An Unexpected Gift

The late afternoon sky was quickly getting dark, which created a gray pallor in the dim kitchen. Frank turned on the overhead light above the sink and stared at the pile of dirty dishes that needed to soak. In the houses across the street the lights were popping on one by one as people came home. Soon the neighborhood would be filled with the friendly lights casting out the darkness. Frank always liked that homey feeling as the day settled into evening.

           His back was acting up again as he shuffled to the fridge to inspect its contents for dinner. Being on his own now for 5 years, he rarely cooked, preferring something microwaved. That suited him fine most of the time, but with the holidays coming up, he had a hankering for something homemade. That seemed like too much trouble, so he pulled out a frozen meal instead. 

           The six o’clock news was blaring from the other room drowning out the quietness of the house, which used to feel so alive when Meredith was around. Often, he left the radio or TV on for company.

           Over the din of the TV and microwave, Frank thought he heard someone knocking. He hoped it wasn’t a sales call or a Jehovah Witness, but the persistent banging forced him to confront the intruder.

           He hastily opened the door ready to send whomever on their way, when he found his granddaughter on his steps holding out a birdcage.

           “Merry Christmas, Grandpa!” Chelsea said, as a blue parakeet fluttered in its cage.

           “What’s this?” Frank asked, with a frown.

           “Your Christmas present,” Chelsea said, finagling her way inside with the bird. “Before you argue with me, it was actually Mom’s idea.”

           “That should have told you right there it wasn’t a good idea,” Frank grumbled, standing aside. Frank and his daughter never quite saw eye to eye, mostly because Frank had a knack for saying the wrong thing. Meredith had always been their mediator.

           “You have to give it a chance,” Chelsea said, immediately clearing off a side table and setting the cage down. The loud squawking pierced his ears.

           “What am I supposed to do with that?”

           “It’s a pet Grandpa. To keep you company,” Chelsea explained, in a patient voice.

           “I’m sure the neighbors can hear it too. I don’t know the first thing about birds,” he complained.

           “Just Google it then,” Chelsea replied.

“You can look it up on your phone.”

           “My thumbs are too big.”

           “Then go to the library,” Chelsea pointed out, unwilling to hear his excuses.

           “Here’s some food and a water dish,” she said, pulling out a bag of bird seed. “The clerk said to leave him alone for a week or so to get used to his new environment. But you can talk to him and let him get familiar with you.”

           “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Frank interjected. “And how am I supposed to sleep with that thing screaming?”

           “Promise me, Grandpa that you’ll give him a chance,” Chelsea said, her big brown eyes searching his. He never could say no to Chelsea.

           “What’s for dinner?” Chelsea asked, changing the subject.

           “Frozen Mac and cheese,” he answered, not quite ready to give up the fight.

           “Grandpa that stuff is loaded with salt. Why don’t you cook anymore? You used to with Grandma.”

           “Too much trouble. Just like this bird,” he grunted.

           “I have to run,” she said, kissing him on his rough cheek. “I have class tonight.”

           “What am I supposed to do with this squawking maniac?”

           “Get to know him. Who knows maybe you can teach him to speak? Bye, Gramps. Love you,” Chelsea said, and flitted out the door faster than a bird.

           The microwave was beeping, so Frank just shook his head at the chirping and went to get his dinner.

           He tried to watch the news in peace, but the chirping continued. Occasionally the parakeet sounded like a tinkling melody but then a loud squawk would startle him, and he’d turn up the TV. It went on like this for a while, until the TV drowned out the bird, but the volume was so loud by then it rattled his nerves and he turned it down.

           “We need to come to some kind of an agreement,” he spoke to the bird. Frank had to admit it was a nice-looking bird, but what was he going to do with a bird?! I have no idea how to take care of you,” he told it, tapping his finger on the cage bars. The bird looked at him and chirped some more.

           As usual, Frank fell asleep in his recliner with the TV on, but the bird made so much noise it kept waking him up. In sheer frustration he threw a blanket over the cage to drown him out and that finally did the trick. 

           That night he slept in his own bed, the one that never felt right without Meredith. The house was blessedly quiet the next morning when he went to check on the bird, but as soon as he removed the blanket, the incessant twirping began.

           He wanted to tell his daughter, Sherry, to come get it, but then he remembered he promised Chelsea he’d give it a try.

           “I’d better learn how to take care of you,” he quietly told the bird. After a quick breakfast of toast and coffee, he decided to go into town to the library. He didn’t want to admit to Chelsea that he didn’t know how to use his cell phone to look things up. She’d showed him a while back, but he kept forgetting and his thumbs really were too big for the dang thing.

           Once he found a basic parakeet book at the library, he headed to the pet shop for the toys it said the bird needed. 

           “Hey, Frank,” the store owner, Carl, said to him. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How can I help you?”

           “Hi Carl.  I seem to have acquired a bird and I was reading that they need toys to keep them occupied.”

           “A bird, huh? Have a look-see on aisle 5 on the left. Let me know if you need any  help.”

           “Thanks, Carl.”

           There was row upon row of toys and amenities for parakeets. He found two he liked and a bird bath and was astonished at the prices. Always a penny pincher, he hated having to put out his hard-earned money, but he didn’t want the bird to be bored, and he didn't want to let Chelsea down either.

           When he got home, he gave the bird the new toys and he seemed to tweet happily as he checked them out. It was lunch time already, so he heated up some soup while he read on about parakeets.

           He was pleased to learn they could eat fruits and vegetables, so he gave the bird a piece of an apple. 

           "You're going to need a name," he said, turning on his oldies station. While Elton John played in the background, he noticed the bird moving to the tempo of the song.

           "How about Kiki? You look like a Kiki." Pleased with himself, Frank continued to read.

           All afternoon Frank gently stroked the cage and spoke quietly to Kiki, who seemed more excited about the toys and fruit than he did Frank.

           The book even had a recipe of lentils and brown rice that parakeets could eat. That ought to save him some money, he thought.

            "Hey, Grandpa! How are things going?" Chelsea texted later that afternoon. He managed to text back okay but every time he tried to type more his texts looked like gibberish, so he kept it simple. He much preferred his old, rotary phone.

           After a day or so the bird calmed down and didn't squawk so much, but there was a constant chatter and Frank found himself talking to Kiki throughout the day. Every now and then something would cause the bird to get in a fluster but then Frank would talk to him and he would settle down.

           About a week later Chelsea popped back in for a visit.

           "Mmm, something smells good. What are you cooking?" She wondered.

           "Lentils and rice," Frank told her.

           "On a health kick huh, Grandpa?"

           "It's for Kiki."

           "Who's Kiki?"

           "The bird!" Frank reminded her.

           "Love the name! You mean you won't cook for yourself but you're cooking for a bird?"

           "He needs variety in his diet. And that cage is way too small by the way. I'm going to build him a larger one."

           "You've adjusted better than I thought," Chelsea said, impressed. "I'm glad you gave him a chance."

           "Me too," he admitted. "Now are you and your mom coming over on Christmas day?"

           "Of course," Chelsea assured him.

           "Tell your mom I'm baking a ham. Maybe she could bring the potatoes and a dessert?"

           "I'm making a pie. I'm trying one of Gram's recipes."

           "Make it an apple pie. Kiki likes apples," he told her with a wink.

           Chelsea saw a light in her grandfather that she hadn't seen in a while. Who would've thought a bird could touch the old man's heart?