Birdie

308 Walnut Terrace sat at the far end of the cul-de-sac. It wasn't unlike its neighbors; a stranger could easily mistake it for 306 or 310. The exterior was painted a light gray resembling the fog of an early morning by the lake. White trim boards framed the abode, and an oversized cranberry red door beckoned to be entered. Above the entrance, a semi-circle window invited the sunlight in for a visit. The interior was much like its shell; the walls were painted a soothing blue-gray that evoked feelings of living inside a nimbus cloud. Pine-scented floor cleaner filled the air rising up from rich chestnut floorboards. 308 Walnut Terrace wasn’t about to grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, and Martha Stewart was not its occupant. Despite its cookie-cutter design and minimalistic décor, Emily wouldn't have changed a thing.

           Emily’s second novel was an instant hit, and her readers and publisher were begging for more. 308 Walnut Terrace was her castle of creativity. Being tucked in the back corner of the neighborhood, she seldom had a passerby disrupting her silent contemplation. She lived alone and gained no enjoyment from conventional social gatherings. 310 remained human-less, and 306 was home to a young couple too busy to stop and chat beyond the neighborly how-do-you-dos. Emily did not have visitors, and she liked it that way.

           306 Walnut Terrace needs no introduction as it would be synonymous with 308. But, the differences between the two are worth mentioning. Inside, Alison can be found gossiping to her new husband, Jesse, about the neighborhood’s residents. Vibrant colors surround them as they dance to 80’s rock at max volume while cooking a meal for two. Alison chatters over dinner, describing her day working at the local animal shelter and how she could match any stray to the perfect human counterpart. They lovingly bicker over whose turn it is to do the dishes and lament over when they will have time to clean the floors and tidy up before hosting the weekly game night shared with ten of their closest friends. 306 Walnut Terrace was their cottage of commotion, and they thrived on its lively spirit.

           On an especially uneventful day, Alison returned home depleted of her usual zeal. Jesse naturally inquired as to the source of her discontent. His wife gladly regaled him with the tale of Birdie. It had been nearly six months since the African grey parrot had been surrendered to the shelter. Alison felt discouraged with her inability to successfully place Birdie in a new home. She felt that Birdie was losing hope and could sense her loneliness growing. Jesse admitted to not being an expert in the field but inquired about a possible match close to home. Alison perked up; her husband was a genius. How could she have overlooked the glaringly obvious? Birdie was the perfect friend for the lonely woman in 308. Alison was immensely excited by the prospect of doing such a tremendous favor for a neighbor in need. Everyone needed companionship, and she was going to deliver a cageful to 308 Walnut Terrace tomorrow.

           Emily was entrenched in the latest antics of her antagonist; the words were spilling onto the pages of her notebook faster than the rain pelting the windows of her castle. There was a rapping and then a dinging followed by more rapping. The unfamiliar sounds of an unexpected guest yanked her from her fantasy world, and she regarded the cranberry door with uncertainty. The rain continued, and Emily convinced herself she had mistaken its sounds for a visitor at her door. She resumed her journey into the pages of her novel and was disheartened when the rapping began again. There was no mistaking it this time; she heard Alison from 306 braying greetings from the other side. Emily had no choice; she had to invite this pilgrim into her temple. It was customary to remain on good terms with those who inhabited the cul-de-sac.

           The door drifted open, and Emily was face to face with a large grey bird perched inside an antique bird cage. Alison's face peaked between the bars, and a Cheshire Cat grin spread across it. Emily began with pleasantries, and Alison rushed into the foyer with a flurry of excitement, plopping the bird down with a squawk. Emily listened wide-eyed as Alison explained how she was gifting this bird to her in a perceived act of kindness to rid her of the affliction of loneliness. Before Emily could refuse, Alison was bouncing down the pavement towards 306. Emily was no longer alone; she did not like it.

           306 was filled with contentment as Alison recounted her favor to the lonely woman in 308. Jesse praised his thoughtful wife for always looking out for others' well-being. The newlyweds felt their actions were a success as they headed off to bed. The lonely woman in 308 was not alone tonight, and they liked it.

           Emily was jolted out of a dreamy slumber by the sounds of her smoke detector screeching warnings of danger. She flew towards the sounds, ready to take action and save her beloved domicile. Her senses must have still been asleep because she couldn't smell anything burning, and she didn't see a wall of smoke. The abrasive sounds ceased, and Emily was left standing in her nightshirt, befuddled at its origin. Her new roommate sat at attention and began to pick at her tail feathers. Emily started down the hall to retrieve some replacement batteries for the smoke detectors when the alarm began again. This time she methodically listened and followed the sounds straight to Birdie. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emily was exasperated. Birdie was shrieking a perfect impersonation of a fire alarm.

