You’re the Best, Arlene.

Elias Stuhr

 

This morning, or I suppose last night, I awoke to a soft sound sometime very early. I wasn’t sure what to do at first. I’m rarely woken. I lay there in the gray light and waited for a few minutes before my eyes began to grow dull. It occurred to me that some might rise to face danger, but I was a little too warm to be afraid. It was November and there was an early snow outside. Claire was asleep next to me and that seemed to justify staying in bed. Before long the sound came again, followed by a distinct sound that I can't describe.

I rose and donned a robe. I took the stairs leisurely, not yet afraid, and found our living room as I’d left it. Nothing seemed out of place. The TV was there, off. The furniture was there, the rug, the table and chairs. Typical things for a family of two. I went around the pony wall and into the kitchen. Pots on hangers. Kettle on stove. Odd. I don't know what I was expecting.

Just then my own house became eerie, like I was in someone else's. I banished the feeling, irritated, this was our house. I felt like a child, raised from sleep, from some terror and felt silly standing there this early in my robe.

The source of the sound I had heard revealed itself when a small bird leapt into the air from atop the dishware cupboard to my left. I let out a gasp and ducked as it flew overhead and swerved around the kitchen. The sound I couldn’t explain was wings, the flapping sound they made as the bird ducked and weaved to avoid the walls. Little birds move too fast for such closed spaces. I looked around for how the bird could have gotten inside. This seemed important. Maybe I was delaying catching this little guy a bit? That seemed too hard.

 

I walked around the counter and saw that the front door was ajar. The screen was, too. Odd. I marched over and closed it slowly, so as not to make a noise. Claire was to rise in about an hour but I was scared to wake her nonetheless. We’d been married three years now but sometimes I still felt like it was our first month living together. Sometimes I get home and sit in the car in the driveway for a bit. Not doing anything. I just don't want her to see me tired, so I take a minute to compose. Sometimes I change into a clean shirt before coming home. Now I’m thinking I should have woken her before coming down here. That seemed to be what another person would do; somehow it hadn't occurred to me.

I turned and ducked again as the bird swooped overhead into the living room with a little chirp. I whispered “Damn you” before catching myself; this bird didn’t want to be inside any more than I want him to be. Somehow, I was going to have to catch this little guy. The idea itself was daunting. I considered letting him stay the night, but who knows what kind of damage he’d do. No, I’d have to catch him.

I gave it a moment. The best way seemed to be with the robe. My hands are not nimble like that, not anymore at least, and he was quite fast. I watched as he made quick little circles around the ceiling, around and around. I slipped the robe off and held it up overhead like a sign. This was ridiculous. I looked down at my naked self, there, in my living room. The bird seemed panicked, trying to find some open air. A pang of sympathy gave me courage and I raised the robe once more, this time hands outstretched in front. A bullfighter? The thermostat was only set to fifty-five and my bare legs felt thin. I gritted my teeth.

 

The bird was still now, standing on the kitchen table. I approached. Caution commanded my movements. I slid my feet across the tile, an inch at a time. Closer. The bird didn't move, just twisted his head around. I looked him right in the eye and prayed he wouldn't jump too soon. He twisted again, and hopped to the side. I would be afraid of me, too. Just when I was about to fling the robe forward, he sprang into the air. I groped the air in vain and caught nothing.

I stamped my foot. Confounded bird! Why wasn't I up in bed? As I was cursing I heard the bedroom door open. Claire was awake. I looked down for my watch, on instinct, but of course I wasn't wearing it. I wrapped myself up in time for Claire to come down the landing and stand on the second stair. She looked afraid.

“What's going on, is something wrong?”

She was wearing only a night slip. I shriveled with guilt; I had woken her in my chasings.

“Good Morning, honey, you wouldn't believe it but there's a bird in here somewhere. It woke me about half an hour ago, I've been trying to catch it.”

Claire looked puzzled, maybe cynical?

“A bird? What's going on, honey? I don’t see a bird.”

Indeed the little guy was nowhere to be seen at the moment. I cast around but to no avail.

“He seems to have disappeared! No, I promise there was a bird, a little one. Come to mention he was very small, maybe a starling? I almost had him in my robe but he got away.”

“A starling, in your robe? Honey, I don't know what you're saying. He woke you in the bedroom?”

