room – 3

“Mom?”

She raised her hand, signaling me not to disturb her mid-prayer.

She sat on the edge of her bed, facing the wall where the door was. Her face was colorful and full, not like the time she was pale, skinny, and sick. There was that peachy color in her cheeks I haven’t seen for ages. Even her hair was normal. Curly and black, like my oldest brother’s, but of course, longer. No wig covering the fallout that months of chemotherapy would do to you. She was her normal self, bubbly brown glasses and all.

I listened as she went from one prayer to another.

The words was undecipherable under her droning voice. I recognized the melody, but the words. The words weren’t right.

I rushed down the hall and down through the stairs. My heart was racing as I left through the front door. The glass screen closed slowly behind me. I was in the front lawn. I looked down the street and to no surprise, it was my old neighborhood. We were at the start of the block that was filled with single family homes. All were similar to ours.

There was another Vietnamese family in the house to the right front of ours. I ran over and banged on the door. I wasn’t sure what to tell them. If it was a miracle or if it was something unnatural. I wasn’t sure. I just wanted someone.

No answer.

I ran frantically to our neighbor’s house. Their family had also dealt with cancer’s terminal effects on loved ones. And like us, everyone had moved away when everything was over. Leaving the unwanted memories behind in the home they no longer saw the same way again. I decided not to knock on their door and walked back to mine.

Outside I stood. Looking at the home I had left.

All the blinds were drawn closed . On every window.

The only look inside was at the middle. Where the glass screen door had automatically pulled itself shut even as I left the main door flung open on the inside.

I was scared I’d see my mom there.

But I saw stairs, one set down and one set leading up, beyond the glaring reflection.

I felt ashamed.

It was my mom. Her normal self. Not some apparition. Not some ghost trying to scare me or pull me into a world that I don’t belong. I took a deep brief. Calmed my nerves. And went back inside.

Tornado – 1

It was wide, the size of two football fields. Pulling the grass and debris up in a counter-clockwise fashion. It didn’t move. I sat there churning away. I could see the gray streams of cloud and dirt being pulled in and up to the sky. I could see this because I was about a hundred yards away.

Its road was loud.

I slammed the door close. Inside the house, everything was quiet. I didn’t dare look through the window. Out of sight, out of mind, it didn’t exist.

The house was colonial, as in all the furniture looked like they belonged in some antique show. Even the picture frames on the walls. They were these oval wooden frames with black and white pictures of people I didn’t know. They hung in the hallway that I followed back into the kitchen. There was a small circular table, surrounded by arched wooden chairs. A fruit bowl was the center piece. The refridgerator was an old school model. The kind with a lever that would unhinge the door to be opened. Over by the sink was a window. Light illuminated the curtains. I pulled them apart. It was sunny and clear. Blue skies and green grass. I looked for a way out and left through the back door.

Freedom

“She left,” he said to himself.

He sat staring at the opened door.

“I can’t believe she actually left.”

He looked around.

“Stomper? Come here girl.” He whistled and clapped his hands, “Stomper?”

He knew what to expect. The absence of the fat cat’s foot steps verified that.

“Man,” he washed his face in his hands, perking up to look around, “and she took the cat.”

John was in the living room in his favorite armchair. It was ragged, old, and had a collage of stains on its rough fabric. Though that never bothered him as long as it still swiveled. It was this feature that led John to rescue it on an uncharacteristic visit to a local yard sale. He turned back to the television set sitting in the corner, surrounded by the large bay windows. The news played on about the great economic crisis they were facing. Some titled it the Second Great Depression or the First Great Recession. The world was facing a new chapter in history. For John, the chapter had just ended. He just sat the and stared beyond the television, out the veiled windows, biting on his nails.

Autumn brought with it a wave of changes this season. And one of the most consistent change were the leaves and the weather. The cold winds were stripping the trees of their colorful leaves again, leaving civilization to clean its mess. Piles of leaves were raked in the yards where children played. They never heed the warnings of their parents about the various insects that may lurk in these piles. But of course, most parents overlook their fears just for those  moments of happiness they see in their eyes.

“Was I too possessive?” John thought to himself.

