Bird in the Yard

I looked out the car window and noticed the familiar surroundings of our home but wasn’t sure how we got there. Somehow I had mustered up the wherewithal to drive the two short blocks back home. I knew it was time to get out of the car but found myself locked in momentary paralysis. My mind was telling my body to move, but it would not listen. Except for my eyes, I had completely froze. Scanning for something to help wake me from my comatose, my focus shifted to a large Chinese elm tree in our yard.

This is your yard.

That is your tree.

There is a bird on its branch.

     We had lived in this house for 11 years. Purchased pink and later remodeled in distressed green wood, it now seemed oddly distorted and somewhat colorless. The bird, however, was very colorful with a brilliant plume of blue tail feathers. Something about him caught my eye as he seemed out of place from the typical little black birds that inhabited our yard. He appeared almost fake, sitting there perfectly still, with long slender claws holding on to a wayward branch. Neither one of us moved. Then, with grace and ease, he released his grip and flew away. I looked down to find my hands white-knuckled onto the steering wheel, my vice-gripped fingers mimicking the bird’s grasping claws on the branch. I, however, could not release. My unnatural and unrelenting grip of the steering wheel stirred deep forgotten memories about another blue bird by the name of Sparky. Sparky was my college roommate’s odd but lovable baby blue parakeet. I would delight in hearing his joyful chirping throughout the apartment but often found his behavior a bit off. When he became quiet, I knew. I would peek into his cage and find him on his perch – gripped in his own unnatural lock down – hanging completely upside-down. Unwilling to let go, he would hang there, quiet and motionless for what seemed like hours. I would gently try to pry his claws open and help him out, attempting to turn him right side up. Rarely would he budge, eventually he would fall on his own and lay dazed and confused on top of the most recent Los Angeles Times article that daily lined his cage. I never really understood Sparky. Until today. Suddenly, I could totally relate.

     Having lost myself in a moment of temporary insanity, it took me a minute to feel a hand — not unlike my hand that would enter Sparky’s cage trying to nudge him off the perch and coax him into safety — shaking my shoulder. Gripped in an incredibly awkward position with my world turned completely upside-down, this gentle touch startled me but brought me out of my funk and back to the unpleasant reality.

     “It’s OK honey.” Joe’s soothing voice telling me exactly what I needed to hear. “We’ll get through this.”

     Shock was playing a wicked game with my mind. My thoughts had gone instantly inward, thinking only of myself. It took me a moment to re-register where I was and why we weren’t watching a superhero movie. I looked again to Joe, searching for answers. While the color had drained from his face and his eyes showed signs of devastating shock, he remained surprisingly calm.

     Wait? Why is he comforting me?

     I tried to grasp hold of my thoughts and emotions. I should be the superhero here. I should be doing the comforting…but I could not. I couldn’t begin to fathom what could be going on inside his head. I wasn’t the one just given a cancer diagnosis. Nor was I the one in physical pain. Our roles had suddenly reversed: Joe was now the stoic one and I was consumed by my emotions. I desperately wanted to take control of the situation and become the strong one again, but I could not reign in any strength after this monumental shock to my system.

     Come on, Lori. Say something comforting. Say anything!

     Nothing. The speech generating part of my brain was rendered useless. We continued to sit there in silence, my thoughts spinning out of control.

     What do I say? What can I possibly say?

     “Come on, honey.” Joe said softly breaking the silence. “Let’s go inside…”

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