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The Ornithologist and the Fool

A short story

By Scarlett CallohanPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
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Minnie had just settled down with her tea and last month’s nature magazine, a routine so familiar to her she could have done it in her sleep, when a knock jarred her out of the article about the latest migration patterns.

Her feet slipped across her kitchen floor, one shoved in a gray slipper—formerly white, the other a lime green sock. Haste to reach the steaming teakettle earlier had stopped her from finding the missing slipper. Her cropped white hair was still caught up in pink plastic curlers, giving her the appearance of a Pastel Porcupine. She wasn’t really dressed for company, but she’d stopped caring about her appearance sometime after she turned fifty. “Can I help you?”

“Um, hello,” a thin man in his late twenties stood at her door. The man’s eyes seemed to bug out at the sight of her. She wondered if it was the slipper or the curlers throwing his off. Clutched tight in his hands were numerous folders and paperwork shoved together. “My name’s Conner. I live in 6B, and I seem to have misplaced my keys. Could you possibly call the superintendent for me? I can’t seem to find my cell. I’m always misplacing the thing.”

“Sure doll, I remember you, we’ve met in the halls before. Why don’t you just come in and wait.” She waved him in, “You like tea? I just made some. I’m Minnie if you didn’t remember.”

He swallowed hard followed her inside, “Sure ma’am.” His eyes darted back towards the hallway as she shut the door.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Just sugar, please.”

He settled onto the dark brown sofa, carefully avoiding the reading glasses spread out on one cushion. Magazines were scattered all over across the room, along with small neon post-it notes. The one on the table was a reminder to send Phil a $1250 check for rent. The one stuck to the mirror on the wall was a reminder that she needed more peanut butter. Peanut butter of all things.

It reminded him of his late grandmother’s house, where his parents used to drop him off on the weekends when they wanted to go on their mini vacations. His grandma used to collect cow figurines even though she didn’t own a cow and never even stepped foot on a farm during her eighty-one years. Each one had its own name. She’d coo over them, carefully dusting them every afternoon.

She shuffled in before he could read any more and offered him a cup of tea, “I called Phil, he’ll be up soon. That’s sure a lot of paperwork you have there. So, what exactly is it you do?” She sat down next to him, and he barely rescued the glasses.

“I’m an ornithologist.”

“An ornithologist?” surprise in her voice. She started to say something, but he interrupted her.

“Oh, that means I study birds,” he smiled down at her, shifting the files in his hands, “You know the species, migration patterns, breeding patterns, that stuff.”

“How fancy,” she chuckled, “I love birds,” she waved her hand at the numerous bird figurines, artwork, and patterns scattered across the living room. Even her robe had macaws printed on it, the colors faint from numerous washings.

“Yes, I see this, do you know a lot about birds?” His lips twitched up, not fully forming into a smile.

“I keep up,” she blew on her tea.

“I’m sure you do.”

She opened her mouth, but there was a pounding at the door. “Hey, Minnie, you called?” Phil’s muffled voice sounded form the other side of the door.

“That’s my cue,” Connor stood and grabbed his papers. “I have to go, there’s a presentation tonight I’m going to watch about my field.”

“Sure doll, have fun at your party,” Minnie took his tea, “Oh, before you go I have a book you might enjoy.”

He winced when he knew she wasn’t looking. He wondered what book she could possibly have that would interest him. Probably some general encyclopedia of bird breeds that any Average Joe might have. His eyes darted towards the door, and he contemplated just leaving, but she knew where he lived. It’s not like he would never see her again.

“Here,” Minnie walked in holding some bound papers, “It’s not a finished copy, but I think you’ll like it.”

His eyes widened when he skimmed the title. “This is the latest anthology by Mrs. Southfield, this isn’t even supposed to be published for another month. How’d you get this?”

Her eyes twinkled, “They always give authors advanced copies of the things they publish.”

“Phil pounded on the door. “Minnie? I don’t have all day.”

“You better go. Don’t want to be late for your party.” She gently prodded a stuttering Connor towards the door, shutting it behind him his face still frozen in surprise. Quietly she finished her tea and magazine, before washing down the kitchen, putting the china cups decorated in bar swallows away, a smile never leaving her face. A leaflet was stuck to her fridge, and she took it down. Maybe she’d go to speak at the convention after all.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Scarlett Callohan

Hi, I'm Scarlett!

When I'm not busy writing I'm drinking a large amount of coffee while reading or working on new recipes.

Thank you for all your support!

If you'd like kindle copies of some of my fiction pieces visit Amazon and search for me!

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