Flash Memories of a Dead Bird

I have memories that often pop into my head at the most irrelevant of times. I’ll be watching a Julia Roberts movie and all of a sudden….BAM! I remember planning to attack a fellow classmate out in the hall because he allegedly cheated on a friend. She held his arms and I kicked him square in the nuts. Combat boots were cool and socially acceptable in sixth grade at the time. I haven’t spoken to either of them in well over ten years but the memory still lingers like poop on a finger. This happens a lot to me, not poop on the finger, the memories.

Another memory that consistently pops into my head is from when I was a little girl. My grandma lived close to a train station and many felons. We’d go for long walks on uneven sidewalks and for some reason there were always dead baby birds laying right there on the concrete in front of us. Any normal adult would tell a child not to touch dead animals but my grandma didn’t exactly live by the norms. I also wasn’t a normal kid. I would crouch down next to these dead little birds and wonder how they died and why no one saved them. Their eyes were usually half closed, their beaks open just enough for me to close one eye to peak into their mouths, their bald little heads made me smile and I was always mesmerized that they had more skin than feathers. In her most exaggerated and saddened tone, that always made me feel guilty, my grandma would explain how horrible it was for that mama bird to lose her babies…usually followed by some praying to a saint or Jesus. Then she’d tell me to place it under the tree and I would walk the lifeless bird off the sidewalk and to the tree it came from. The baby bird took up my entire five-year-old palms and I would slowly walk it over to the tree, resting it against the bark while my grandma held her hand out for mine to continue our walk. I’d always look up for the nest and close my eyes out of respect for mother bird’s loss. If I concentrate hard enough I can still remember how their tiny bones felt under their loose, wrinkly skin.

About a month ago, while walking with friends through a park I saw a bird, full grown though, just sitting on the ground. It was hard to tell if it was alive or dead so I crept closer and closer trying to get a better look. It was so strange. It looked alive, the way it was sitting there, but it was completely motionless. The first thing I thought to do was to pick it up and move it under a tree. I instantly started taking a mental inventory of the contents in my car, trying to figure what I could use to carry the still bird. After being told several times to leave the bird alone I decided it was probably best and I looked down at the bird. I was very sorry that I couldn’t help it, my five-year-old self would be extremely disappointed. I looked up at the trees, trying to figure out where it came from as I started backing away. I looked back a few times at the bird while we walked away and couldn’t help but be stunned. I still think about that bird and wonder what happened to it. I can’t help but wonder if it was a sign from my grandma.