the bluejay

I went for a jog a few weeks ago and met a jarringly beautiful blue jay huddled next to the Livingston High School air conditioner, the latter which rumbled and rattled as cheerleaders and soccer players waited in droves to get picked up by their parents.

"Wow, look at that!" I couldn't help but stop and watch. He was bright and chubby and about the size of my hand; he looked almost like a fake, a beady eyed plush toy left behind by some dog or toddler. But when he shook his head a tiny bit at the commotion around him his real-ness was confirmed.

The kids around me were unimpressed and soon scattered. Tired from trying to jog in the heat, I took a break on the cement stairs outside the high school gym, where I could catch my breath and observe the endearingly plump little guy, now on my immediate and intimate line of vision.

He was so still for so long I started to think that I imagined that he moved and that he's actually dead, propped up against the air conditioner as his final resting place.  With my foot, I nudged a piece of popcorn his way (high school kids always leave bird-friendly litter around). He sat stoically.

I thought, is this bird dead? If so, it just happened; he's about as alive-looking and fresh as I've ever seen. What kind of bird doesn't want popcorn, right under his beak?

I must have sat for a solid fifteen minutes in that sunshine, trying to figure out if he was alive or not. Every jogger and person with a stroller that went by, I wanted to say, there's a dead or dying bird here, I think. We have to do something. We have to call someone.  But of course I didn't. I mean, what could I do? What could anyone do? That's just life.

The whole thing was so strange. Eventually I went back to my jog, thinking I'd check that spot again on my way back. But I ran home a different way and eventually forgot, until about three days later when my husband and I shared a bottle of wine and I told him about it. I felt bad about the whole thing for some reason-- maybe the notion that I can be moved by a certain moment of connection and then just forget about it. I guess that everyone, everything has a right to die with dignity and privacy-- but also to be recognized, to be seen. It just seems sad that the whole world passed this bird by at the most important moment of its existence, maybe not including its own birth from the egg or its first flight.

I went for a walk the next morning and sure enough, there was a little pile of bones and some feathers where my friend stood four days before. 

As I passed by, I thought: what a brave little thing. I saw you. I saw.