Post by larien on Oct 23, 2005 13:57:35 GMT -5
Summary -A young woman remembers a day eleven years ago and realizes that life comes full circle all of the time. Rated K.
The bird eyed me, perched on the border of my grandmother’s garden, between the lilac bush and the tomatoes. One wing was bent strangely and it was panting.
“Becca!” my grandmother had called me just moments before, “There’s a sick bird by the side of the house!”
Now she was hovering behind me, watering hose in hand.
“Do you think it wants some water?” she asked me. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a little dish over, filled it with water, and placed it in front of the creature.
I sat back on my heels, waiting to see if the bird would drink. Suddenly, it made a wild dash for the dish, tumbling onto its face and struggling to get back onto its feet. Now covered in dirt, it looked even smaller than before. I would have thought it was a young robin, had it not been for the black spots all over its breast. As if it were sure that I had caused its misfortune, the bird turned its head to glare at me.
By this time, my grandmother had returned to watering the rest of her garden. Her neighbor had come outside, and together they were talking about the treatments they were getting for their knees. I supposed that after thirty years living next to each other, it was all they had left to discuss.
I straightened up to return to my novel, hoping that by the time my mother came to pick me up, the bird would have left. I didn’t want it to die, but neither did I want to spend my afternoon watching it glower at me.
As soon as I got up, the neighbor spotted me. “That can’t be Dolores’ girl! The last time she was this high!” With her hand, she indicated a height around her knee. “How old are you now?”
“I’ll be fifteen in three weeks.”
She nodded. “Fifteen. That’s a good age. High school. What’s that by your feet?”
I looked down. The bird was still there. “Oh. A bird. Grandma thinks it’s sick. It doesn’t seem able to walk.”
She peered over the fence. “That one? It was in my rosebush earlier. It’s just a baby, learning to fly.”
My grandmother came over to look as well. “I don’t think so. It looks old to be learning to fly.”
“No, no. I saw it. It’s learning to fly.”
As they entered into a heated discussion, the bird began struggling towards the fence. It tripped before it had even taken three steps, falling onto its side. As it tried to get back up, it rolled onto its back, where it found itself in an even more hopeless situation.
After I had watched it for a few minutes, I thought I ought to help it back onto its feet. I felt kind of bad poking it with a stick, but my grandmother didn’t have any of the heavy leather gloves my mom kept scattered all over the garden, so I had to make do with a branch to roll it into a more comfortable position. By this time, the neighbor had retreated back into her house, where she said she had medication to take.
The bird was lying on its stomach now, panting. I had never really thought of birds as the sort of animals who panted. Certainly, it didn’t look very comfortable prostrate in the dirt like that. But there wasn’t much else I could do. Despite this, I couldn’t get myself to leave it. I felt that since I had opted to help it roll over, I was now responsible for its future.
Just as I was about to ask my grandmother if she had a cardboard box and a blanket I could put it in, I heard my mother’s car pull up in the driveway. A few minutes later, she appeared at the back door, holding a slice of leftover pizza in her hand.
My grandmother turned off her hose. “How was your class?” Then without waiting to hear, she went on, “Becca and the boys ate dinner, played pool in the basement, and now Michael and Jacob are in the living room watching tv.”
My mom laughed. “Yeah, I saw them. You would think they could find something better to do. My class was fine, but thank God it’s almost done.”
I looked down at the bird, which was now twitching. I got the feeling that I was witnessing the beginning of the end.
“Grandma? It’s twitching.”
My grandmother hobbled over, followed closely by my mother. Together, the three of us bent over the dying creature.
“Maybe it’s thirsty.” My mother suggested.
“We tried that. It couldn’t reach the water.”
“So spray it with the hose.”
At this, my grandmother looked doubtful, but since there weren’t any other plans, she carefully dribbled some water over the bird. Immediately, it began flapping and moving about.
“Try again.” My mother suggested. “It seems better now.”
This time, my grandmother held the water over the bird longer. We watched as it rolled around, slower and slower, until finally, it stopped. As even its panting stopped, my grandmother turned accusingly to my mother.
“You had me kill it!”
