Bird

White skies, the rocks charcoal, the sand tinged grey--and the sea grey too, the beach, a monochrome
photo even at midday. The rain never stops eating away at the rocks, sometimes cascading bucket after
bucket, sometimes just one drop at a time.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Polly, a friend long gone, once told me about a torture device the Chinese people
used. They strapped their prisoners to a chair and slowly, ever so slowly, let water drip down onto the victim's
forehead. Drip. Drip. "And then," Polly leaned forward, grinning, her foul breath still vivid in my mind,
"They'd go crazy. Thought the water would form a hole in their forehead."
Drip. Drip. Drip. Today, the rain takes it slow, and I let the drops trickle down my forehead and
yellow raincoat. Almost everything in sight has vanished, swallowed up by the fog; just the top of the
lighthouse rises above it.
When I look up, I find a seabird gliding towards the shore, slicing through the fog with wings longer
than I am tall. It dips down next to me, hovering over the sand before settling down.
For a minute, I look at the sooty bird. With its wings tucked in, it shrinks down to the size of a duck.
My father calls them "albatrosses", but who really cares what they're called? I never especially liked birds,
anyways. Still, I remain intrigued.
"Your wings...how do they work?" I kneel down a little ways from the bird, trying to see how exactly
5 foot wings could fold into a body so small.
"Just folding," the bird replies. "Folds in three-oh grow up," it says, eyeing the look on my face. "I
talk; relax, it's not like its an apocalypse. Any how, the wings fold up twice."
You talk!
Mhm.
"But only humans actually talk the human language."
"Am I human?" the bird says.
"Why...why don't you guys talk more often?" I scoot closer.
"Please," If birds could roll their eyes, this one looks just about ready to. "And be shut up in a circus?
A zoo? Haven't you seen the parrots?"
"Aren't you afraid I might take you?"
"Will you?"
I shake my head.
"Shouldn't you be playing with the other children?"
"They're boring," I say. "Smoking and messing up cemeteries. Daddy doesn't want me to do that."
"So not doing much, huh?"
"Nope."
The bird stood up. "I'll be going now. See you soon."
"Okay."
With that, the bird launches itself upwards, and I watch it melt into the fog.

The next day, the kids are still ruining cemeteries and the adults continue arguing, so I return to see
the albatross. It perches on the same mound of sand, head erect, looking out towards the ocean. The little
black dash running along his eyelids reminds me of an Egyptian pharaoh. I inch up to it and stoop down,
feeling commonplace in the presence of this creature, unaffected by the ebb and flow of society.
"You came back." The albatross says.
"I hate fighting. They're always fighting."
"I forgot to ask your name."
"Emma."
"Do you travel a lot?" I ask.
"I go wherever the wind goes. I've seen a lot of turquoise waters and warm beaches lately."
I ask him what his favorite place is.
"Up north, the land's just acres and acres of forest. Sometimes, you'll see the spirit bear."
"Spirit bear?"
"A white black bear."
"You mean a polar bear?"
"No," the albatross insists. "A white black bear."
A white black bear--who'd believe that? But I say anyways, "I'd like to see one."
When I ask for more tales, it gladly indulges me in tales of glowing caves and pink lakes. I learn about
ivy-eaten castles and hills overflowing with poppies. As I listen, I realize the face and the neck remind me of
a human. The smudge of black along its eye gives the albatross the appearance of possessing eyebrows. Dark
and introspective, the eyes themselves seem to know everything about this world and more. The neck, long
and slender, possesses an elegance not even royalty could retain.

I go back every afternoon to see this bird. We share sandwiches, smiles, stories. I confess my
boredom over school, disclosing stories that never quite match up to the bird's.
The rain never fails to arrive, but sometimes my own tears mix with the rainwater.
"No fighting," I say one day, rocking back and forth. "No more fighting."
The albatross waddles close to me, and places its head on my shoulder. I embrace it, and let the tears
slide onto its feathers. The albatross was human. So much more human than the kids at school, or the people
at home. How curious, how something not human could be more humane than a person could!
Once more, I wipe my eyes and ask for stories. The albatross' words takes me to the midst of an
ocean storm raging in all its beauty, and then eastwards where cliffs rise up like daggers.
"Why aren't you travelling now?" I ask.
"You looked like you needed a friend."
I consider this. "I suppose I did. But I found you, and now we can go travelling together."
"I'd like that. I'll take you to see the baobab trees first."
Baobab. The word rolls right off the tongue, alien, arresting.
When I climb up the rocks towards town, I can see my father standing on a hill, watching the
albatross glide into the mist.

One day, I return, and this time the albatross speaks first.
"You have bruises." It nudges my face with its beak.
"Daddy was in a bad mood," I say. "My fault."
"Wrong."
"Sorry?"
"Wrong. Not your fault."
I don't say anything, but my hands begin to tremble. "It...It's my fault." I wrap my arms around the
albatross. "I'm sorry." With a jerk, I yank the bird forward. A shriek issues from the bird's mouth, piercing
like wind rushing through the marsh reeds. It beats its wings onto my chest, but it hurts more inside than out.
With the bird crammed under one arm, I fish a net out of my pockets and drape it around the albatross. It
writhes and continues screaming, but the more it moves, the more entangled it becomes.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I say. "Daddy made me. The zoo will treat you well. Please, I'm sorry."
The albatross stops and looks at me. "Oh, Emma. You'll be alright now." I can't tell if it's rain or
tears that wet the albatross' eyes.
"I don't understand. But you'll be okay. I know it." But I can't look into those dark eyes, the ones
that know everything. I feel as if I'm staring into my own face. I blink. I am staring at my own face.
There is no warning, no shift. I feel the net entwining my arms--my wings now. I still am Emma, and
yet, I look into the face of a girl I thought was Emma. The albatross traded its body for mine; I am the
albatross now.
The girl untangles me from the net. "Go, child."
"No," I say. "You."
"Go!" The girl shouts, and kicks at me. I totter backwards, and then turn around and run towards the
waves, launching myself in the air. I see the girl run from the monochromatic beach, in all its silver and white
and black, and soon, the fog obscures her from me.

Everyday, I wait for the girl on the sand. I see her, but the moment she catches sight of me, she turns
the other way. Even from a distance, I see bruises splotched on her face, the way she hobbles, that the truth
couldn't be any farther from "okay".
One day, she doesn't turn up at all. I scout all along the beach, but the girl with the yellow raincoat
has vanished. Now, from the top of the lighthouse, I perch waiting her. The fog obscures the ground, but I'll
know when she comes, and together, we'll see the world. Drip. Drip. Drip. As I dream about baobab trees
and spirit bears, the fog spreads its fingers over the land and coats everything in a layer of dew, reinvigorating
life on the monochromatic beach.