A sparrow fleetingly perched, its quivering brown body ready to flit from light to light. Trapping itself in presumably the safest place, but also the farthest from freedom; a cracked window. I didn’t want to tell him what I saw when I looked in his eyes. It was only his business that the world stopped revolving, if I made it his. And when he entered my dreams they were the most beautiful, the most haunting, the most compelling. I watched its head twitch on the closet door. Descending closer to the window, the edge of my computer, piled high with newspaper clippings and note pads. Its smooth rounded belly no longer shook as it assessed this maze of unfamiliar surroundings. But all progress was lost the minute “help” arrived in a patch proclaiming “maintenance.” He carried a pole and a worn beach towel. “This could take a while.” The only thing familiar to home is the sky. But even that is blocked by cement prisons, and gaudy electrified parking signs. Mapping the city with hours of steps, alone, I see the Streetwise corners that never vary. Ultimately, someone is going to ask for a kind of help I can’t give them. But at least they have someone to ask. In a frenzied panic, the sparrow’s wings lifted fearfully back up to hop from light to light. The towel following from corner to corner. Each time the bird fell to the ground. In exhaustion, in fear, in panic; it always managed to escape to the next corner, where it plummeted again. I can’t tell you our history, and you won’t want to hear it anyway. People are merely interested in the ecstatic highs and the black pits that swallow. Only an occasional snap remains. The rest is lost with the chemistry formulas and Spanish vocabulary. Until I can’t remember whether it was him or the dream of him. I don’t know if they’re separable anyway. It wasn’t until in complete exhaustion and swallowed by fear that it fell for the last time. The patch tossed the towel covering the corner. Clumsily, trying to find the beaten wings and expanded breast lost among the folds. Because dreams are what give us hope. Even when we’re stumbling alone. Even when we’re falling. I told him to open the window in that same corner, it’s easier to let it out a different window. “That’s a good idea.” And we all need someone to hold and hold us when our dreams are bad and there seems to be no escape. The sparrow was a bullet, seen only for a moment. Wondering what it felt to be free again, the door clicked behind me as I was left alone. Wondering, who would patch me. Wondering, if it would take a while. Wondering, if I had to leave differently than I came. |
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