The Cardinal
Saved by Tank by Nick Rossman
Free by Matt Bloom
A Ray of Hope by Alissa Dillavou
I think you’re a really great person, but now just isn’t the right time in my life for a relationship. I’ve heard it so many times. Even when it’s put nicely, it comes off the same. It’s not always the way someone says it. It’s the way they move their lips, the way the body shifts nervously. You hope you won’t cry and cause a scene.
I
always wish to relive my high school days when I was head cheerleader and would
spend three or four hours on the phone with different boys every night.
Those days ended shortly after high school -- cheerleading was over and I
gained forty-five pounds. Guys have
changed. They no longer treat me
like a princess; I’m the one who has to put the work into getting a guy to
even look at me.
I
can’t believe Mark actually thought he could give me a ride home after that. I only live twelve blocks, and it’s not like I can’t use
the exercise. The walk was
cold and that didn’t make my day any brighter.
I looked up and saw the train passing by as it often did.
A brisk wind made me button up my coat and pull my arms in tighter to my
body.
My
purse was heavy, and made the long walk even more unbearable.
I’m always asked why I carry such a ridiculously large purse. Why the hell not, I always tell them. I have everything I need in this tank and it’s gotten me
out of embarrassing situations many times over.
In fact, that’s what my friends call my purse-- “Tank.”
Sometimes it’s a little gawky to carry around such an enormous object,
but I’m not about to change my ways.
I
stop to pull out a pair of gloves. My
hands were starting to get cold and the last thing I wanted was frostbite. Maybe I should have taken that ride from Mark I thought to myself.
No, I have to remain strong in these situations.
Oh, who am I kidding? Mark
was a great guy --
it kills me to have lost him already. My day can’t possibly get any worse than this.
Just as I’m thinking this, a ton of birds come flying out from behind
a car right at me and scare me half to death.
I scream and duck down. People
on the sidewalk chuckle at me, but I don’t care. I am deathly afraid of birds.
I never understood why, they’ve just always bothered me.
They have the beadiest little eyes and those sharp, pointy beaks.
They fly around not knowing where they’re going with their tiny little
brains. At any minute one could fly right at you and attack you because it
thought your finger was an earthworm. I
wish I could take a tennis racket and swing at every bird that comes within ten
feet of me.
As
I think, I realize that the bird I’m staring at is pretty.
I believe it’s a cardinal. I
didn’t know cardinals were city birds. The
bird began to fly my way and I somewhat admired it’s gracefulness, until it
swooped down right at me and squawked an awful, high pitch, irritating squawk
like. I screamed and hugged the
ground, but that wasn’t the end. The
ugly bird came back down and made another pass at me, hovering over my head,
batting its wings and screeching non-stop.
I was petrified. What on earth have I done to piss this bird off?
I grab my purse by the straps and swing at the damn
thing. My efforts are futile, for
it is too high above me. But I
believe I scared it enough to leave me alone. The bird left. I realize my heart is pounding with fear but I feel so much
safer with the bird gone. It flew
down the street and out of my life. Birds
are definitely the worst creatures on the earth.
I continue down the street towards my apartment and
realize that even though it’s only two in the afternoon this has been quite
possibly the worst day of my life. Then
I start to think about Mark again. He
was a bird lover. He bird watches
out in the country in the spring. Maybe
the fact that he and I didn’t work out wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
How could I ever be with a man that likes birds?
This was a mistake.
A stupid, foolish mistake. She
wants me to stay, I know that. She
didn’t say anything, but I know she wants me to stay.
Does she? Maybe she didn’t say
anything because she wanted me to go.
Stop it. Stop being paranoid, and
stop feeling sorry for yourself, Jovanka. You
made your choice and Trista made hers. Let it go.
But I can’t, can I? Even now,
when the train’s pulling away from the station, I just can’t let it go.
She was everything to me: a friend, a lover, someone I thought I would
grow old with. But here I am alone,
waiting for this train to take me to a new job and a new life.
A life without her.
It’s
not too late. If I wanted to I
could grab my bag and jump off before we leave the station.
I could run back to Trista, tell her that I’m sorry, that I was an
idiot. Then we could be together
again, just like we should be.
But
I can’t. I have a job waiting for
me in Chicago. I can’t let them
down, they’re expecting me. Besides,
for the amount of money they’re paying me I can’t afford to pass on this. A rock and a hard place, that’s where I am.
So
I just sit here and slowly turn my head to look out the window.
I stare out through my own transparent reflection and watch the crowd as
the train slowly starts to pull away. I
see children running and playing, climbing over suitcases and ducking between
adults’ legs. I see a woman
waving around her large purse frantically, swatting at something that probably
only she can see. Then I see it, a
quick glimpse of pink in the crowd.
Trista.
It has to be her. I’d recognize that hair color
anywhere. God knows I made fun of
her for it enough times. I scan the
crowd, desperately searching for that bright color amidst the somber earth tones
of the station and its occupants. Finally
I see it, but it’s not Trista. It’s a balloon.
A pink balloon. I almost
laugh at myself, how worked up I got over a brief glimpse of a color.
It’s almost pathetic.
I reach over for my bag and pull out the book I’m
reading, Travelling Between, by Ruth
Pischke. It’s a good story, but
right now I just can’t get into it. I
put the book back and look out the window again.
I know it’s insane, but I still can’t help thinking that I’ll see
her out there, waiting to see me off or begging me to stay.
But she’s not, I know she’s not, no matter how much I wish she was.
Something red flashes past the window.
It catches my attention and I follow it with my eyes.
It’s a cardinal, a bright crimson cardinal.