The children up heaved the leaves into the air. The smile on one little girl reminded him of Karen’s. That’s how he viewed her. Happy and free, not needing to worry about any dangers of the world.

John got up and walked into the other room. His canary was still there.

“Well, she didn’t take everyone.” John said as he approached the cage. “I guess that’s because I got you, right little guy?”

John opened the cage. The bird hopped out onto his finger. It’s movements were swift and crisp. It looked around, panning the scene like a sentinel, eyes blinking rapidly. After finally analyzing the environment, the bird begins to groom its wings.

“She finally left you didn’t she,” the bid asked, his voice quick and precise.

“Yeah, this morning,” John replied lowering the bird down onto the dinning room table.

John knelt down and watched the bird hop around on the table. The little canary shifted from on side of the table to the other, cocking his head in various angles. John was always amused by his pet bird loved to use his feet rather than his wings. He continued to watch until the bird came back to him.

“Wonderful. She took that dumb cat as well,” the bird chirped.

“Yeah she did. But I don’t think he was a dumb cat.”

“Yes he was.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He keeps getting lost.” The bird looked at John and studied his confusion. “Every time you open the door, he runs out. When he knows for sure he’s better off here.”

“Because he’s a house cat?”

“No. He can survive. This is  suburbia. Only other animals out there are lost house pets as well.”

“So he wanted freedom? I don’t think I treated the cat like a prisoner. We’re talking about the same cat right? Fattest, laziest cat in the world. We spoil him here.”

“Yes. Everyone wants freedom. He just didn’t know what to do with it.”

The two sat there in contemplation. John trying to work the last conversation piece into an explaination as to why Karen left him. And the bird pondering on if it should fly back into the cage for more bird seeds.

“So she wanted freedom. I thought I given here all the freedom in the world. I never question what she does. I never wanted to intrude on her life. Most of all, I want her to do anything she wants.” John thought about the last part twice, “I mean as long as everything stays within reason of respecting the relationship.”

“One thing I’ve observed about you humans.”

“What’s that?”

“You talk ideological and forget you’re human.” The bird nips under his left wing. “All of you have a range of emotions to deal with. It complicates these ideologies. Pride, envy, grief, happiness, lust, the list goes on. Yet, you all want something simple, like freedom.”

“I’m not following.”

“She doesn’t want to be completely free.”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you. We talked about this.”

“I’m sure she told you that. Same way you’d tell me the same thing.”

“Well, you’re a bird and I’m a man, I think we may mean something different.”

“Yep. We would. Just like everyone else.”

“I’m not following. Is this a bird thing?” John asks, soon hoping he could retract it as the bird pecks at his finger. “Okay… I mean for her I want her to be free. Not worry about what I think. I trust her and I so don’t want to be that jealous boy friend.”

“But aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“How am I lying?”

“Because, you are.”

“Okay, may be a little, but I’m not going to let her know.”

“You should have.”

“Why? I just told you…”

“Because you don’t want to be that human boy friend?”

“I don’t think you get it.”

“Maybe not.”

Both of them stared at each other with a hint of disdain. John wasn’t understanding what the little bird was trying to get across. He thought it may have been the bird’s inexperience with relationships. A problem he felt at fault at for not getting another bird. Then he rationalized that, in fact, he was talking to a bird. Not even of the same species. It was simple. Not as complex as a human.

John sighed.

“So we have different views on freedom.”

“Yes.”

“And if you said everyone wants freedom, why haven’t you ever left me?”

“The cat.”

“He’s gone. So now what?”

“Obviously I can’t anywhere but beyond this house.”

At that moment, John curls his back, feeling the aching bones crack from being slouched by the table for so long. Pushing himself up slowly, he turns to the door and points.

“Well…”

From the tips of his fingers, he watches his canary fly out the door. Again, like deja vu, he’s staring at the open door, wondering what had happened. Freedom was a funny thing to him. He laughed, shook his head, and went back to his armchair. Like a sack of rocks, he dropped into the chair, and stared at the television set. President-elect Barack Obama was being interviewed. His response, “Things are going to get worse before they get better” bored into his mind.

“I sure hope the worse is over.”