My mother looked insulted. “How was I supposed to know? If you sprayed Becca with water, she wouldn’t die!”
“No, but she isn’t a bird.”
“But if she was so close to death that spraying her with a hose was going to kill her, it would be better to put her out of her misery anyway.”
I felt vaguely bothered by the fact that I was being used in this sort of analogy. Looking down at the still body lying in the puddle of water and mud at my feet, I though that even in death the bird was still glaring at me. It was accusing me of facilitating its demise, allowing my grandmother to go along with my mother’s ridiculous plan of spraying it with the hose. But at the same time, I felt like laughing at the idea of myself laying in a hospital bed, with my grandmother standing over with me with a hose as she put me out of my misery.
Gradually, my mirth subsided, and all that was left was a sort of grief for the creature at my feet. Tomorrow morning, my grandfather would pick it up in a shovel and find a corner to bury it in, provided the neighborhood cat didn’t come by and dispose of it during the night. But for the moment, it remained there, one miserable, soggy mass of feathers that seemed to represent all of my failings in life. At three weeks away from fifteen, I felt that I should have saved it. I felt that at the moment before it succumbed to darkness, a brilliant light should have broken from the heavens, and an angel come down to tell me how to save this pile at my feet.
In the years since that day, my mother has achieved her dream of becoming an elementary school teacher. I myself have finished college, and now work in Egypt for the Louvre. My grandmother still plants her garden and talks over the fence to her neighbor about her knees. Last summer, I crouched in the dirt between the lilac bush and the tomatoes, and touched the ground where a bird had died so long ago. For a moment, the sun broke through the clouds. Then I straightened up.
“That can’t be Dolores’ girl! The last time I saw her, she was this high!” the neighbor indicated a height about her knee. “How old are you?”
I smiled at the idea of having been a foot and a half tall when I was fifteen. “Twenty-six in three weeks.”
She nodded. “Twenty-six. That’s a good age. When are you going to get a real job and stop playing around in Egypt?”
“Maybe when the museum stops paying me. You know, I found a statue a few months back of one of the ancient Egyptian gods. He was a bird. They called him Thoth.”
*~*~*~*~*
The bird eyed me, perched on the border of my grandmother’s garden, between the lilac bush and the tomatoes. One wing was bent strangely and it was panting.
“Becca!” my grandmother had called me just moments before, “There’s a sick bird by the side of the house!”
Now she was hovering behind me, watering hose in hand.
“Do you think it wants some water?” she asked me. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a little dish over, filled it with water, and placed it in front of the creature.
I sat back on my heels, waiting to see if the bird would drink. Suddenly, it made a wild dash for the dish, tumbling onto its face and struggling to get back onto its feet. Now covered in dirt, it looked even smaller than before. I would have thought it was a young robin, had it not been for the black spots all over its breast. As if it were sure that I had caused its misfortune, the bird turned its head to glare at me.
By this time, my grandmother had returned to watering the rest of her garden. Her neighbor had come outside, and together they were talking about the treatments they were getting for their knees. I supposed that after thirty years living next to each other, it was all they had left to discuss.
I straightened up to return to my novel, hoping that by the time my mother came to pick me up, the bird would have left. I didn’t want it to die, but neither did I want to spend my afternoon watching it glower at me.
As soon as I got up, the neighbor spotted me. “That can’t be Dolores’ girl! The last time she was this high!” With her hand, she indicated a height around her knee. “How old are you now?”
“I’ll be fifteen in three weeks.”
She nodded. “Fifteen. That’s a good age. High school. What’s that by your feet?”
I looked down. The bird was still there. “Oh. A bird. Grandma thinks it’s sick. It doesn’t seem able to walk.”
She peered over the fence. “That one? It was in my rosebush earlier. It’s just a baby, learning to fly.”
My grandmother came over to look as well. “I don’t think so. It looks old to be learning to fly.”
“No, no. I saw it. It’s learning to fly.”
As they entered into a heated discussion, the bird began struggling towards the fence. It tripped before it had even taken three steps, falling onto its side. As it tried to get back up, it rolled onto its back, where it found itself in an even more hopeless situation.