Are the males red or the females? I
knew that once, but I can’t remember now.
I don’t even know why I care. I
watch the bird for awhile as it sails through the air, high above the heads of
the people at the station.
I always used to wish that I could fly.
That I could soar through the sky like that bird.
Way up in the air, so high that the people below would look like ants.
I find myself wishing that I could do that now.
I would love to be so carefree and liberated.
I start to wonder where I would fly to if I was a
bird. Not to Chicago, that’s for
sure. In fact, I’d fly the
opposite direction, as far away from that job as I could.
I’d fly away and be free, no commitments, no pressure, no doubts and
insecurities. Complete and total
liberty.
The train pulls away from the station and I lose
sight of the bird. It’s
undoubtedly flown off, maybe to its nest, maybe just circling through the air,
feeling the sheer joy of untethered flight.
And here I am, locked up in the belly of this iron snake, being spirited
away from my home to a new life.
I sit back in my chair and rest my head in my hands.
This was a mistake. I never
should have taken this job. The pay
may be great, but look at what it’s cost me.
“Is this seat taken?”
There are plenty of jobs here at home. It
may have taken awhile, but I’m sure that I could have found one if I’d
looked hard enough.
“I said ‘Is this seat taken?’”
Maybe I could have found something that pays even
better. Enough so that Trista and I
could get a place of our own. An
apartment, or maybe even a condo.
“Jovanka.”
We could have gotten married.
If I could afford an apartment, then I’m sure a ring wouldn’t have
been that hard to obtain.
“Jovanka?”
We would have been happy together, Trista and I.
Just as happy and free as that bird.
“Earth to Jovanka!
Is anybody in there?”
Something shakes me and I realize that I have company. I look up and find myself staring into the clear blue sky. Why are there holes in the sky? Because they’re eyes, that’s why. Blue eyes. Trista’s eyes.
Trista?”
“Hey, what do you know, the lights are on and
someone is home. Miss me?”
She smiles at me, that incredible smile that I
thought I’d never see again. I
kiss her, and the cardinal of my heart soars.
A flash of red out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, hectic and fluttering, and I snap to attention, eyes wide - searching, scanning. The old woman who always feeds the pigeons from the same peeling park bench brandishes her cane at me, shouting something unintelligible. She yells at everyone, except her filthy pigeons, and word around the park is that she’s crazy. Trying to look nonchalant, I put down the garbage I’ve been pawing through - maybe that’s what she’s upset about; oh well, I have to eat too, you old bag - I walk off toward the rustling in the bushes, curious. I look over my shoulder to make sure the old woman isn’t watching, then disappear through the screen of foliage without a sound.
As I peer through the leaves, I wonder if that flash of color was what I thought. Probably too much to hope for - something tells me this isn’t my lucky day. Miracles just don’t happen to guys like me. Probably some kid’s ball, or maybe a kite - who knows? It’s cold out, but not cruelly so. The snow is cold against me, but the coat I wear keeps me warm enough. I feel terror for a moment at the thought of the deepening winter. It’s promised to be cold, and I don’t know how I’ll survive, only that I must, or die trying. For now, I thrust these thoughts from my mind and concentrate on finding that flitting bit of brilliant color. I let my eyes roam back and forth, breathing in the crisp scent of the evergreens close around me. It all reminds me of Christmases past, of a warm home and a loving family, and for a moment I feel sad, kind of sorry for myself. Oh well, comforts like that come and go, and in the end all I guy really has is the knowledge of whether or not he can survive on his own, and I guess I know now that I can.
I see the flash of color again. It pulls me abruptly from my reminiscences, and I am glad of it. I draw in a sharp breath, mesmerized, but remain absolutely still, so as not to give myself away. On the low branch across from me sits the cardinal, preening his feathers. He is even redder than I first thought, and my eyes almost hurt from looking upon his brilliance. Watching birds in the park has become one of my few remaining pleasures, and this cardinal is one of the most beautiful things I have seen in longer than I care to remember. He pauses in his preening, cocking his head to one side, his flat black eyes darting around, almost searching. His feathers are slightly ruffled, standing straight along the curve of his neck and the lines of his wings. I duck farther down, praying to escape detection. I hold my breath - all I need are a few more moments of secrecy, and I can walk away satisfied. He ruffles his feathers once more, raining miniature, crystalline flakes of snow from the branch on which he perches, and then, satisfied with his solitude, settles back to his preening. I keep my breath steady and count my heartbeats, content to wait a little longer.
The moment comes at last. He has descended from his perch and sits now, only inches from me. I’m amazed he doesn’t feel my breath, or hear the pounding of my heart. It is then that I strike. He never sees me coming.
In less than a second, before he can so much as turn around, my arm darts out and I beat him to the ground, stunning him. He looks around dazedly, shaking his head. Before he can get his bearings I bat at him again, and then once more. I cast my eyes cautiously to his claws, trying not to be too anxious, too overzealous. They rattle feebly now in the snow. He’s weak and those claws are no harm to me now - I hate being scratched. His wings flutter uselessly as I drag him to me, pulling him in tight against my body. I taste the dust of his feathers against my tongue as he struggles on, and then, at last, all is still. I drop him to the ground, descending behind him, and then, I feast.
The old woman with her pigeons starts to scream, her eyes wide. I look up from lapping at my paws, finishing off the last of my dinner. Perplexed, ears perked up, I look at her, wondering what the problem is - it’s not like I ate a pigeon. As I lift my paw once more to my mouth, I spot a single bright red feather caught in my whiskers, and as I shake my head back and forth to cast it off, the old woman screams again.