Flight Risk

by Teresa Balin

  Taking out a notebook, he started to take notes of her behavior and logged down the time. She continued to rest awhile and eventually closed her eyes. Meanwhile, he went through the images he had taken earlier on the camera and flipped through them for anything that he might have missed. But she looked fine. She didn’t even seem to be shivering from the cold. The only odd thing he noticed were her hazel eyes, which appeared to be all-knowing and looked very human.

  After awhile and with a growling stomach, he went to the kitchen to prepare his usual sandwich of turkey, ham, and cheese. Taking the dish with him and setting it on the desk, he raised the binoculars again to check up on her.

  But the nest was empty. He could now see that it was lined with the white feathers. As he continued to observe, he saw something poke up from the nest. At first it didn’t make sense but then everything seemed to come together at once. She had hatched an egg. When he counted another head, he updated his notes. Two eggs! And now he could barely see two little bald heads peeking up from the nest.

  Not seeing her anywhere, he ventured outside to take more pictures. The vantage point was about the same as if he was sitting in front of his window but he still felt much closer to them, standing outside. He continued to click away, whether the nest looked empty or two little beaks could be seen begging. He would have to remember to put out more bread.

  He couldn’t determine how old they were but by his readings, he figured they were only a few days to a week old, which was about the time that she had started to squawk at him. The camera clicked as he continuously snapped pictures. As he sat in awe, it wasn’t much longer until she returned and his sandwich was fully consumed.

  He had now collected over a hundred shots of the eagle family. He was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to take more. Connecting the camera to the computer, he uploaded the images, freeing up the memory space on his card. Hours sitting in the same chair had left him with an urgent need to stretch. He didn’t want to go outside and let the eagle suspect he was up to something. Seeing her resting in the nest, he ventured into the kitchen, allowing his legs to stretch.

  After years of working in an office, seated at a desk, it was strange that his legs would cramp up like this after only sitting a few hours. He didn’t put much thought into it but planned on stretching more often as he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He remembered how sick his mother was before she passed away and taking this into consideration would make an appointment to visit his doctor soon.

  Staring out the window like this seemed so tranquil and put his mind at peace. He didn’t think about anything but the beauty of life. The skies were so bright and sunny deceivingly with how cold it was out there. White snow still blanketed the ground, refusing to melt, only to yellow with age. Every morning a fresh dusting refreshed the pure innocence.

  The tree, standing by itself, always seemed so lonesome. He supposed that is why he liked to stop every day and offer some form of comfort. From big soft and leafy branches to branches that were now pointy and sharp, the tree seemed to have strong emotions, which he could identify with. It always seemed to love in spring and summer and hold some contempt in winter, as if it had to protect itself. Somehow, it continued to survive. Not even with life in its branches in these cold winter months does the tree seem forgiving and welcoming.

  A few people passed by on the worn sidewalk, heavily bundled so their faces couldn’t be seen. The open flame on the stove that heated his house was just enough to cause the window to fog up and occasionally he rubbed his sleeve on it for a clearer view.

  He recalled as a small boy throwing snowballs and with no one to catch them he threw them against the tree that always demolished them. It became a game to him to see how hard he could throw it and cause bark to fall off. There were other children but they never came down his street to play. After awhile his mother would come out to give him hot chocolate to warm up with.

  Life was dismal without her. When she found out she was dying, she taught him everything he needed to know to survive. She pulled him out of school and he finished his studies at home. After she passed, he knew he needed to find a job and was fortunate to find one when he did. He could support himself well enough but decided to stay in the only place that had any memories for him.

  He failed in his brief search for his father and eventually decided he didn’t want to bother with someone that didn’t want to bother with him. With being alone for so long, he favored his isolation. Befriending animals was also easier than befriending other humans.

  Growing tired from staring out at nothing or perhaps from his thoughts, he was just about to drift off when the eagle flew away again. Rushing, he went into the bathroom closet and took out the five step ladder his mother always left in there. Rusty with age, he fought to open it and then grabbed the canvas bag by the chair. Not bothering with his coat, he rushed out into the frigid cold.

  The ladder didn’t get him very high up in the tree but it brought the nest closer to within his reach. Reaching high and up with both arms, he aimed the camera right into the nest and started clicking away. He was joyful as he knew these were going to the best images of the birds yet. Bringing the camera back down, he filtered back on the memory card and saw the close up of the baby bird.

  The birds were defective. They didn’t look right. Their faces were looking up at the camera and their beaks were the only thing that appeared normal. Their eyes were abnormally large and with no feathers on the face, had distinguishable cheeks. The mouths were small and pink but more in a vertical shape. They appeared to have wings, arms, and legs. Astonished, he climbed back down the ladder to finish looking at the other images taken. Both birds were completely abnormal. Not knowing what to think, he just stood there, stunned.

  The mother eagle was gone only a few minutes and was very upset when she returned. Squawking loudly, she flew down as if to attack him several times. Forgetting the bag and holding only the camera, he ran into the house before she harmed him.

