Birdie Read Online Free PDF

library. She might let close friends borrow her books, but certainly would never let strangers, and definitely never lend her favourites. She could read booksto her heart’s content, never having to stop for macramé lessons, visits from relatives, or to wonder what was going on above her head when someone crashed or fell down the stairs.
    She never found the perfect book and contented herself with stories about families that sounded perfect.
    The sound of raucous (she thought it came from “ruckus”) laughter raced through the living room to the storage room (and now her bedroom) under the stairs. She tapped the door quietly with her toe (which she could do from the bed, having perfected this move years ago) to close it, not wanting to be noticed. She thought better of it and opened it again and slammed it a little, just enough so they’d be aware that she had closed the door. She could see the last of the winter daylight coming under it, just a crack and a reminder that the perfect families did not have to slam doors to tell people to go home.
    Then came the sound of female blurry laughter that followed the slamming of her door.
    “You made yer point, kiddo,” her mom’s friend Terry yelled in after her. Bernice’s mom thought Terry was her friend, but Bernice knew a secret. Terry really liked her dad. One night when she got up to get a glass of water she saw Terry rubbing up against her dad in the kitchen. She noticed that her dad’s breathing was funny. From this, she took it that her dad did not seem to mind it so much. She sat down on a chair stubbornly and waited until they saw her. Terry smiled and rushed over. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Did you have a bad dream?” She bent over Bernice and brushed her hair out of her eyes.
    Bernice felt woozy from the smell of smoke and wine on Terry’s breath. She looked at her dad and said deliberately to Terry, “Your shirt’s undone.”
    She got up and went to her room, leaving Terry to jerkily arrange herself to her father’s laughter.
    “Little brat,” she heard her say to her dad through the door, which she had her ear pressed to.
    “She’s a smart little ‘breed, that one,” she heard him say proudly, and though she listened until, exhausted, she fell asleep, she couldn’t hear any sounds from the kitchen.
    She bristled at the word “‘breed” (it would be years before she understood all the implications of being called a “Halfbreed”). Or, maybe it was because she didn’t want to associate it with the “most intimate of acts.” Bernice had started reading a Harlequin Romance early in the summer, and that’s what they called it. Her uncle Larry had forgone any notion of intimacy and called it “boning.” She didn’t like that word, either. It reminded her of de-boning and chickens. The image of fat and flesh grinding together and apart made her feel queasy. She had a really weak stomach and she had to be careful what she thought about or she would make herself throw up. It had gotten her out of school a few times until her momma got wise to her.
    She didn’t go to school so much, anyways. Sometimes her mother had one of her headaches and Bernice would walk around quietly until she got up. It was usually 11:00 or 12:00 by then and she would just read in bed until someone discovered her. Other times she would plead sickness and no one seemed too concerned. Bernice had missed more days than anyone elseat school and she had still done fairly well on her report card. A few times she had actually been sick and her mother had comforted her and tried to make her as comfortable as possible by giving her a glass of ginger ale with the bubbles stirred out or tea with a lot of milk in it. One time, though, when she complained of a stomach ache, her mom put a little piece of soap up her bum. She thought long and hard about her ailments and excuses after that.
    The front door opened, inviting the freezing air into the house, and she could feel it