Memory of a Bird

The world as we know it isn’t always a distinct black or white. There’s an abundance of grey. Perhaps, we choose to view grey as a form of denial when a clear answer is staring at us point blank, ready to shoot, if it wasn’t for our cowardice to stare right back. They say that hindsight is always 20/20 but let’s ponder that thought for a moment; in a literal sense, with such a big portion of the world wearing some sort of corrective lenses nowadays sight, in any form, is far from 20/20 within the general population. One other thing about the world is that it is utterly and completely unapologetically fair, or at least that is what Alex used to say. And you better believe that if my big brother Alex had something to say about a situation, it was as good as true! People like him don’t come around very often, he was gentle and caring yet, fierce and strong. He knew right from wrong and was smart enough to know that like a good game, life is best enjoyed with the people you hold dear. It amazes me to this day how someone so young and full of life could have been filled with so much understanding about the complexities of the universe but maybe that is my own grey area.

There is a particular day that sticks out in my mind, etched in my memory like a tattoo on a rambunctious 16-year-old teenager. A teen who is eager to “stick it” to their parents in an effort to show how cool and mature they are. This is the teen that later in life regrets the stupid flower inked on their foot. The only difference here is that unlike that teen, I never wished for anything that happened following that day.

It was a perfect autumn evening, the type where you stand outside, look, and can’t help but fall in love with the picturesque beauty of it all. The foliage, all shades of orange and red enveloping the setting; like a blanket of fire and amber that gently caressed the floor in a way that it wasn’t burned by that fire but as such, you were drawn to its flame. There was a slight breeze of cool air that appeared, disappeared, and reappeared as quickly as long-lost relatives that found out you won the lottery. Alex and I were on our search for the next big adventure he was 14 at the time and I only 4 years his junior. We didn’t have that typical brotherly relationship where we annoy each other and he’d get mad. We also never wanted to rebel against the adult world, no, we loved each other and we both knew that. It was something that our mother always made a point to reinforce. We were brothers, we are supposed to love each other because what happens when one day you lose that person and you regret not loving them or telling them so after they’re gone! I think that had a lot more to do with mom’s life than our own. She eloped with my father when she was 16, first to another state but to a completely different country after and before you knew it, 15 years had gone by and she hadn’t seen her family since. Why did she never go back and try to reach out? That was her grey area.

We were walking through the leaves, back then we used to live in a farm where there was plenty of outdoors and not enough people around to share it with. It was nice at times, the peace and quiet but also lonely. The kids from around the place were not like us or maybe we weren’t like them. So, we kept to ourselves most of the time and took joy from our own company. There was our house, a plain white house on a farm if you ever saw one with rows and rows of corn, corn, corn, and other vegetables in the so-called back yard. A barn as red as any barn you’ve seen right in the middle of it all. There was a great-big-wall of trees that lined up the road coming towards our home and they were the ones guilty for the beautiful mess of color on the ground. As we made our way toward the barn, I remember the feeling of excitement and joy because we always seemed to find something to keep our minds and bodies busy there! When you’re young and full of imagination there is no reason to ever have a dull day, especially with such a structure at the epicenter of the adventure! Chirp chirp. As we approached the barn there was a strange noise, faint at first but increasingly growing in volume. Chirp chirp. Eight times out of ten curiosity will call us to action and make us explore the unknown just to see what will happen. This was one of those times. The barn, was a big wood building, plain and simple. Nothing more, nothing less, except in this precise encounter, there WAS more. Chirp chirp. We had no idea where this sound was coming from. Obviously, there was a bird somewhere but it didn’t sound normal, it sounded small, weak, distressed. We had circled the barn several times with no luck and then we realized that we were never going to find it that way because the sound was coming from on top of the barn. An idea, there was an old wooden ladder that was kept inside the barn for safekeeping. Dad had always told us to leave it be, there was nothing for us on the roof but just this once there was, right? I remember something feeling off, not quite right. The wind was back and seemed to have gotten colder, the sky had turned grey and was full of melancholy. Alex pulled the ladder out and propped it against one of the walls of the barn, the thing squealed and wobbled but curiosity beat out reason. Plus, how much reason does curiosity have to beat out in a fourteen-year-old anyway? He climbed the ladder, my brother did, and I remember seeing his smile as he held that first rung of wood, he climbed steadily, every movement unfaltering despite the creaking wood. Chirp Chirp. We were getting closer to our prize, I could feel it in my bones! He’s halfway there! It must have been a twenty-foot climb but he was halfway there! Chirp chirp. There’s a part of me that was glad at the time, that I wasn’t the one climbing because the ladder seemed to be dancing a very slow waltz as my brother made his way up. The wind was an impatient suitor trying to have the next dance with the fine wooden lady. Chirp chirp. He’s basically there! Three more rungs and we uncover the mystery! Hurray for Alex! He reaches the top, grabs something with his hand, his feet on the last rung of that betraying ladder, his head turns with a winner’s smile and then my world comes crashing down along with Alex, Chirp Chirp. There is a baby barn owl in his hand.

The next several days go in a blur, there’s no adventures, no beauty in the falling leaves, no sunlight, only grey. The town doctor tells my parents he’s sorry for some reason I don’t understand. Why is he sorry? What did he do? Confusion and anxiety are my main companions through those days. Alex has been lying in bed for what seems like an eternity. He doesn’t really say much but asks how the owl is doing every time. I’ve been trying to take care of it. Alex says I need to, that it’s my job as the oldest sibling in the family only, I'm not the oldest. HE is! HE should be taking care of it not me! It’s HIS job as the oldest brother! He just smiles. Five days after the fall, my brother is gone. Pneumothorax or in plain English, collapsed lungs. On that last day, he was making very little sense, something about equivalence and making a fair trade, he told me to make sure I take care of that owl and make sure it grows up to be strong and able to fend for itself. It’s crazy talk, I tell him, we can both do that!

His eyes, usually a caramel brown, are now a strange shade of grey. He still has that winner’s smile as he falls asleep for the last time.

I kept my word to him, somehow that little owl, made it through the winter months with me and by the time that spring peeked its head around the corner, the owl was in full flight. I would sit and watch it with amazement and longing, knowing how much Alex would have liked to see it for himself and also wondering if I'd ever be able to tell him. The bird had beautiful wings, it’s wingspan long and majestic, he had a white pearly coat with brown spots throughout and the strangest thing about it is that I could swear it had these beautiful caramel eyes. It seemed ironic that even though it is called a “barn owl’ it was the only one that I ever saw while living there. I think he sensed that, he stayed a couple of days but then one day disappeared. This added insult to injury since I missed my brother every day he wasn’t there and it was especially painful because with time, I realized he would never come back but something else did.

That following autumn, on a perfect fall day. I made my way to that barn that I had grown to hate so much, the ground crunching at my feet. I could hear a strange sound in the distance, like a weird squeal/screech hybrid type of noise. It pierced through that perfect day and took me back once I saw the source. The same owl whose life was saved by ending that of my brothers, circled around in the sky. It was a beautiful creature as guilty as it was, and I couldn’t help but stare and shortly after, cry as I saw those caramel brown eyes get closer and closer to me. I looked up at the sky, just like I once did at my brother on that ladder and though I was filled with anger and rage there was also a comforting feeling and as the anger subsided the comfort grew and relaxation took their place. Some could argue that it is just a coincidence that the same bird returned the year after. As well as the year after that. More curious is that he has continued to do so every year since but then again, that’s a grey area.