The Bird Lady FFM20

I’ve lived in NYC for over two years, and for so many people living there, it’s an awfully lonely place to be. Everyone is very focused on themselves, no one makes eye contact in the streets, and even the cabs ignore you. My job is the only thing that keeps me here. I make so much money, it would be stupid to move back home and work at my dad’s store for only a fraction of what I earn. That, and I have an old lady to take care of.

She’s one of those bird ladies in the park. She’s a sweet old thing, and it would kill me to leave her alone. It would probably kill her too.

We became friends because I was sitting alone in the park one afternoon, watching the clouds and daydreaming. She jumped out of nowhere and said, “Feed the birds?” I nearly fell off my park bench, I was so surprised.

“Sure, sure,” I said, pressing a quarter into her wrinkled hand. Gums showing, she smiled. She handed me a paper bag of breadcrumbs and sat next to me.

I tossed the crumbs at the pigeons, and she sang under her breath.

“What’s that song you’re singing?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

“Mm, Frank and me’s wedding song.” A pigeon landed on her wrist. She stroked its head. It’s almost like her pet.

“Your husband?” I asked.

“Yessir.” She tossed more breadcrumbs. There was quite a flock gathering around our bench.

“Where is he now?” I sprinkle some into my hand, trying to coax one closer.

“The Vietnam war. He’s a good soldier, Frank is.”

My stomach turned over. She’d been waiting nearly forty years for his return. Forty years, sitting in this park with only filthy pigeons as her companions. My heart ached. Forty years waiting for someone who will never come. I said nothing.

“He’s very handsome. Would you like to see a picture?” she asked.

I nodded, and she took a creased, sepia picture out of her coat pocket. She gingerly unfolded it. It was an image of her and a handsome, dark haired man pushing groceries. My heart ached again as I took it from her.

“He is very handsome, and you are very beautiful,” I agreed, handing it back to her.

She grinned. At that moment, I made a vow to return here everyday and feed the birds with her.

Our conversations are always light. She tells me about Frank and her children. She doesn’t know where they are, but it doesn’t worry her. It worried me though. Her children didn’t look after her or even take time to visit? The next day I found them in the phone book and visited their homes. They’re happy with children of their own. I tell her about them, and she’s very happy to know they’re safe and happy, even if if means she’s out of the picture.

There have been times where I consider telling her the truth about the Vietnam War. I’ve debated with myself for months, and I have decided it would break her heart to know her Frank is missing or dead. Maybe she does know it, deep down, but her grieving brain keeps it a secret from herself.

Someday, when she’s ready, I will take her to DC’s Vietnam Veterans Memorial and we’ll find Frank. But not until she comes to terms with it herself.

She is happy as she is, and there is no reason for me to ruin it for her. I have no right to, I am just there to listen and feed the birds.