something fresh and fragrant, as if a spring breeze blew through the apartment, which of course it didn’t because it was autumn and I kept all the windows closed even when it was warm so I could enjoy the central air conditioning.
Rena threw out her skepticism and gave us a box of personalized address labels. My mother sent us a congratulatory note and a three and half gallon bucket of caramel corn. Adrianna came over for spaghetti and did a decent impression of not being jealous that I had a live-in boyfriend and she had a loveless life in which her richest emotional engagements were with third graders. Did I mention that since her debt debacle, Adrianna had been living with my parents?
I hadn’t wanted to take full ownership of Richard, but now that I was living with Lars, it didn’t seem exactly like I had. Richard was
our
baby. After we discovered that Lars’s gag reflex was weaker than mine, Lars took to cleaning the cage, and I volunteered to do food and water. I found an independent supply shop not far from the apartment, which seemed a remarkable stroke of good fortune, until I discovered it was owned by a drab and lonely lunatic with strong ideas about avian diet. “I won’t sell you vitamins,” she said, flitting about the shop like Ben Gunn, prying bottles from my hand. “You need to be thinking about
whole foods
. A green vegetable, an orange vegetable, whatever fruits and vegetables are available seasonally! Sprouts? Yes! Loaded with enzymes! Grow organic and just
wait
till you see the shine of his plumage!” Shine this, I thought and took the bus to PETCO, where I bought a bag of Vita-Mix pellets—and on, second, indulgent thought, a bag of sunflower seeds to motivate Richard during lessons. I now spent my jobless hours training him to speak.
“No, honey, don’t let him out,” I told Lars, “I know more about animal behavior than you. A cage is a bird’s home. It safeguards him from the overwhelming complexity of the world. Letting him out for some exercise would be like throwing a person off a cruise ship for a little swim.”
“People swim off cruise ships all the time,” Lars said and he began to take Richard regularly on his arm. Sometimes Richard made thrumming noises while he clowned around with Lars’s glasses. Sometimes Lars tickled his belly, and Richard made a weird sound like two cups of gravel in a blender, which Lars called laughing.
“See?” said Lars. “Happy bird! See?”
The two of them had such a good time I might have been jealous, except I didn’t want the bird to sit on me. The sharp beak. The black tongue. The scaly claws. Ugh!
“Don’t let him vent on my index cards,” I said. “And if he gets anywhere near my new bag, I’ll kill you.” My calfskin bag boasted two small side pockets and a main compartment exactly big enough for
Treasure Island
. Rolled leather handles; turn-lock enclosure.
“Maybe you resent him because he cost you your job,” Lars said as he walked around the room in big figure eights.
“
That
job? Are you kidding?”
I resented Richard for other reasons. He screamed frequently and imitated Lars’s morning cough. A white fungus stippled his beak.
“You can take that off with a little soap and water,” Lars said.
“I don’t want to coddle him, I’m sure birds in the wild have it. But what in the world should I do about the talking?”
Richard had proved to be a fine mimic, but he favored the voices he heard on the television, which I kept on to overcome the tedium of his lessons.
“Steer the boat, girlfriend,” I said.
“It’s big, it’s hot, it’s back!”
“Steer the boat, girlfriend.”
“Fall blowout carpet sale!”
“Steer the boat, girlfriend. I’m speaking loud enough, aren’t I?”
“You always do,” Lars said.
“There’s
nothing
in
Treasure Island
about how the parrot begins to talk. No tips at all on the learning process.”
“It’s a story, not a user’s manual. But don’t give up,
Rena threw out her skepticism and gave us a box of personalized address labels. My mother sent us a congratulatory note and a three and half gallon bucket of caramel corn. Adrianna came over for spaghetti and did a decent impression of not being jealous that I had a live-in boyfriend and she had a loveless life in which her richest emotional engagements were with third graders. Did I mention that since her debt debacle, Adrianna had been living with my parents?
I hadn’t wanted to take full ownership of Richard, but now that I was living with Lars, it didn’t seem exactly like I had. Richard was
our
baby. After we discovered that Lars’s gag reflex was weaker than mine, Lars took to cleaning the cage, and I volunteered to do food and water. I found an independent supply shop not far from the apartment, which seemed a remarkable stroke of good fortune, until I discovered it was owned by a drab and lonely lunatic with strong ideas about avian diet. “I won’t sell you vitamins,” she said, flitting about the shop like Ben Gunn, prying bottles from my hand. “You need to be thinking about
whole foods
. A green vegetable, an orange vegetable, whatever fruits and vegetables are available seasonally! Sprouts? Yes! Loaded with enzymes! Grow organic and just
wait
till you see the shine of his plumage!” Shine this, I thought and took the bus to PETCO, where I bought a bag of Vita-Mix pellets—and on, second, indulgent thought, a bag of sunflower seeds to motivate Richard during lessons. I now spent my jobless hours training him to speak.
“No, honey, don’t let him out,” I told Lars, “I know more about animal behavior than you. A cage is a bird’s home. It safeguards him from the overwhelming complexity of the world. Letting him out for some exercise would be like throwing a person off a cruise ship for a little swim.”
“People swim off cruise ships all the time,” Lars said and he began to take Richard regularly on his arm. Sometimes Richard made thrumming noises while he clowned around with Lars’s glasses. Sometimes Lars tickled his belly, and Richard made a weird sound like two cups of gravel in a blender, which Lars called laughing.
“See?” said Lars. “Happy bird! See?”
The two of them had such a good time I might have been jealous, except I didn’t want the bird to sit on me. The sharp beak. The black tongue. The scaly claws. Ugh!
“Don’t let him vent on my index cards,” I said. “And if he gets anywhere near my new bag, I’ll kill you.” My calfskin bag boasted two small side pockets and a main compartment exactly big enough for
Treasure Island
. Rolled leather handles; turn-lock enclosure.
“Maybe you resent him because he cost you your job,” Lars said as he walked around the room in big figure eights.
“
That
job? Are you kidding?”
I resented Richard for other reasons. He screamed frequently and imitated Lars’s morning cough. A white fungus stippled his beak.
“You can take that off with a little soap and water,” Lars said.
“I don’t want to coddle him, I’m sure birds in the wild have it. But what in the world should I do about the talking?”
Richard had proved to be a fine mimic, but he favored the voices he heard on the television, which I kept on to overcome the tedium of his lessons.
“Steer the boat, girlfriend,” I said.
“It’s big, it’s hot, it’s back!”
“Steer the boat, girlfriend.”
“Fall blowout carpet sale!”
“Steer the boat, girlfriend. I’m speaking loud enough, aren’t I?”
“You always do,” Lars said.
“There’s
nothing
in
Treasure Island
about how the parrot begins to talk. No tips at all on the learning process.”
“It’s a story, not a user’s manual. But don’t give up,