  Standing before the window, he watched as she perched on a low branch and seemed to glower at him, willing him to come back outside. Meanwhile, the babies were crying and begging for attention. She flew back into the nest and nurtured her young, while keeping an eye on him.

  He downloaded the images of the baby birds into the same file with the other pictures. Looking at the larger images on his monitor, the baby birds looked to have human faces.

  Mystified, he continued to shuffle through all of the images, making no sense out of any of it. This certainly went beyond the expertise of any of the purchased books or Internet research. The project he set before himself just got impossibly larger.

  ***

  By now the mother eagle had grown weary of him and would hardly leave her nest. She would only fly down long enough to collect the bread crumbs he left out twice a day now before sweeping back into the nest. The eaglets, as he since learned to call them, were kept out of permanent view.

  His workload at the office had increased now and his mind was otherwise occupied. In the evenings he still kept the camera nearby in case she departed but those occurrences were rare now. As the eaglets were growing larger by the week he could tell when they were trying to fight her but she fought back, insistent that they remain hidden.

  One weekend night he urged himself to stay awake all night to see if there were any behavioral changes and he was not disappointed. At the darkest hour, she left the nest for a short flight, leaving the eaglets alone. He could vaguely make out their white heads poking out of the nest, into the moonlight. But soon she returned and had them concealed once again.

  As the eaglets grew and the mother aged, she could no longer keep them from leaving the nest. They would climb out in broad daylight and sit on the branches in the tree. As the snow melted and the sun became warmer, they liked to close their eyes with their heads tilted up toward the sun. As of yet they have not attempted to fly.

  He was captivated by them. They looked so unique
in nature and he had thousands of pictures of them growing up. They seemed to keep getting bigger and soon the nest could no longer offer protection. The mother would fly off and be gone for hours and he worried she was seeking another home for them.

  So he came up with a better idea. Between his home and his neighbors, there was a hole in the side exterior of the wall, covered by a vent. He remembered asking his mother years ago what it was used for and she told him how the whole building used to be one single home. But when the owner passed away, he donated it to the state, which then turned it into many affordable housing. The vent was no longer used due to the separation of the houses.

  He took off the cover and lined it with the straw and feathers that had fallen from the nest. He hoped they would use it but he couldn’t be sure. All he could do was patiently wait. The only unfortunate part was that he would not be able to watch them from the window anymore.

  Again he laid out some yarn like he did so many months before. Then he laid out another pile of bread crumbs. The youngsters saw him lay out the food and they carefully approached him. He stood still, surprised by their approach. They jumped down from the first branch and awkwardly fell to the ground and once stable, proceeded to eat the crumbs he left out. They were so close he could have reached out and touched them. After they ate all the crumbs, they looked up at him, blinked, and then flew back to the third branch. Their mother had missed their first flight.

  Once again he sat perched in front of the window watching, waiting for the mother to return. And upon her return she went crazy. She could sense that her young had left the branch and flew down to where he had piled some more crumbs. She looked around, ignoring the food and yarn, and flew back up to the branch where they were perched and seemed to scold them. They squawked back and seemed to be having a family fight.

  It was then that she must have seen the black hole in the wall. Her head tilted in curiosity before she flew to the ground in front of it. She approached with caution and squawked up at it a few times. Then she flew back up to sit next to her offspring, continuing her solid stare toward the protection he offered her.

  With the onset of spring, the days were now longer and the sun was melting away all evidence of winter. The great oak tree now offered privacy behind the ripening green foliage and now he could only see the bird’s shadows playing behind the leaves.

  A few days later and the birds still remained perched amongst the limbs. Solemnly, he picked up the discarded yarn from the ground and threw it into the garbage can sitting on the side of his apartment. Retreating into his small space, he sat and perhaps for the first time in a long time, despaired about his loneliness.

  ***

  The next morning he left his apartment and continued on with his habitual routine. He was disappointed that the birds wouldn’t use the hole he created for them and that any day now they would fly away and forget about him. He, however, would always remember them. He acknowledged the tree briefly before turning to look at the black hole thinking that he would cover it up when he got home later tonight and continued on with his day.

  Habits were easy to fall back on as he sat at his desk and consumed his sandwich during lunch. The birds became a fleeting memory in his mind as he concentrated on his daily tasks only taking a brief break to close the blinds against the bright sunlight. His small office remained dark with only a glow from the dim fluorescent lighting and the computer monitor. His door stood open so as not to feel smothered.

  When his mind started to wander in thinking about the eagle and offspring, he shuffled the stack of papers on his desk and straightened the pens in the pen holder all to avoid the instant depression he started to recently feel. Months have passed since he had provided food and the mother eagle even acknowledged him. They sat staring at each other relatively in close approximation and even through the window. Just when he felt they had developed some sort of trust, he felt like he had taken several steps back.

  Disturbed by this and feeling melancholy, he wasn’t anxious to leave the office to head back home. Rather he would have stayed here as he had no other responsibilities. But he knew he had a schedule to follow and sluggishly left the office promptly at five o’clock.

