A Painted Bird

Somewhere between Serdar and Lorgine, the foothills finally gave out to plains and the horizon opened into an arcing sky. The passenger’s demeanour changed also. Perhaps she could sense something new. We had been driving since dawn and now I had to lower the visor as we travelled westward into the sinking sun. The mountains were behind us, and the passenger – I don’t remember her name or whether she even told me it - began to relax. When she’d first got in the car I guess she felt obliged to make small talk, but that had dwindled to a companionable silence and it had been a long while since a word had passed between us. The expansive surroundings seemed to loosen her tongue though and she started straight into a story. She spoke quietly, but deliberately and with few pauses, as though she had spent the entire journey working it out in her mind.

“When I was eight, my favourite toy was a wooden bird. It had been brightly painted and to me was the most beautiful thing in the world. Despite being carved with wings folded, I would run around outside holding it above my head, pretending to make it fly. No, not pretending. I really believed it was airborne, that if I let go it would soar away, over the fields and trees and into the big blue yonder. But never once did I loosen my grip. In fact, I held on so tightly that often my hand would be stained with its colour. I wanted to keep it with me always, and never really considered whether it yearned for freedom, wanted to see things from a true height, to explore the world beyond my neighbourhood.

At night, before I went to sleep, I would place it on the windowsill above my bed so that it could see the sun rise in the morning and join in with the dawn chorus. Of course it could sing. It had the sweetest voice of all. But I never opened my window while it was perched there, I didn’t want it to flutter down to a branch below and trill along with all the other songbirds. What if it didn’t return to me in my cramped room, in my cold apartment with the loud voices?

It didn’t occur to me that the bird might love me back, might want to stay for my sake. I never gave it the opportunity to prove itself. Instead I kept it held tight in my little hand as its colour seeped into my skin. Over time it dulled. I began to lose interest. My attention turned to other things.

One night I put it on my windowsill and in the morning didn’t pick it up again. It stayed there, part of the furniture, so that eventually I din’t even see it anymore. The window was left ajar without worrying about the bird that sat there with its flightless wings folded.”

The passenger stopped and cleared her throat. “Do you have any water?”

“Sure, there’s a bottle on the backseat there somewhere.”

She undid her seatbelt and reached back, rooting around. “Can’t find it.”

“Ok, there’s definitely a pack in the trunk. Hold on, I’ll find a place to pull over.”

“Thank you. I left in a hurry and didn’t think to bring any.”

I remember being really tempted to ask her about the circumstances of her sudden departure. But I had a feeling that she was trying to tell me. All I had to do was listen.

I pulled over into a lay-by. We had turned south so now the setting sun was to the right of the vehicle. I went to the trunk and got two bottles of water. While there I saw the luggage she had thrown in before getting in the car. It was only a single rucksack.

She had gotten out of the car and lit a cigarette. I gave her the water and she held out the packet in return. I took one and she helped me light it. We both did a little dance of leg stretching, getting the blood circulating again. Then leant back against the car, watching the sun set.

She exhaled some smoke, then said, “after a while, when I was older. I experienced a brief spell of teenage sentimentality and remembered the painted bird. It wasn’t on my windowsill. I tore my room apart looking for it. I thought that if I found it again it would unlock something from my childhood that had since been lost. In desperation I searched through the apartment. It was nowhere to be found. Maybe someone else had taken it. Maybe it had flown away. I began to believe that it’s wings had unfolded, that it had taken off from the window ledge, and flown away. Sometimes in the evening I would sit by the window, expecting the bird to return. In my mind it was always brightly coloured again, as if time spent outside, free from my grasp had allowed its splendour to return. But the pretty little bird never came back.”

She took a long swallow from the bottle and then sighed appreciatively. “Thanks for the water.”

“No worries at all.”

“And for the ride.”

“That’s okay. I’m headed that way anyways.”

It was dark by now. I stretched and yawned, “best be getting on.”

“Let’s do it.”

The headlights lit along a narrow road, then illuminated the sign to a motel. I parked the car, killed the engine and we sat there in silence for a while.

“Can I get you a coffee before you carry on?”

“Sure.”

After the constant motion of being in the car it felt strange to suddenly be still. I sat in the solitary chair in the room while she perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“What will you do now?” I asked if only to fill the silence.

She lit a cigarette. “I don’t know really. I guess spread my wings a little. See some sights.”

The mug was pretty much empty but I seemed transfixed by the dregs in the bottom, unable to look up and in doing so end our interaction. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing.

I felt her hand on mine as she took the cup from me. Our eyes met.

“You’ll get there eventually,” she said.

I didn’t know how to respond. The pit of my stomach was hollow. “Do you really think so?” I said finally.

“Of course. Fly south and find out.”

I stood up. “See you then.”

“Thanks for everything, safe travels.”

“Likewise.”

As I opened the door and stepped out, I took a last glance back. She had taken off her jacket - revealing a vest top beneath - and was reaching to hang it on the bathroom door, arm above her head and on her back the tattoo of a brightly coloured bird, wings spread shoulder to shoulder.