Brown Bird XLVIII
I’m toiling over a path I’ve lost sight of. Pushing harder and harder, in spite of. Taking risks I shouldn’t be taking. I’m yanking the throttle at 5,000 while some part of me’s hoping there’s a berm I can’t see rapidly approaching in the flurry of brown feathers. Instead, I slave for a few free moments to come back here to you. Just to sit in this little piece of immortality I’ve carved out for you—for me…for us. This entropy grants me something to reach for in this chaos, and so I’ll hold you here and watch the seconds pass by on the clock.
Brown Bird XLVII
I close my eyes, and I’m still out here on the fringes. Breathing in the cold, and floating through time with you.
Brown Bird XLVI
Yesterday was the first good day in more than two weeks. I ran on sixty minutes of sleep, had lunch with colleagues, and had a one-on-one with a mentor that went well, all things considered. At least, I’m pretty sure it did. By the time I got home, I collapsed into sleep. I woke up at two in the morning when my elbow clipped an open white monster that was sitting on a footstool by the couch next to your bed. I panicked, hoping that I hadn’t messed up your bed. Paper towels were nearby from post-tattoo care, and I got it up quickly. Your bed was fine, just a little damp on the outside edge. But for the first time in weeks, I had to move it. I didn’t have to tell you to move to do it. I stopped cleaning, and the wave crashed over me. We didn’t get to celebrate today… After a good day, you were always there to cheer me on. To get overwhelmed with me, to eat bad food, and stay up too late. In that moment, I felt whatever it is inside me that makes me, me, collapse into a ball inside me and start screaming all over again. My heart sank, and I felt myself slide back into square one as your absence hit me all over again as if it had just happened. I couldn’t stop it. I tried to stop it. I felt ashamed for simply trying to stop it in the first place. Three cigarettes and the tears just kept coming. I surrendered and accepted that this isn’t getting better, and it likely never will. I let the undertow of the wave drown me. Then it stopped. The storm passed, and I was left on the shore choking on salt and sand again. Except—nothing felt better; I wasn’t magically whole again; you’re still gone; I’m still here…alone…with this hole where you used to be.
Brown Bird XLV
I decided yesterday that I was going to do whatever it took not to write about you. Then, I found a patch of your fur I missed. I found your water bottle I’d forgotten about. I found the umbrella I’d bought just for you—I never cared about the rain, but I knew you did. I found a blanket of yours that I’d forgotten I had. I found a sticker I got on one of our trips to remember it. I sat down to try and write something else, but my mind twisted and turned over memories. My soul broke a little more, so I laid down. Words swung through my mind like a mad knight’s sword. Then the dreams came, and you were there too, waking me every hour.
Brown Bird XLIV
The only real fear I’ve had for the last eight years is that at some point, I would finally break and go crazy. It was never me that I cared about, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you having to endure that alongside me. I managed to keep it together that long at least and, in doing so, I succeeded in giving you some sliver of the life that you deserved. I suppose, if there’s any silver lining to be found at all, it rests in the knowledge that now if I do go crazy, it’ll be me talking to myself in the gutter. Honestly, I’ve been through worse. So my peace of mind is now permanent with the knowledge that you’ll be spared from wherever this slow descent into madness ultimately drops me off.
Brown Bird XLIII
Why you decided on me I’ll never know. We went from dirt holes and concrete, sleeping in a car, to beautiful apartments in nice neighborhoods. But we never had a real home. Home was just wherever we happened to be that night. You could’ve had some lawyer or doctor’s family with a big house and maybe more resources, but you didn’t, because I didn’t. Whoever you were, thank you. I was the lucky one.
Brown Bird XLII
I spend a lot of time thinking about how much we gave up. About opportunities, about money, about social gatherings, about movies, about dates, about time with family. I think a lot about the number of nights I sat up with you, and about all the hours of extra care. I remember the mountains of pills, and bottles, and creams, and powders. The peace of mind that vanished at a moments notice—frequently. I think a lot about just how fucking lucky I was to be smart enough to toss the dice into the wind, and throw that stuff out of my mind. I remember just how much extra time we had together. I think about how much of a difference six years makes, and all the beautiful moments during that time. I think a lot about how much the fight was absolutely fucking worth it. There’s no place in space or time where I wouldn’t do it all over again for the opportunity to be that lucky one more time. In a heartbeat, I would do it all over again.
Brown Bird XLI
I can’t go to the grocery store. Every time I try, I catch the patch of drool on the headrest out of the corner of my eye. Before I can remind myself to breathe my hands start to shake, and I remember that night all over again. My chest runs warm, my ears ring, my fingers feel numb, and I here the voice of the cashier all over again trying to be nice—and the knot in my throat trying to remain pleasant. Eventually, I inevitably look at the empty seat in the back, and feel you next to me. It’s the same ending every night, whatever diner is still open, whatever ramen shop is still serving pho in late hour. I roll the window down, and drive the other direction.
