Birds Sing When They Are Happy

The hot August sun beams down, the ground is parched, yet I must mow the weeds. From the window, "Jeffrey, Mow around the pear tree." I reply, "Ok, Mom." Mumbling to myself, "I hate pears, and I hate Yellow Jackets that love pears even more." Mother's voice returns, "Jeffrey honey, when you're done. My prescription is ready at the Pharmacy. I'm going to go get it." "Ok, Mom, I'll go get it."

I pull the cord several times. Finally, the weed eater starts dust, and weeds fly, creating a cloud of debris. I work for an hour clearing the area sweat soaks my clothing. I walk to the back door, "Mom, hand me the broom." "I'm sewing." refusing to come to my aide. I take my shoes off and walk through the house in my sock feet on a quest to find the broom. Mother says, "Gee, I'm not going to clean that up." I glare at her. I walk outside and sweep the debris off my clothes.

Days prior, I had bought cleats I admired my purchase. It's funny how they work so well for weed-eating, and I can hold my balance far better on the slopes of the hill. Weed-eating, you would think country people were cows sometimes I laugh noticing the difference in dialect. I shower and dash off to the grocery and Pharmacy.

In the store, I see people, and instead of talking, I now avoid them. Before, I would have spoken and had a quick hello, not now, though, not after "Him." I heard this old lady talking, "Oh, honey, I hope he runs them, old queers and democrats, out of our country." her friend, a lady I had never seen before, said, "The Lord anointed him to clean this country up." I walked by them. The old lady "Hello Jeffrey." Her words fell on deaf ears.

I kept going gathering my list of items and doing what I can to make sure I spend as little time in public as possible. My mask is hard to breathe through and keeps slipping, frustrating every move I make. I get to the Pharmacy, and the Pharmacist, who is always pleasant, is red-faced overworked, and has an exhausted look on his face. He gathers Mom's medicines and says, "I hope this is over soon." in a muffled tone, but then everyone's voice was muffled, all but the birds.

I say, "I know." I come home, wash my hands, give Mom her meds and turn on the TV. "100,000 people have died. Scientists are working as hard as they can to find a solution." I walk into my room gut-wrenched and can feel the tears welling up while hiding my face from mom. I break down in tears. I decide I need to walk, maybe a stroll where there are no humans, just me and fresh air, "surely that's safe." I questioned.

The mountains are different than cities. People are not so close together. Meeting people is rarer and maintaining six feet is easy.

I walked down the hill. My neighbor's house sits in a position that you can see what's on TV if you are walking. Fox News was on. I couldn't hear the reporter's words. I lost all faith in anything Fox News had to say years ago. He's a supporter of "Him."

I walked for a while, wondering, "how we landed here in this quandary, this fresh hell—this new but not new place. I went to college. I have degrees, and no one is listening to me when I say something is not right. Why?" I questioned. "I have heard that God's voice comes three ways. The first is subtle and offering, 'Please change.' The second, 'change now or else,' and the third, 'unleash chaos.' is this the reverse of that?" I whispered out loud, talking to myself as I walked.

Then a car goes by, I heard the words, "There's the fag, SHEEP! are you having a BAAAHHDDD Day." This time this one got away. Funny how brave people are in moving vehicles. I fume and trudge on.

I have battled with my demons; sometimes I win, sometimes they win, sometimes it's a draw. Today, I angrily put one foot in front of the other fists clinched, remembering the words of a very dear friend who said, "We have a relationship with God he hears us at all times and listens to that tiny voice that deepest self to that loudest scream." I asked, "Which one does he react to?" My mentor said, "The one he chooses, his will his time his way. Not yours." I said, "Angry. I don't like that." She said, "Tell that to God." I asked. "What will that do?" She laughed and said, "Nothing, he's not your puppet."

"Why am I here then?" She turns, places her teacup in the saucer, and says, "I don't know. Do you think a bird questions why it's here?" I stammered, trying to find an answer, "I don't think so." She said, "No, the bird sings, when it's happy, it eats when hungry and finds a mate to have children, and when it's the time comes to die, it dies."

She continues. "That's where we are different than most animals. We think some of us overthink too often. We live in our heads and create a world that our feet don't fit in." I laugh, understanding.

