This is my growing up piece…not a bittersweet look at mistakes made, but rather the bittersweet reality that every day is really a new beginning, and every day we have to leave something behind to move on. 

 

Different Birds

by

Jeanne Wilson

 

Papa and I drove up to the old house and the flag was gone. It was always out from Halloween to the anniversary of Pearl Harbor.  The flag hung like the one in the movie where a lady sings while she runs up the hills with her arms spread wide.

“So, where’s your flag?” I asked.

“The new owners moved in yesterday. I guess they didn’t want it,” he said.  

            I’d never rung Nana and Papa’s doorbell in my whole ten years of life, but today, from the outside I heard the chime echo against the marble floor. I guess the new owners didn’t want any rugs either. I wondered if I’d like the new people.  The man who answered the door had on bright white gym shoes, and he tucked his shirt into his cargo shorts.  He kept fixing his glasses while he asked Papa questions about the sound system and the alarm. 

            I noticed that my pellet gun wasn’t on the bookshelf in the study. I could see the squirrels all over the yard, and they were probably getting under the roof. Papa wouldn’t like that.  He’d have me out back trying to hit one, so they wouldn’t nest in his giant-old attic. This man, in his bright white gym shoes would definitely have squirrels. 

                        The man and Papa walked over to the back window.  Papa explained how the creek rose in every storm, but never once in twenty-seven years did it crest up into the yard.  I remembered one time we found an old plastic Easter egg near the creek in September.  It was left over from our big family hunt.  It still had a dollar in it, and I got to keep it

            Papa gave the man the garage door openers, and they walked back to the entrance hall in silence.  The man took off his glasses and rubbed his nose. 

“Well, there’ll be sounds of little feet around here in the spring,” he said. 

“That’s wonderful.  I bet you’ll have a boy like my grandson here.  I’m so proud of him.” Papa put his arm around me. 

Papa always said stuff like that, but it still made me smile. The man followed us onto the porch, and I secretly wondered if they would have Easter egg hunts in the yard like we used to.  On the way to the car I stopped at the big bush to check the nest we always watched for new eggs.     

“You know,” I said to the man, “There are no eggs in here right now, but this spring, there might be some.  I bet your boy will watch them grow and fly away, like I did at this house.  I don’t know why, but different birds come back and use this same nest over and over again.” I took my Papa’s hand and we walked to the car.