Starling

By Adi Potashnick Spring 2011 And he supposed that was just it then wasn’t it? The grass, after all, was lush and green and even the trees appeared to fatten under the first warm rays of sunlight. Their shadows were the proof, stretched long across the manicured lawn as wide as they were dark. Today it was new and things would be different. Out the massive windows of the library he spied young people and thought of her. The young people were smiling, and he thought that was good. Some danced barefoot, their hips rolling like poured wine. And, still others strolled, sometimes hand-in-hand, or nestled in the shadows of the trees to close their eyes. Then something caught his attention—a jerk of tan and black. Near a hedge a chipmunk, nervous and stripy, was gnawing into the iridescent plumage of a felled starling. The bird’s beak hung open, its black eyes hidden behind the nictitating membrane. He watched it for a long time. The rodent’s little head disappeared and the bird’s body would seem to convulse. He thought it strange that a chipmunk would be eating a bird, but even from where he was, some twenty feet away, he could see the little jaws working. Perhaps it was his heavy gaze or something in the air, but after a time the chipmunk pulled its feathered meal beneath the brush. From there he could only just make out the twitching and pulling. Suddenly, to his delight, she entered stage left. Her weary stride was nonetheless confident and he thought that he should run out and catch her. Instead he dialed her number and waited to hear her voice again. He waited and watched. It’s been weeks, he’d say, it’s great to talk to you again. I missed you, he’d say. He excused himself as he stumbled past reclining readers, keeping her in his direct gaze. She slowed, reached into her pocket and produced the phone. He smiled, mentally rehearsing his inflection and tone. I’m right here, look to your right, and he would emphatically wave and stretch his lips toward his ears. She would giggle, maybe laugh, and he would tell her to wait just a second and they would hug. For a moment her eyes flashed at the screen and then, placing the phone in her bag, she continued her march. And he supposed that was just it then wasn’t it? The grass, after all, was lush and green and even the trees appeared to fatten under the first warm rays of sunlight. Their shadows were the proof, stretched long across the manicured lawn as wide as they were dark. Today it was new and it would be different.