The Sqawking Bird

The Squawking Bird



A blanket of warmth swooned over my heart when I most needed it. There it was-- perched upon a low hanging cable line in my backyard, having greeted me with a celestial song. Its presence was like unto the wretched poor having stumbled upon a great deal of money just lying in the middle of the road waiting for an owner. The bird appeared a few months after my husband’s death, during the deep, dark pit of my grieving.

From that day forward, the bird greeted me in the same manner. He sang precious melodies that softened me as clay and eased my ill mind. One day I couldn’t help but extend my arm where it lit, and I took the onyx fellow inside the cabin and stroked its feathers. It was so gentle that I was sure it belonged to someone. Besides, I thought, what would it hurt to adopt him, since my cat, Swallow, vanished some time ago.

A month from our acquaintance, I decided to declare a birthday for the bird that I’d given the name Letgo. I baked a Poppy Seed cake for him and formed a big ‘L’ on it using sunflower seeds. I felt delightful as he pecked away at it. He looked at me in that side ways manner, as usual, when he thanked me. Once he had his fill, he rubbed his head against my cheek and tugged on my hair a little, and I went to bed that night feeling comforted, loved, and appreciated once again, something that eluded me since Bill’s Heaton’s death. What a man he was!

My cabin was just outside the city limits of Flagstaff, modest in size, and frankly, a bird seemed another thing I should not have added to the overcrowded place. I considered donating Bill’s things, but I wasn’t sure if it was right to do. Not yet. Besides what would it mean if I removed all of his belongings? Out, you understand, and then what would I have left of him? It was like starting to replace him much too soon. I felt that I was giving the rest of him away.

Before Letgo came, I had a séance. My friend Julia performs séances all the time. That night the two of us sat at her table, with our hands interlocked, and she called Bill from the other side. Chills rippled up and down my body and I became fearful, when there was no need to be afraid. The candle reflected her throat clearly. And at one point, her Adams apple, very prominent for a woman, bobbed up and down and she grew in distress. Her hands became sweaty, her grip loosened. I wanted to know what the matter was, but she’d already specified that I not speak until she gave me permission to do so. Suddenly, she let go of my hand, got up and turned on the lights, quickly lit up a cigarette and paced the room.

“For heaven’s sake Julia, what is the matter?”

“Just give me a minute,” she said.

I started to drink my water, wondering what was going on in that head of hers.

“Bill’s fine Ciara,” she said. “He says he loves you, and he wants you to go on living the best life that you can. He said he look forward to the day that the two of you would meet again.”

“Sure he did,” I responded. Then I remember bursting into childish tears. “Why didn’t you let me say something to him personally? If I could have spoken to him, I could have healed. Just maybe I could have. But, now, I’m back where I started.”

She looked back at me with tears and smoke in her eyes. “We all suffer losses of loved ones, Ciara, but you really need to try as hard as you can to hold on to the great memories you and Bill had, and allow him to pass to his final resting place.”

“But, I have.”

“He told me that’s what he wants from you. He’s in holding. The strength of your desire is much too strong, and because he loves you so much, he can’t go to the light. ”

“Well is he still here?”

“He is.”

I was an embarrassing mess.

“Tell him I love him. I can’t go on without him.”

“He said for you to please go on without him. He can’t cross over because you cry, and call on him too much. He can’t stand to see you so hurt.”

“Bill, but I love you,” I cried out.

“He loves you too. Ciara, he looks so sad.”

I had only to express my love for him just one more time--- in his ears.”

Then, only my sobs filled the room. I simply got my light jacket, thanked her, and left her place in Bill’s maroon van. As I was driving home, I realized that nobody was going to tell me to get over a man I loved. It was no getting over him. Bill knew he could pass to the other side if he hadn’t. Julia was lying to me. During his life, he’d always taken charge. Why would it be any different now? I felt I shouldn’t have gone to the séance if she was going to leave me filled with more questions. She hadn’t helped at all.

When I got home I threw off my jacket and headed straight to the bathroom. After that long, exhausting pee, I looked into the mirror: Red eyes, short blonde hair that I’d let overcome with gray, mascara folded into the deep creases underneath my eyes, my sad face. I looked like I’d been out in worse than a windstorm that had blown dirt and autumn leaves into my eyes. Seems to me I’d aged much since--- I simply looked haggard. My cheekbones were sunk in. No one would want an old unkempt woman like me, except Bill. He loved me for me and anyone else would look at my outside,and see my saggy breast, my lumpy butt, and my crow’s feet, even the pronounced roll around my waist. You see, Bill was the type of man who didn’t mind having bacon and eggs for dinner, ice cream during a winter storm, catering to me like I am a queen, when I am a late fifty something. And the worst of it is, I never bore him a child: because I couldn’t.

I went to my living room area, and Letgo flew to me from the bookshelf. He seemed an unusual bird, and I’d been steadily trying to classify him but couldn’t find him between any bird pages. Finally, I’d given up because it really didn’t matter. What mattered most was the comfort he provided.

I’d learned who my friends were. For a few months after Bill’s death, they visited me, and offered comfort, but as the months nearly extended to double the time, they slowly cut my stories off. They started to treat me like someone to avoid. And I hadn’t spoken to Julia since the séance. Therefore, I spent most nights talking to Bill. I knew he could hear every word I said.

