birdie Penny wrote. That was what she did. Had always done.

It gave her a place in the town she loved so much. Without her obituaries, what was she other than an odd seventeen-year-old schoolgirl with an affection for the dead?

Curse Sal Hickory, she thought, pouring her cup of coffee and leaving it as black as she felt inside.

It was too early in the morning to cry, so Birdie thought she would make pancakes instead.

She seasoned the cast iron before mixing up the batter.

"Something smells good," Oscar said as he passed by the kitchen to get the paper. He came back and took a seat at the bar window.

He spread out the paper and asked, "Sleep well?"

"Yes," Birdie replied numbly, watching her father read the paper that would be void of anything she'd written.

As usual, Oscar turned to the obituaries first. Scanned the page. Scanned it again. He looked up at Birdie, frowning. "What happened?"

Birdie's chin quivered and she blinked rapidly. She hated it when she cried. Especially when she was angry and not sad. It made her look weak when she was actually madder than a hornet. She stirred the pancake batter with so much force, they were bound to come out flat and tough.

She flung around more flour, sugar, and swear words as she explained her situation to Oscar, who listened intently without a word.

She finished with, "And that's why I'm going to move to Mexico and make tamales to sell at the market."

Oscar chuckled. He'd never quite understood Birdie as much as Rose did, but at least he understood where she was coming from this time. "That's a rotten situation, Birdie, for certain."

"I just don't get why someone would be so cruel," Birdie said, flipping a pancake too hard and making it splatter onto the countertop.

Oscar thought about this for a long while before saying, "Could you imagine doing the same thing to someone you barely know? Taking away their livelihood just because they told you no?"

Birdie closed one eye and squinted at him incredulously. "Of course not!"

"Then imagine how terrible Sal Hickory's life must be for him to walk up to a young woman and find satisfaction in firing her."

Birdie could find no compassion in her heart for that rat, but she understood.

She flipped two pancakes onto separate plates, doused them with syrup and handed one to Oscar.