  Walking past the tree, he barely glanced up as he walked by. What was once a treasured memorial had now become a grievance as he already counted his loss of new friends. Upon entering the house, he retrieved the screwdriver and the vent cover that was left there only to return outside.

  Peering into the hole, he saw red string intermingled with the straw. Confused, he felt deeper into the black abyss but didn’t feel anything different or any sign of occupancy. Hearing the loud squawk behind him, he jumped back to see that all three birds were sitting visibly on a tree limb. As several seconds passed of staring into one another’s eyes, the mother eagle flew right past him and into the hole with the two youngsters following.

  Heart swelling with pride, he was once again joyful and hopeful and even peaceful. After all this time he realized that they were truly grateful and smart enough to figure out what he had done for them; so wrapped up in his bliss that he barely heard the soft “thank you”.

  Startled, he looked around but could not determine where the voice came from and thought he was just hearing things. The mother bird crawled to the edge of the vent, where he could see her. Mesmerized by her beauty, he watched as she again voiced the words, “thank you”.

  Astoundingly he paced back just a few steps while maintaining direct eye contact with her. He still could not believe what he heard but he saw her beak move with the syllables of the words. It was possible, wasn’t it? Or was he going crazy?

  “D-Did you say something?” he stuttered to her.

  She closed her eyes, ignoring or evading the question and nestled her head further into her feathers. Left discarded he had only to wonder if he was going crazy. Regardless, he smiled as he watched her sleep in the new home he provided for them and decided to sit on the front steps and ponder the wonders of nature.

  They have been living in the tree for almost a year now and he knew that time had brought them closer. Not a single day went by that he did not spend some time admiring them or at the very least acknowledging their presence. If nothing else, they knew of each other’s habits and routine schedules.

  The tree was a gift of life in his presence since the day he was born. Back then the tree still stood tall but he didn’t remember it being as full of life each spring. Before he was born, his mother had suffered from a stillborn. As a reminder of her death, his mother had planted this tree. A few years later and he was born.

  His mother nurtured the tree every day, as if it was the soul of her dead firstborn. Every morning and evening she was always outside kneeling before the tree, with her hands pressed together, as if in prayer. He may not have understood the symbolism the tree presented to his mother in his early years but he knew it was sacred and after her death, he continued her ritual, once daily rather than twice, though. And as a small child playing with his ball, he would toss it to the tree, hoping it would catch it, as though a sibling would, and the ball always bounced back towards him.

  Feeling restless with his life, he thought of the birds as a gift and a source of renewed energy. On rainy days, the leaves would drip with rainwater, sharing in the loneliness and gloominess of the day. Whatever his mood, the tree seemed to share as well.

  ***

  Bad days always seemed to be adorned with rain. Today was the worst day in his life since the passing of his mother at a young and vulnerable age. Huddled beneath his umbrella, it couldn’t provide full protection from the slanting and pouring rain. Rushing down the sidewalk, he ran up the stairs, and slammed the door behind him. He was always cautious to never shut the door hard as his neighbors would complain as it rattled their walls but today was a day he just didn’t care. He barely flinched at the slamming of the door.

  No guilt arose inside of him for not acknowledging the tree or his family of
birds as he briskly walked by. After shedding his clothes and changing into dryer ones, he sat down in the chair by his desk. Months of paperwork and bills were piled high and waited to be filed. As efficient as he was in his career, his personal business was not as organized or maintained. Brushing the papers off his desk with his arm, they went flying, scattering all over the floor and the entrance to the kitchen. Resting his head on his arm, he sobbed.

  He tried to live a good life. It was simple yet it remained pure. Every day was routine with not many changes. No women were ever in his life, he lived in the same home from his childhood, managing the same rent to which his mother had always struggled to pay. He thought he was doing a good deed now by feeding the stray birds, which to this day, remained.

  With the tears dried up now, he felt like his world was upside down; he felt like he was a big gaping wound, open to the stinging elements of his life. It hurt to know that in his sorrow, there was no one else to cry for him.

  The rest of the afternoon he spent in his bed, staring at the clock. Not even time would stop in his moment of grief. The room was still quiet, birds still sang, the sun still set and night still crept in. His weakened body curled up and a fitful sleep welcomed him.

  It was cold. The pelting rain penetrated through the dense trees, taking direct aim at him. With one arm shielding his eyes in protection, and one arm wrapped around his skinny waist for warmth, he shakily took the next step, not knowing what direction guided him.

  A loud shrill rung his ears and he quickly turned around, looking up into the trees. No movement caught his eye. Looking down at his barren arms, they started to turn gray and long strands of silver confetti replaced the cold raindrops, gently falling to the ground.

  A piercing ray of light suddenly shined down on him. Squinting, he tried to look up but stabbing pain shot through his eyelids from the intense light. When he opened his eyes again, bright green fields raced ahead of him. He felt like he was flying. From the faint distance he heard a distinctive voice say, thank you. Swinging his head in both directions, he was desperate to find the source that sounded the way he remembered the voice of his mother.