Keeping Up With the Blue-Jays

They say that as you age, things start to numb to you. You lose sight of what matters and what changes. Well, fortunately, about 13 percent of the world's population lies about everything, so what you hear can be jumbled. 

As is my personal experience, age sharpens you. You notice the things that are important, whether it's a worm peeping out from its burrow, or a aeroplane that your second cousin didn't see, despite him being years younger than you. Rest in peace, dear Eddy (even though I hated you with a burning passion). 

Like I said, as you grow older, frivolous things simply die in your mind. You're left with the bare necessities. 

As my flock prepared for our migration season, I couldn't keep that notion out of my thoughts. I was more worried than I portrayed, because I was asking myself the most absurd questions. Such as, what if I forgot my family? Or, worse, in my mind, what if, as I aged and became less useful, they forgot me? Birds are a flighty bunch, if you'll excuse the pun. Why, I can't remember my grandmother past her extraordinary eyesight. She could catch you wandering outside of the nest and bring you back while keeping an eye on your siblings. 

The matter was resolved, at least for then, when I decided to make myself immortal. Not really, not like a gruesome vampire or whatever that Twilight thing I saw on the tee-vee once in a young girl's bedroom. 

I mean to make my family never forget me. I would be the fastest, the bravest, and the most cunning blue jay this flock had ever seen. They would caw their little hearts out, and be devastated by my earthly bereavement. 

I went to bed early that night, after a feast of bugs, worms, and tree bark for the vegetarians. I helped gather the food, but I reserved my energy, letting the young ones shine for one last night. 

The next morning, I arose early, and stretched for the better part of an hour. Finally content, I joined my brethren in the nook of the tree, leaning outside of the circle so no young ones would fall out. 

My grandson, sporting his first blue feathers under the amass of grey, was dancing around the middle of the circle, excited because his mother had caught wooly bears for breakfast. His innocence was endearing, but he was too close to the edge. 

It was my first opportunity. "Young one!" I called, my voice full of confidence (others saw it as bravado, but they were speaking in jealous tongues). "Stay close to the centre, now, we don't want a travesty staining this wonderful journey!"

"He's perfectly safe," A few of the older birds called, while others said, "What did he say?"

My grandson therefore took no heed of my words, and began his meanderings once again. Once again, my opportunity arose, as his legs bounced dangerously close to the edge. 

Cawing out, I took flight, and grasped him in my talons. Returning him safely to the nook of the tree, I was met with strange looks. 

"All for a fledgling," I said modestly, conveying my inner heroism even more so through my ignorance to it. 

"What are you doing?" my daughter asked, her tone almost mocking, "He's not 2 weeks old, he's almost a young adult!"

"Almost," I said, "He's still a fledgling."

"Don't be so condescending of him!" she chirped, defiant of my wisdom, "He's learning to fly!"

"My apologies if I sounded doubtful," I said, surrendering my armor a tad. You had to give a little to receive a lot.

"We still have a bit of packing to do," she muttered, throwing a dark glance at me, "Come on, son, I have some breakfast in the nest." they left abruptly, my grandson holding onto her leg, abashed that his grandfather had rescued him.

Fine. So be it. If my family didn't care to help me build my legacy, I would make it myself. 

"Everyone ready?" I asked, utilizing my leadership as an elderly blue-jay. They were all still mildly surprised by my earlier actions, but some nodded. Others drifted off, as if my question had been a reminder. 

Very well; genius' weren't recognized in their time. I learned that from when those whiny pigeons from New York told us about that show on Broadway - Hamilton, I believe it was called. 

Not that I was a genius of course. Regardless, I went back to my nest quickly and hid the remnants of it. A classic tradition; I was sharp enough to hid my nest until I rebuilt it next year. 

Soon, the birds were cawing. Our cue to take flight. I took a deep breath, the jubilee of the first wing stroke still tracing my mind, even from so long ago. 

I took off, fighting against the wind, feeling it break against my beak. I quickly caught up with everyone, fighting the urge to go ahead and perform my extensive list of tricks. Well, not exactly extensive, but I'm nobody's fool when it comes to backflips, especially during flight. 

I stayed to keep morale, shouting encouraging things like, "Only 3,672 miles to go! Excruciating, yes, but the allocation this expansion of destiny will provide is far beyond our joyous revelations!" Needless to say, I was discouraged against that, mainly because people were concerned about my health, I'm sure.

Seeing a young family without food, I slid over to join them. "Are you guys lacking in food, or sight?" I asked. The parents looked at me, confused, while the fledglings chirped happily to each other. 

"Never fear!" I said, delighted. Change started with the youth. "I will get you lunch!" Already planning the meeting which would discuss my paragraph in the history books, I swooped near the ground, trying to access my inner-grandmother. 

Finally, I found an adequate meal - a log filled with bugs - and pulled it off using my extreme strength. I blushed at their astounded looks, flapping up to them. 

"Here you are!" I said, "Keep up the strength for the journey!" I generously offered the the end of it.

"Oh!" They said, embarrassed. 

"Well, my parents are draggin' along some fruit 'n such," the male said, clutching his fledging, "Seein' as we have lotta kids this year, they agreed to help."