“No, no, I heard him from the bedroom. He was flying about and must have knocked something, I don't know what, maybe a shelf or something? It was down here, downstairs, and I came down to see what was going on.”

“Well, if there is a bird down here we’ll have to find him later. Look, Matthew, it's about time we got ready anyway. Let’s leave this and get dressed? You look cold.”

“I just don't like the idea of something in here while we're away. What if he gets hurt?”

Claire went upstairs. In a moment I heard the shower turn and the curtain draw. Well, she was probably right. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen now and it was high time to get going. There was a day ahead.

I went upstairs and changed quickly. It was early yet for work, but I felt like getting out of the house.

“I'm going down to Thompson’s, honey. Don't wait for me, I'll see you tonight.”

 

 

I sat at the bar and had coffee with milk. I stirred it slowly with the novelty-sized spoons they provide here at Thompson’s. I loved the diner cups they had right now. I loved the shape and the little saucer, not quite novelty sized, but close. I loved the waitress too. Not her, of course, but the way she practiced her craft. With humanity. It takes your inhibitions away and makes you say silly things like “Oh, I’d love another, jeez you're the best, Arlene.” Never mind that she was. I sat and stirred and mulled the morning. Arlene came up and held aloft a carafe.

“Yes, please,” I said with kindness.

“Eggs too, hon? Or just more coffee?”

“It'll be toast for me, please.” This was wearing me thin. I noticed my shirt collar was tight around my neck.

            Had there been a bird this morning? I had been so sure. There was a bird this morning, I saw it fly in through the door. I thought I did. Claire hadn't seen a bird. Claire was usually better at that sort of thing anyway. Once I had come all the way home with the groceries, with the cabbage she’d asked for, only to find, perplexed: no cabbage.

Maybe I had caught him in the robe? I didn't think I’d seen him afterwards. I sighed and rubbed my head a little with one hand, elbow up on the counter. What a few hours will do. My mind strayed to the day ahead, and I shuddered. Somehow there was a way to make sense of all this, if only I could get things in order. Everything was so fast. I trembled as I raised the cup to my lips once more and drained the cup. Everything was so fast. I put the cup back on the saucer and looked into it. I was really shaking now. Maybe the toast would help? I was hot. The diner was too hot. I realized I was wearing my coat. Everything was too fast. I slid off the chair and tugged at the sleeves to try and get the coat off. Lopsided. The damn coat was caught on my shirt. I was starting to sweat. I pulled in vain, the damn coat was stuck; I couldn't get it off my arms. The room was too stuffy. My head was so hot. I gave up on the coat and ripped my hat off and threw it on the ground. I pulled at the coat and made my way to the door. Arlene was watching me. I needed some air. I pushed through the doors and stood outside. I threw the coat off, pulled at my tie, unbuttoned the shirt, and sat hard on the curb. Breathing.

I took some snow from the ground and rubbed it on my face. I couldn’t feel it, only the ice crystals as they pressed into my cheek. It wasn't cold. I took some more and smeared it over my neck. Nothing. I couldn't cool off. I was going to be stuck like this forever. I scooped snow with both hands and mashed my face into it and watched it fall between my legs. I did it again. Nothing would work. Arlene was at the door. She watched and held my hat.

“Mathew, should Claire come pick you up, hon? I could give her a call?”

“No, thank you, Arlene. I'll pull myself together here in a minute.”

“Alright then, would you like to wait out here?”

“Yes, please, I think I need some air. I think I’ve had a little too much coffee today.”

“Okay, whatever suits you. ”

“Thank you, you're the best, Arlene. I’ll just sit out here for a few minutes if that's alright with you.”

After a minute Arlene went inside. I thought about calling in sick again, but chose against it. Last time was just three weeks ago. They’d notice. Last time was a Saturday, so Claire had been home. I had left at lunch and made it halfway home before I realized what day it was. Instead, I parked by the lots and waited the day out. I thought I wouldn't but I fell asleep. Woke up three hours after dark. Claire had said she would have liked a phone call if I was gonna be late. That was fair, and I'd said so. I should have brought her something; is that what they’d do, the other husbands? Even a bottle of wine would've been nice. “Here, hon, sorry about that, I should've said I’d be out.” Something.

I closed my eyes and rubbed them with my palms. Somehow there was a way to make sense of all this. I looked out over the city and saw that the light was coming up over the buildings to the east; at least it looked that way, it could have just been left over from the day before.

 

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