           Birdie's antique cage complemented the décor in the unused dining room adjacent to the kitchen. A three-foot Meyer lemon tree was positioned in the open space between the two rooms creating the illusion of separation. Alison provided a sheet of care instructions along with a supply of food. Emily inspected the care sheet reading aloud when she reached the words, "Be sure to let Birdie out of her cage daily." Alison's instructions assured her that Birdie was tame and could be trusted to perch on the top of her cage without incident. Emily trusted words; she was a writer, after all, so she unhooked the latch and swung open the door to Birdie's prison. Immediately the gray bird unleashed an enthusiastic squawk and soared toward the lemon tree, crashing into its foliage and dislodging a handful of unprepared fruit. "No, no, no." Emily chanted. "Bad Birdie." Birdie scrambled to the topmost branch and claimed it as her own.

           "Well, I guess I should have seen that coming; birds do feel at home in trees," Emily smirked. At least this ridiculous bird might give her inspiration for a third novel. Although it was not the top of her cage as described in the note, Birdie appeared to be quite docile when perched atop the lemon tree. Emily saw no harm in allowing her to remain there and meandered over to the stove to heat water for tea. Birdie observed quietly from her tree as Emily fixed her Earl Grey with some honey and a splash of milk. Considering it was a temperate day with plentiful sunshine, Emily chose to sip her tea on the patio and gather her thoughts before settling in for an afternoon of writing.

           With her mind organized and her mug empty, Emily retreated into her sanctuary. Upon entry, she noticed the lemon tree had lost its topper. Emily's eyes anxiously flittered around the room in search of Birdie. She was comforted to find the parrot scratching around on the floor of her cage. "Nothing to worry about," Emily whispered words of reassurance as she drifted down the hall toward her den.

           The den was where the magic happened. Inspiration flowed, and words poured onto paper. Emily's writing space was meticulously arranged. A battered brown desk with scrapes and dents reminded her of her hard work. Her chair contoured to her body, providing hours of comfort but remained rigid enough to keep her from becoming lazy. Black spiral-bound notebooks placed between simple iron bookends graced the shelf above. Emily's weighty silver pen found a home inside a stand made to fit it and lived atop her desk to the right of her open notebook.

Emily installed herself into her workspace and reached for her pen. It was missing. She couldn’t possibly write her story with any other pen. This pen was her wand; with it, she conjured worlds and spun tales of unbelievable feats. Emily's mood darkened as she searched for her silver magician. "Well, I'll just have to make do. I have a deadline, after all." Emily was frazzled, and her story hit a dead end as she scratched the pages with an ordinary ballpoint pen commandeered from the bank. She admitted defeat and returned to the kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea.

Birdie remained perched on the bottom of her cage, one leg higher than the other as if caught in mid-step. On closer inspection, her toes could be seen curled around a glinting rod poking through the cage's bedding. Emily's cherished silver pen made a glorious addition to Birdie's treasure horde.

           The prison gate was latched, and Birdie settled in. Emily turned in early, hoping for a peaceful start to her morning and a productive afternoon of writing. "Tomorrow is another day," Emily reminded herself and switched off her bedside lamp. Sleep came fast, and her dreams were vivid and whimsical, perfect for developing into the stories her readers devoured. An alarm was screaming in the distance wafting into Emily's dreamland. Her eyelids twitched, and her nose wrinkled. Emily lurched out of bed and ran towards to kitchen. Thick smoke blanketed her home; the smell was overwhelming, this time, something was burning. The fire alarm roared, and Birdie sang along.

           Emily was in a state of disbelief; substantial flames were crawling up her walls, casting a devilish hue over her. She couldn't stand by and watch this unexpected enemy breach her castle. The fire extinguisher lived under the kitchen sink, never seeing the light of day, she attempted to retrieve it, but the heat was too intense. Self-preservation kicked in, and she abandoned all heroics and ran towards the exit, unaware she had snatched Birdie's cage until she stood on the front lawn. The smoke cleared from her eyes, revealing an empty birdcage. Before Emily could determine her next move, the mischievous gray parrot flew towards her escaping certain doom. Birdie clutched a round steel trinket to add to her trove. Emily let out a sigh of relief; she didn't wish harm on the bird, although she had been a nuisance.

           The object Birdie thought so precious as to escape her shackles that night to retrieve was a stainless-steel dial. The dial’s purpose was to turn on and off the flame of Emily’s propane stove. The parrot had succeeded in prying it loose as Emily dreamt, causing the cooktop to ignite a tea towel draped too close to its burner.

           Fire engines were speeding down Walnut Terrace. Emily bent down and coaxed Birdie inside her cage for safekeeping. The shiny stove knob lay in the grass beside the cage door; Emily picked it up. The knob was cold and heavy on her palm. She stared at it, then at Birdie. Emily dropped the prize through Birdie's bars, tucked the cage under her arm, and walked over to 306. Birdie was unceremoniously plopped on Alison's doorstep. Emily rang the bell and left, praying she was never the recipient of another favor again.