She added. "When I was young, I wanted to be a famous artist and musician, but here I sit on a couch talking to you. You can see what I did about it." I asked. "Don't you think sometimes there are roadblocks that keep you from things?" She said, "Oh, there are many, many things there to keep you from something and even more if you keep looking. If you keep looking for problems, you will keep seeing problems. If you sit down and paint a picture, and you call that art, then that is art." I sit, absorbing her words. A sense of quiet comes over me.

I need someone like her to talk with at times like this, who can make sense of difficult situations. I continue walking, going up and incline. My fists again clinched. I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of being singled out.

My mind goes to a daily reflection, "When the pain of where you are is greater than the fear of where you are going; change is sure to happen."-- Anonymous.

I finally arrive at a level spot at the top of the hill and catch my breath. "At least the rest of the walk will be easy." I wipe the sweat from my forehead and walk briskly.

Arriving at my driveway, I stop again for a moment and think, "The last bit, I can do it." This section of road is the steepest. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. I arrive at the porch open the door. Mom is asleep on the couch with a bucket of pairs in her lap.

I walk in and make my way to my computer. I wilt over at my computer table and ask myself, "God, what do you want with me?" I try to listen to see if there is an answer. There is nothing.

I open my chat room up to see a war going on. I sit there and glare at it, amazed at how bitter and cruel everyone turned, and it was open season. I sit bewildered that the people that told me I needed to be kinder were now vile monsters. Reflecting on relationships, Ethal, a lady I grew up with the times we laughed meanwhile today, I watched her talked about how bad she hated "Fags, and them ole nasty immigrants." Direct hit for me funny thing she and I go to the same doctor, and he's from India, adorable man too.

I feel something hit my arm. I look down one tear. Herman, our neighbor, has been around for years, I never remember him holding a job, but he expressed his concerns about how "They were taking our jobs." I sit and glare. I can feel my head begin to hurt. Then I see, "Those Democrats are nothing but sheep, watch them. They will just do what they are told." I sat there, my heartbreaking.

Then one of my family pops in, "sheep did you see what He's going to do for us? Your side couldn't do it." My blood boiled. Then he said, "You're just a fag. You won't say anything to anyone." I felt my soul scream. I sat staring in shock.

I ponder, "How did we land in this place?" My dearest friends say, "Prayers can help you through the toughest of times." The thought of asking God anything right now is revolting. But I manage to muster the words—empty blabber at first, no meaning, just words slightly louder than a whisper. I suspect God knew that even though I was down on my knees, I was disgusted at the core of me. "God, I cannot continue to carry this anger with me, guide me guard me as I go from here to do your bidding, release me from the bondage of self so that I may better do thy will. Amen."

But I did it. I get up, my knee's aching, tired, I hear a knocking "Are you ok?" A tiny voice echo's from the other side of the door, Mother's eye peeping around trying to see through the crack. "Yes, I am fine, Mom." "I am going to the store." I reply, "Ok, let me change." I hear her getting ready.

I find an article in the obituary, my daughter's obituary dated five years prior. I stand with the page in my hand, and something hits my arm; glimpsing down, I see it's one tear. My soul asks, "Why?" That familiar voice says, "That bird sings because it's happy, no other reason. It eats because it's hungry." I ask myself, "What are you telling me?" I feel a slight tug, "I am ready to go." Jarred, back to reality, I shook it off. "Oh, ok." I grab the keys and watch mom get in the car. She scoots into the car seat, "You know it's just you and me now." Shocked by her words, I twist around. "What?" then her point hits, "It is just she and I. Once she's gone, it will be just me." A strange, profoundly lonely feeling occurs, "but then again, we're all alone, aren't we?" I rationalized.

We drive to the grocery and come home. I am still upset at the events of the day.

I work for the next few days, trying to ignore my feelings. Mother calls to me, "Would you get some pears please? and I am going to get a newspaper today." I reply and laugh. "Ok, and dash off." I pick up the paper, and in the obituary, I find both of the ladies at the grocery were now deceased, the man shouting from the car he too is now dead. Sadly, I watched mom "All of my friends are dead now." I remember.

"Emotions are tangled things, some elaborate schemes to paint our lives with hopes where there were none." Hope is a strange emotion. It's one of those emotions I have grown not to trust. Someone says, "There is always hope." I instinctively say, "Having hope isn't the most promising feeling."

I sit in the quiet of the evening, watching, listening to the birds sing. It will be fall soon. I think, "Sick people do sick things. Happy people do happy things. Angry people do angry things." I watch the sunset the light fades.

We will have to can the Pears. I hate Pears.