The Neighbors

Lar is the Portuguese word for home. Where I am flying was my lar, but now it is their casa. House. A man. A woman. A girl. Familia. One day, if they stay long enough, if they bring joy into their house, if they share meals together, if they cry and laugh and shout, maybe then it will become their lar. Maybe then, the loss my heart felt will meet its equal in what their hearts have gained.

We still fly here.

We fly blue and green and red to match the river, and leaves, and violence. Sometimes we fly with dozens but usually it’s just us two. So in love, we fly in sync with our wings spread almost close enough to touch. In the day and night, it stays hot and the breeze that ruffles our feathers is cool. We hear some of their words whispering on the winds. Their language is Portuguese. Ours, Macaw. I hope one day we can communicate but for now we understand each other. The man and woman love each other and their girl, and they need a home. My love and I are the same.

We try not to hold too much of a grudge, but we aren’t above stealing from them. Bright hot peppers and tomatoes from the garden are always juicy and spicy. Sometimes beans and corn are left out in the grass. It’s almost like they want us to steal from them, like they set the food out expecting us to come.

The girl will lay the plate out. Her parents watch from the porch. Then she’ll run and sit near them. Her mom will braid her hair and her dad will laugh when she talks and grill some meats for the family. I wish I could laugh and eat with my whole family still.

Sometimes the bitterness overtakes me, and I want to destroy their family. Those people and their relatives are always taking from us. I have laid 11 eggs in my life. Three were dropped to the ground and broken before they could hatch. The tree was cut down. All my babies left to rot. Two were stolen by shameless monkeys looking for a bite to eat and four were hatched, blind but beautiful and were killed while I was away searching for food. They disappeared in the light of day when everything was supposed to be safe and sound. They never had the time to grow their eyes and see our lar. Only two of my children have gotten big enough to live on.

From the tops of the trees, we drop until we soar with the momentum. Two precious daughters and the parents that cherish them. One is almost old enough to lay her own children in a nest. Tonight, we will scout the perfect nest together as a family. Maybe a cave or cliffside this time, or maybe a tree cavity for her first eggs. The forest is changing everyday now. We will need to find a safe place. A nest built far from the humans will be safe from logging, but nests closer to the road will be safe from the monkeys that the humans shoot for food.

Perhaps this time it would be safer to simply nest on top of the neighbor’s house. We could stay in our own lar. We know this territory, even if the humans have made some changes. The humans would not cut down their own house.

Upon our daughter’s agreement, we returned to our lar, both daughters flying by our sides. The girl still is not with them. She hasn’t returned in several weeks now. When we first noticed her absence, the man and woman would place beans and corn in the grass in her stead. Then they would remain in the grass on their knees clutching their hands tightly, their heads lowered. We stopped stealing their tomatoes and peppers. We resolved to wait until the girl returned. No parent wants to be separated from their child. We understood.

In the weeks that followed we mapped out all the best nut trees in the area, the best flowers, the best seeds, and the best fruits. We found the nearest water sources and the best places to hide from vicious eagles, giant snakes, and hungry monkeys. When our daughter was getting ready to bring new family members into our world, we returned to our lar. The girl was not there. There were no corn and beans in the grass. The tomatoes and peppers had ripened but remained unpicked. The woman now stayed inside. Only the man remained standing in the grass. A white stick in his mouth left a burnt smell in the air less comforting than the meat on the grill.

He shot his gun into the sky.

I screamed.

Another shot.

I swerved.

Another shot.

Another.

Another.

Another.

They got softer and further until I couldn’t hear them anymore. My family. They had fallen with the loud cracks in the sky. They had shouted, “can’t you hear us? Can’t you see us? Can’t you feel what our family is feeling?”

There was no language between us.

There had never been a language between our family and the neighbors, but I thought we understood each other. I saw them laugh together and eat together, and I knew they were a family that loved each other.

I thought they knew that about us too.

I thought they knew that we were a family that loved each other.

I thought that was all we needed to know.