When I was a little girl, my mother taught me about the code word. It was something simple—something that wouldn’t seem suspicious in a conversation, yet if I ever used it, she would know instantly that I was in trouble.
I remember the day she first told me about it. I must have been around seven or eight, sitting at the kitchen table, my legs swinging beneath my chair as I munched on peanut butter toast.
“If you ever feel scared,” she said, “if someone is making you uncomfortable, or if you need help but can’t say it outright, you use the word ‘bluebird.’”
I wrinkled my nose. “Bluebird?”
She nodded. “If you say it on the phone, I’ll know. If you text it, I’ll come get you. No questions asked. No hesitation.”
At the time, I thought it was silly. What danger could I possibly be in? But as I grew older, I realized how valuable that tiny piece of knowledge was.
The first time I used it, I was sixteen.
I was at a party I shouldn’t have been at. My best friend, Olivia, had dragged me along, promising it would just be a small get-together. But when we arrived, the house was packed, music pulsing so loud I could feel it in my ribs. The air smelled of sweat, alcohol, and something bitter I couldn’t place.
At first, it was fine. I stuck with Olivia, sipping on a soda, laughing at jokes I didn’t really understand. But then she disappeared into the crowd, and suddenly I was alone.
That’s when he found me.
He was older—maybe twenty, maybe more. His breath smelled like beer, and his fingers were too tight around my wrist when he said, “Come with me.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine right here.”
But he didn’t let go. His grip tightened.
And that’s when my mother’s voice echoed in my head. Bluebird.
I forced a smile. “I just need to text my mom real quick.”
He hesitated, then loosened his grip just enough for me to pull out my phone. I typed a single word. Bluebird.
A response came almost immediately. On my way. Stay where you are.
I felt my heart slow just a little. But the guy was still there.
“You done?” he asked, impatient now.
I nodded. “Yeah, just letting her know I’ll be home soon.”
He grinned, leaning in too close. “Good. Now let’s—”
“Lena!”
My mother’s voice cut through the noise, sharp as a blade. I whipped my head around and saw her standing in the doorway, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on me.
“I need you home. Now,” she said, voice steady.
The guy let go instantly, muttering something under his breath before vanishing into the crowd.
I rushed to my mom, relief washing over me.
That night, I realized just how powerful a single word could be.