"Real nice people," the mother added, smiling at her mate. She looked back at me, her black feathers surrounding her eyes making her appear ferocious,  "Than' ya, though, real considerate."

"Are you sure?" I pressed. I lowered to the kids, "Would you like a lady-bug?"

"No, thank ya, mister," they aimed at me. Aghast, I held back as they flew on. 

Why would they refuse my help? It wasn't as though there was anything wrong with accepting lunch from a flock member. 

"God Bless!" they called, flying a bit faster. I looked to my fellow blue-jays, who were avoiding eye-contact with me, spare a few elderly birds. 

Said birds were whispering to each other, staring at me. 

"Excuse me?" One of them said, flying near me, "Hi."

"Hello," I said, with a querying look. She sighed, flapping her primarily-white wings. She seemed to have something on the tip of her beak that needed to be said. "Do you want anything?"

"Well, yes," she said, hesitating. Finally, she said, "We just think you're trying to stir up the community a tad too much. Trying to win your way into their hearts, become the leader and such."

"But aren't I a leader?" I asked, confused, "And, 'we'?" I recognized her as one of my old schoolmates; we learned to fly together.

"We, the older generation," she explained, freezing as she recognized me as well. "Oh, I -"

"We're the same age!" I cried, indignant, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, we just - we make the decisions about the other birds!" she said, "We help young mates, and things like - like that."

"Why wasn't I aware of this!" I exclaimed, beyond peeved. She looked away, then again sighed. 

"Well, sir, we just - it's selective," she said, as if that explained anything.It didn't. 

"And why wasn't I selected?" I asked. 

"Well, it's not that you're unqualified, or - or unwanted!" she exclaimed. "It's just that we don't necessarily... need more leaders right now.

"We wanted to tell you that we just.. we think the flock is doing well right now, and we don't need young birds thinking that there's someone, some bird, in charge of them, making everything go right. Leaders are our way of working, not a leader."

"I'm not trying to make myself a leader, I'm trying to make myself a legacy!" I said, looking away from her, "How are you supposed to have your fellow birds remember you forever!"

"I don't know, sir," she said, "Maybe we don't need to be remembered. Maybe just being is enough."

"Oh, that's just psychological," I said, "Is it so bad to want something that will last longer than I will?"

"Don't you have a daughter?"

"Yeah," I said, again looking away. Nobody understood. How could they?

We fled on, through the cloudy day. We passed tree after tree, looking through the sea of red, orange and yellow. The death of summer, and perhaps my short-lived legacy. 

I dropped my eyes, looking as the sallow ground bloomed below us. The nighttime flowers had come out; even through my disappointment, they shone in my mind. 

I swallowed thickly, feeling drowsy; it had been a long, winding day. Plundering on, I watched my fellow flock members twist through the air, some laughing quietly. 

"Hey."

It was my daughter. She was holding my grandson, who was fast asleep. 

"Hi," I said, calmly. This had begun with her. Her unappreciation for me. I swallowed the accusations, and peered at her. 

She lifted my grandson, perched in her grasp, up a little. She seemed distant. "Dad," she begun, "I know what you were trying to do. And I think it's beautiful.

"But you can't leave a legacy by creating one; you just have to live your life. Dad, I think that legacies are overrated, but that's not important. You just have to remember, I'll know you and love you all my life. My son will know and love me for all of my life. It's a chain, Dad. That's most people's legacies, and it means the most. Overcoming to make the chain is important; you can't be stopped by the thought that generations later, nobody will even know you existed. 

"Overcome, Dad, and live your best life with us," she finished, and flew away, her wings gleaming in the moonlight.

I shook at her words. I'd seen dogfights, brutality, and death in my life, but her words really scared me. What was I doing with my life? 

I clipped my beak together, I didn't know what to do with that information. 

Dropping down, below the others, I leaned back in their shadows, thinking. 

Perhaps my daughter was right. Perhaps I needed to know what I was, who I was, right now. 

As one last theatrical movement, I swooped down again. Plucking a Midnight Blossom, a dark blue tripetaled flower, t hd a pure-white centre. 

I held it in the air, looking ridiculous, I was sure, but I didn't care. 

At last, flying high in the air, I released it, closing my eyes. When I dropped it, the weight of it fell, along with burdens I'd been carrying. 

At long last, I was free to fly.

----------------

"What is that?" the girl asked precociously, merely wanting her grandmother to explain it again. They were in the tent of the archaeologist's dig, and the grandmother was relaying the fossil's they'd found so far.  

"Well, it's just a flower that blooms in midnight," her grandmother explained, holding out the fossil for them to see. The younger one's eyes widened, making her grandma smile. 

"We're finding that this is special, though," she said, teasing to take it away, before returning it to their line of vision, "The centre almost glows when it's in pure moonlight."

"Moonlight flower," the eldest whispered. 

"Midnight flower," the grandmother corrected gently, putting the fossil back in place, "The more we study this place, the more we see what life was like before the wildfires. We're bringing the history back, we're learning about the people, the places... even bird migratory patterns."

"Like Flamingos?" the younger one asked. Grandmother chuckled. 

"Not exactly," she said, "More like... blue jays."