Author's Note: Does anyone even remember this story? Well, if so, then you may or may not be disappointed to know that a few- more than a few, really- things have been changed. I just thought I could do better, and it was that same thought that kept me from continuing from I already had.
However, if anyone would like a copy of the original, PM your e-mail to me, and I will more than gladly send you the files. Please note, though, that these files will come in an .rtf format as that is the format I use since I only have Text on my Macbook.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon nor any of its characters. I also do not have any rights to Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Men at Work, or Paul Simon nor their lyrics that will be used in this story.
Three Little Birds
Don't worry... about a thing. 'Cause every lil' thing... is gonna be alright...
Her voice was soft, like a mother bird that coos to her chicks just before the sun comes up, and I could just see her at the stove with her back turned as she sang along with the music. I never knew for sure, but it seemed to me that it was the same song that played each and every morning when I finally stumbled out of my bed for breakfast.
And so there I was, listening to the radio as I always had. I had only just sat down at my fold down table, but while my coffee was still hot and the music still played, I could only sigh and close my eyes.
Her hair was once a light and tawny brown, but the many years of being in the Caribbean sun had bleached it almost white. It was also very curly, so much so that it would curl itself into tight mats which more than often than not had to be cut, and she could only hope to contain the mass under a bandanna.
The mere thought was enough to urge my hand to run over the faded, purple fabric that was secured around my own head. How old was I when I first wore it? I couldn't even remember... not really anyway. It was only a faint memory, but I was sure it was still a pleasant one if I was only willing to look back on it one day.
She would only turn after hearing me pull the chair back, the legs squealing as I dragged them across the wood floor, but even though most women, especially if they happened to be mothers, would scold me for doing so, she only smiled.
"Good morning, Buckwheat."
I never asked her why she called me by that name, but I just had to chuckled and shake my head to remember it. After all, it was just one of those things that only mothers can say without there being too many questions as to why. If I had time, I might have come to hate being called such a thing, but for better or for worse, she was gone before I could resent her for it.
Even if she hadn't called me by that name, though, what she chose to wear would have been more than enough to embarrass any teenage boy. With her husband being color blind and her son being only seven, she had no real reason not to wear purple with yellow, green with orange, or any other hideous combination. Of course, that was if she chose to wear clothing at all since she often felt that it was much too hot for such things.
"How's my little buddy today?" she would ask, her almost golden eyes sparkling while she spoke. "Are you hungry for some fish cakes? Mama made 'em special just for you."
They weren't really fish cakes, only pancakes she made into fish shapes with a cookie cutter, and so I would nod as I gave her a toothy grin. She would laugh then, a blinding line of teeth that split her tanned features almost in half. Then, just like magic, there would be a full plate set down in front of me with my nose being level with the table.
To be honest, she was a horrible cook, but at that age, I hardly even noticed unless the outside was burnt. The insides were always on the half-done side, being more than a little chewy in the middle, but I ate it all the same and never once complained. It was just too bad that I could still remember the taste after all these years.
Shaking my head for a second time, I downed the rest of my coffee which had gone cold while I sat there, but it was only after the memory had gone that I was able to stand. Then all it took was a heavy sigh before I walked up the stairs to the top deck and forgetting all about the radio and melody that continued to play on.
Don't worry... about a thing. 'Cause every little thing... is gonna be alright...