Blackbird, Fly

I almost walked right by it.

I had been lost in my own thoughts, running in the world's worst weather so I wouldn't have to face the fact that my marriage was at a stalemate.   My husband and I had once been so close that we were practically inseparable, but now, after years of drifting apart, our new modus operandi was to pretend that neither of us existed.   All that was left now was to sign the papers, but neither of us had the courage to end it.   After all, who else would take us?   Where would we go?   We weren't the most sociable people in the world, and without each other, we had practically nothing.   So, instead of facing it, I was pounding through mounds of slime and mud to the sounds of Eye of the Tiger blaring through my headphones.

It was so small, just a little rusty cage sitting by the side of the road, covered with wet leaves and mud washed off the road by the previous night's rain.   If I hadn't been looking for the Ipod I'd dropped as I took a running leap too far, the cage would have blended in with the dreary mulch, lust forever in a pile of rotted November sludge.

As I crouched there, I stared at it curiously, absently scrubbing the mud off my ruined device, wondering why someone would just throw away a cage by the side of the road.   Then I became aware of a slight movement within the cage, and I realized with a jolt that there was something alive in there.

I looked around tentatively, searching for the person who I hoped would return to claim it, but I saw no one.   The landscape was empty and grey.   Even the bugs seemed to be hibernating.

I pulled a glove out of my pocket and pulled it on, and slowly reached forward, carefully brushing the detritus off the cage to reveal what lay underneath.   I only hoped that it wasn't dangerous.   I was not in the mood to get a rabies shot today.

Finally, the inside was visible, and I hunched down, squinting at what was inside.   I couldn't tell what it was at first.   It looked like a black ball of goop, with matted hair sticking up in every direction.   Then, it's head turned slowly to look at me, and I realized that it was a blackbird, but one so bedraggled that you couldn't tell if you couldn't see its beak.

It looked at me with exhausted eyes, breathing laboriously, not even able to scramble to its feet.   I could see now that it was extremely emaciated beneath its feathers, and one of its wings was extended at a horrible angle, and had clearly been broken for weeks.   I looked again into its eyes and saw more pain than I had ever seen, even in another human, and I felt my heart truly break for the first time in my life.

I knew that I couldn't just leave it there, not after I'd seen that.   I carefully prised the cage from the mud, and carried it to my car as gingerly as I could.   I knew it must be in terrible pain, but it didn't make a sound the entire time.

I drove so slow on the way home that I was half afraid I would get pulled over.   I winced at every bump, staring anxiously at it.   As I watched my white knuckles gripping the wheel, I wondered who could have done such a thing.   Who could have left that sweet creature out there to die like that?   If it had a broken wing, why not get it fixed?   It filled me with a painful rage that anyone could be so cruel.   I was determined that this would be the last day that this poor creature would ever suffer.

I finally made it to the office of a veterinarian friend of mine, who set its wing and cleaned it up, giving me instructions to nurse it back to health.

I took it home, walking past my husband in the living room, whose only response upon seeing the bird was to tell me not to bring it in our bedroom.

At first, the bird made very little progress.   It drank little, and ate even less, although I supposed the ketamine didn't help.

However, as time went on, I started to see a definite change.   It's feathers became shinier, the eyes lost their bloodshot nature, and it even started to perk up whenever it saw me.   The only thing it didn't do was sing.   I wondered if there was something wrong with its voice.   It made me unbelievably sad that it's beautiful song may never be heard again.

It came to a point where it finally began to start to fly again.   My heart lifted as I watched it fly around the study.   I smiled for the first time in months.   I never realized that a smile could make a tension headache just disappear.

Finally, the day came when I had to let it go.   I never knew where I got the heart to set it free, but I knew it had to be done.

I carefully took it out on the porch, and held it out over the balcony.   It looked back at me, and I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw a glimmer of gratitude in its eyes.   With a majestic sweep of feathers, it spread its wings and flew off into the dusk.   I watched it as long as I could.   As I turned to go back inside, I heard a sound that made my heart soar.

The blackbird's sound rang out over the landscape.   It was a song of freedom, of joy, and hope.   I turned to look in the house, at my husband sitting on the couch, watching tv like a zombie, and I knew what I had to do.   I was only waiting for this moment to be free.