When Letgo came into my life, in a short while I knew we were inseparable. It felt like I was cheating on Bill. I just couldn’t lose one more thing in my life, and this was it. He’d listen to me talk into the wee hours of the night. And when words would not penetrate my lips, he’d sing to me, and before long, I’d find myself rising from last night’s slumber.

One night I had a dream. I was with Bill. We’d had a spectacular dinner, and then we came home, right here to our cabin. He wrapped his arms around me and I was a flower opening to the sunrise. I remember thinking if by any chance this was a dream, I didn’t want to wake up. But, when I did, seeing Letgo helped me to take my next breath.

The night after that most precious dream, we had a plentiful rain overdue by years. That night through the authoritative thunder, brisk winds and gentle downpour of rain, I kept hearing a noise outside. I unbaricaded the door, and turned the flood light on. Swallow, my cat, had returned home. I brought him in and dried him off with my thickest bath towel and then warmed him a bowl of milk. In no time he lie asleep in front of the fireplace.

As time progressed, notably after Swallow’s return, I began to notice something very wrong. Letgo’s voice had grown abrasive and he turned into this loud obnoxious thing, making annoying sounds that forced me to resent him. I felt like freeing him for good, but it wasn’t in my heart to carry it out; he was there for me when my soul nourished the gutter. I couldn’t lose another thing.

Often, when we grow with things it becomes a part of our lives and we find ourselves needing the placeholder. For the first time, I doubted that the feeling was mutual. Letgo seemed to have gone crazy. When I let him out for fresh air he would perch upon the cable wire and flap his wings and caw at everything he saw. I thought the best thing to do was give him more love, rub its tiny little head and stroke its body, so this is what I did—the same thing he’d done for me in his way. He seemed to enjoy it, but shortly after he would flap his mad wings and squawk about everything again. It made me cry because Letgo was my friend. So, I’d stroke Swallow, to try and forget my problems with Letgo.

Soon Letgo began to lose his feathers much worse than the hair Swallow sheds. His grayed feet had many more wrinkles than he had before. He reminded me of myself. Finally, I went to a therapist and told them about my precious little bird. The therapist said: “You love your bird very much I see. It helps if the birds loves you too, and from what you tell me he does. Have you told the bird how the squawking affects you or have you tried to reward it when it is not squawking so much?”

“Yes,” I replied, also believing this therapist thought of me as lunatic.

“Well, then, the bird knows the squawking annoys you. Before the bird sang melodies to you, because he knew it comforted you. But, now that it squawks, what do you suppose it’s trying to tell you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I understood.”

“I suggest you bring him in with you next time. I’d like to see you interact with the bird, and between the two of us, maybe we can figure out the problem.”

I agreed.

Before I went home to Letgo, I felt no one else would give a home to, I went by mother’s place. I couldn’t help thinking of how much I looked like her. We discussed the bird.

She said, “Listen, I told you to get rid of it a long time ago but you wouldn’t listen.”

“No, I wouldn’t listen, mother.”

“Now you got a crazy bird on your hands, and you can’t get rid of it, unless you kill it.”

“I would never do that.”

“And, before you took that squawking bird in, did you ever think about how long you planned to keep it?”

“No, I didn’t consider it.”

“Have you taken in any other pets?”

“Swallow.”

“I thought Swallow ran away.”

“He came back.”

“Well, that’s what’s wrong with your feathered friend. You took the attention and divided it. Now, what will you do?”

“I don’t know, ” I said to her.

“Until you decide, your problem will continue.”

“That certainly goes without saying.”

I went home and had a talk with Letgo. I told him how much I loved he and Swallow, and how I wanted to keep them both. I insisted he understand that the music he made for me was the most precious I’d ever heard in my life, but before he came, Swallow comforted me with his warm purring, and snuggled beside me many nights, when I cried over Bill.

In response to my cry, Letgo fiercely pecked me, fluttered his mad wings and tangled my hair into a nest. He got so mad he poked me in the head with his beak, and slapped my face with his wings. Then he made a mad dash for Swallow and pecked him in the head. Swallow hissed and clawed at him.

I was not willing to forgive Letgo this time. I’d become very angry. The understanding had gone on a little too long, and at my expense. Now at Swallow’s.

I shouted at him. He took flight around and around the living room.

“Get out!” I screamed. I don’t need you here anymore. I don’t need you!”

When I said those words, it was as though he froze in midair, then he plummet to the ground. There, in the middle of the floor was a pile of onyx feathers, which I would not bear.

I cried myself to sleep, while Swallow lay close to me.

That night I had the strangest dream. There was Letgo at this river where he could see other birds beaconing to him from the other side. He’d look at me, then try to flap his wings to take flight to where the others were, and I felt as though he wouldn’t go because I was holding him back in some way.

I said, “Letgo, go on and be with them. It’s okay.”

Then in the place of Letgo appeared Bill. That familiar warmth revisited me. He looked at me and smiled. His lips motioned “I love you” and I said, “I love you, too.” Next, he said, “Thank you,” and then I woke up and found Swallow licking away my tears.