SICK HEART by Huss, JA (non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

ribs are actually screaming at this point. I overworked them today and every time I draw in a breath, a sharp pain shoots through my upper body.

I point to my eyes, then her. Then close my eyes. Then open them and point to her again.

She gets it. And she sighs, maybe letting down her guard a little. Because she slouches down, her foot bumping against mine, and closes her eyes.

I watch her, fascinated, as I wash up. And then I do the same. I slouch down and stretch out my long legs, then decide to prop my feet up on her bench, brushing them against her hips.

I peek, just to see if she will object to that with a sharp look. But she doesn’t open her eyes. Instead, she props her feet up on my bench. Brushing them against my hips.

And then it’s my turn to sigh.

The buzzing of the rice cooker down the hall wakes me and I sit up, a little bit disoriented. Anya is as well. She rubs her eyes and breathes heavy as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Like she was in a deep sleep and it came with a dream that had nothing to do with me. Then she looks at me and her gaze is one of understanding.

I get out of the tub, grab a towel from a shelf, wrap it around me, then go looking for clothes. I find us t-shirts and shorts and take them back up to the tub room.

Once we’re dressed, I take her into the kitchen, scoop the rice and meat mixture into two bowls, give her a fork, and signal for her to follow me out onto the training platform. We sit on the hard concrete and lean up against the wall. Normally I like to eat up top. I sign this to her one-handed as we both shove the food into our mouths. But the birds will steal the meat right out of your bowl since you’re new here.

I don’t think she understands, but I don’t care.

If it really were just me out here tonight, I’d be signing things to the General—that’s the name I gave my old bird buddy. I’d be filling him in on the last eight months of my life. So having Anya here instead, this is like a bonus, even if she doesn’t talk back.

The General never really did either. I mean, I always gave him points for trying, but while his vocabulary is interesting, it’s not very big.

I’ve done a lot of research on the albatross over the years. They are monogamous birds. They find one soulmate and that’s it. Just one. And even though they live solitary lives when they’re not breeding, soaring over the ocean for months and months at a time without ever touching solid ground, they meet up every other year to raise a new chick.

The General is somewhere around thirty years old right now. And he’ll live another thirty, if he’s careful. So I guess I did win in the end, didn’t I?

I do have a family. A rather big one, actually.

The General has raised ten chicks on this rig with his mate, who I call Seeker. I don’t know where he found her—and it’s entirely probable that they were mated before he got lost and she actually found him after he disappeared—but either way, they live here now.

Ten chicks over twenty-two years. It’s not a bad record for an albatross.

And every single one of those chicks has left the nest, has found their own wayward mate, and has come back here every other year to meet back up.

This rock of death is an unsanctioned breeding colony for the largest flying bird on earth.

This prison, this punishment of a place, is also home to something a little bit… magical.

And that’s only one of the many reasons I love it.

Dinner is over too soon. I catch Anya staring into her empty bowl, wishing for more.

I explain that things are scarce here at the moment. And even though she doesn’t know any signs and I get the feeling that this vow of silence is something she takes very seriously, she nods her understanding. Frowning though. It comes with a frown.

I take our bowls back into the kitchen and dump them, wash everything up, and put it all away. Then I go back out to the platform and find her standing near the edge, looking out over the dark ocean.

Night out here can be one of two things: deeply terrifying or indescribably peaceful. I know what my first night on the Rock was like and even though Anya’s position is much more advantageous, it’s got to be unsettling.

I walk over, tap her on the shoulder, and motion for her to follow me. Then I open up one of the huge shipping containers to reveal stacks and stacks of sleeping mats. I hand her one, then grab one for myself, and direct her to follow me up the stairs.

It’s night now, and there are at least a dozen albatross chicks sleeping on makeshift nests and another dozen adults with their heads under their wings, also sleeping. There are twice that number up in the air somewhere. Most are far, far away. Out hunting so they can bring food back for their mates and their chicks.

They’re quiet at night. And they don’t even look up as we walk past them, out towards the southern edge of the platform. I lay down my mat and Anya does the same. Then I ease my aching body down, trying to be mindful of the ribs, and let out a long breath.

I overdid it today. I think it’s because I was still high on the Lectra and the drugs. But all that has worn off now, and every time I breathe, that sharp pain is there to remind me of what happened yesterday.

It’s easy to forget. At least for me. I’m so far away from that ship right now—so