After I had watched it for a few minutes, I thought I ought to help it back onto its feet. I felt kind of bad poking it with a stick, but my grandmother didn’t have any of the heavy leather gloves my mom kept scattered all over the garden, so I had to make do with a branch to roll it into a more comfortable position. By this time, the neighbor had retreated back into her house, where she said she had medication to take.
The bird was lying on its stomach now, panting. I had never really thought of birds as the sort of animals who panted. Certainly, it didn’t look very comfortable prostrate in the dirt like that. But there wasn’t much else I could do. Despite this, I couldn’t get myself to leave it. I felt that since I had opted to help it roll over, I was now responsible for its future.
Just as I was about to ask my grandmother if she had a cardboard box and a blanket I could put it in, I heard my mother’s car pull up in the driveway. A few minutes later, she appeared at the back door, holding a slice of leftover pizza in her hand.
My grandmother turned off her hose. “How was your class?” Then without waiting to hear, she went on, “Becca and the boys ate dinner, played pool in the basement, and now Michael and Jacob are in the living room watching tv.”
My mom laughed. “Yeah, I saw them. You would think they could find something better to do. My class was fine, but thank God it’s almost done.”
I looked down at the bird, which was now twitching. I got the feeling that I was witnessing the beginning of the end.
“Grandma? It’s twitching.”
My grandmother hobbled over, followed closely by my mother. Together, the three of us bent over the dying creature.
“Maybe it’s thirsty.” My mother suggested.
“We tried that. It couldn’t reach the water.”
“So spray it with the hose.”
At this, my grandmother looked doubtful, but since there weren’t any other plans, she carefully dribbled some water over the bird. Immediately, it began flapping and moving about.
“Try again.” My mother suggested. “It seems better now.”
This time, my grandmother held the water over the bird longer. We watched as it rolled around, slower and slower, until finally, it stopped. As even its panting stopped, my grandmother turned accusingly to my mother.
“You had me kill it!”
My mother looked insulted. “How was I supposed to know? If you sprayed Becca with water, she wouldn’t die!”
“No, but she isn’t a bird.”
“But if she was so close to death that spraying her with a hose was going to kill her, it would be better to put her out of her misery anyway.”
I felt vaguely bothered by the fact that I was being used in this sort of analogy. Looking down at the still body lying in the puddle of water and mud at my feet, I though that even in death the bird was still glaring at me. It was accusing me of facilitating its demise, allowing my grandmother to go along with my mother’s ridiculous plan of spraying it with the hose. But at the same time, I felt like laughing at the idea of myself laying in a hospital bed, with my grandmother standing over with me with a hose as she put me out of my misery.
Gradually, my mirth subsided, and all that was left was a sort of grief for the creature at my feet. Tomorrow morning, my grandfather would pick it up in a shovel and find a corner to bury it in, provided the neighborhood cat didn’t come by and dispose of it during the night. But for the moment, it remained there, one miserable, soggy mass of feathers that seemed to represent all of my failings in life. At three weeks away from fifteen, I felt that I should have saved it. I felt that at the moment before it succumbed to darkness, a brilliant light should have broken from the heavens, and an angel come down to tell me how to save this pile at my feet.
In the years since that day, my mother has achieved her dream of becoming an elementary school teacher. I myself have finished college, and now work in Egypt for the Louvre. My grandmother still plants her garden and talks over the fence to her neighbor about her knees. Last summer, I crouched in the dirt between the lilac bush and the tomatoes, and touched the ground where a bird had died so long ago. For a moment, the sun broke through the clouds. Then I straightened up.
“That can’t be Dolores’ girl! The last time I saw her, she was this high!” the neighbor indicated a height about her knee. “How old are you?”
I smiled at the idea of having been a foot and a half tall when I was fifteen. “Twenty-six in three weeks.”
She nodded. “Twenty-six. That’s a good age. When are you going to get a real job and stop playing around in Egypt?”
“Maybe when the museum stops paying me. You know, I found a statue a few months back of one of the ancient Egyptian gods. He was a bird. They called him Thoth.”