Brown Bird XXXIX
The hardest part is the end. It’s the end of the day, when I’m overthinking, when I can’t relax, when the weight is to heavy to sleep. I always turned to you. But, you’re not here anymore, and I still don’t know what else to do. All I’m left with is a silent screaming panic.
Brown Bird XXXVIII
Tonight, I’ll etch another line inside on the wall of my prison, marking ten days. I’ll hope that whomever inherits my heart can’t feel the weight of what remains.
Brown Bird XXXVII
The full color bloom is done. I assumed I’d feel better, and I do. But, now it’s done, and you’re still gone. There’s no more work to be done, no one left to call, nothing left to clean, no one to pick up arrangements. It’s just quiet, and the longer the quiet stretched, the louder the storm became—and the more violent—until the lightning crashed around us.
Brown Bird XXXVI
Three times I’ve seen her in dreams, and three times you’ve been beside me, growling. Even in my dreams, you’re still there protecting me.
Brown Bird XXXV
I awoke with a head full of beautiful and bright memories with a voice screaming to write. I looked down at the empty bed and struggled. Curling up with your blanket I decided, No—some are just for me, they can’t have all of you.
Brown Bird XXXIV
I hate that look. I was constantly playing catch-up. I’d clean the floors, the walls, the blankets, and in no time it’d all be filthy again. I’d be stepping on grains of sand and dirt with bare feet. I’d see droplets of dried drool and food crumbs. There’s nothing left for me to clean. The floors just sit there, staring at me. I didn’t think I would miss the dirt, but I do. God, I miss the dirt.
Brown Bird XXXIII
The velvet, the warmth, the way you always climbed up close just to tell me to go to bed. The number of hours spent comfy and sleeping aren’t measurable. The feeling still gives me some comfort when I calm myself enough.
Brown Bird XXXII
I hoped for us to return to Colorado, I just never expected to be planning it this way, or for this reason.
Brown Bird XXXI
I woke up at 11 and panicked. I looked at my phone to find no missed calls, texts, or voicemails. I called them, asking, “Is she there?” I knew it was today, I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. “No, sir, sorry…nothing yet,” was all she said. Suddenly, I questioned the vision of the attendant gently wrapping you up, and closing the lid. Suddenly, I questioned watching your paw being pressed into clay. I rolled over into the corner and curled up with your blanket thinking if I could just get you home, maybe these mornings could get a little easier, maybe the evenings could have at least a few less tears. I woke again, three hours later to a voicemail that just said, she’s here—she’s just arrived. I called they assured me that you weren’t there yesterday and had not, in fact, overlooked you. I showered and drove over to get you. I don’t know why I showered first, it wasn’t their opinion I cared about, and the opinion I did care about—never cared about things like that. I walked in and said, “I’m here to pick up Lady Bird.” It took the girl a few moments to realize I wasn’t referring to day care, and for a moment I felt bad about her knowing—not that there was anything I could do about it anyway. I presented my receipt—my receipt, a record of exchange of goods and services. Maybe we really are doomed…maybe we deserve to be.
I took you to the car and struggled with whether you would’ve wanted the front seat or the back, until a found a brown bird’s feather wedged in the passenger window’s weather striping. I buckled you in and took you home. For the first time since you were little, you rode up front. I knew you always wanted too, but you never would—you could never get comfortable in the front. It was heavier than I expected it to be. I don’t know why. They fucked up the spelling on every single label and I laughed a little knowing how fitting it was—even though a small part of me wanted to be upset. I know it’s not you. If anything, it made me smile when I opened the box and noticed just how much care had been given in placing you inside. I decided that was all that actually mattered at the end of the day. I set you up where you can keep an eye on things, and put your teddy bears with you. It’s a perfect spot for you, center of attention as always. I wouldn’t allow anything less. The box is small enough to fit comfortably in my bag too, until I can get you back to the mountain. Either way, you’re home now. I had hoped that it would make me feel better, but I don’t think it does. The hope that you would receive some modicum of dignity was fulfilled. And…you are home…and I’m grateful…but you’re still gone, and this place is still…so very quiet.
Brown Bird XXX
The garden has ants. The garden always has ants, except generally they leave me alone. The pacing of bites picked up, and the wind pushed harder through the trees. I swiped the ants from my feet and thighs, wiping the sweat from my brow. I paced, thinking if I keep moving it will be more difficult for them to scale my legs. I was right. I found several small brown feathers in my forced movement around the garden…
Brown Bird XXIX
I found one of your dirty paw prints today. I remembered the moment you left it, and I remembered thinking—I’ll clean it up later, no big deal. My ears began to ring, and a feeling of gratitude at my own momentary laziness washed over me alongside a sharp stabbing pain. I struggled, unsure whether to clean it up, or leave it be. I gently closed the door, leaving it be.