A Peacock That Lost Its Feathers

The Peacock That Lost Its Feathers

                                       Spencer Gordon

Chris unknowingly resembled a lanky peacock with beautiful feathers; however, the scrawny man subconsciously objected to this identity navigating his cacophonous world screeching like a hawk. His vocals in unison, to the garments worn striking a visual symphony of mismatched thrift store finds, curiously harmonizing to the gaunt frame of a disheveled body. His head crowned with unruly dirty blonde hair perpetually hovering like a halo above an unremarkable, freckled face. With a short glance, Chris could be related to the kind of guy one would barely register in a crowded elevator, an air conditioner repairman to politely nod at without having to remember their name.

 Chris, after a long day at work, entered his abode in uniform, unlike his preferred outfit. A scent of pizza and garlic following and wafting off of him meant to erode one’s sense of smell. The job as a delivery man wasn't quite lucrative yet still the wealth was squandered on expensive figurines and various aesthetics for his living space. This was seen as a waste of wealth to his roommates, childish, irresponsible, and ignorant. The friends moving in and out of the house from the daily turmoil grew weary of the antics of Chris and the money he owed them.

 Chris returned home to the irritable bunch," Ah roomies, gather together to fly with the legend of the sky, Commander Hawk!" Chris screeched, striking a pose theatrically fit for a Shakespearean play hoping to evoke laughter, despite the ripped clothes and his odor in full protest. 

A woman named Maya, sprawled on the couch, barely cracked an eyelid to his histrionics. Another man named Simon, hunched over his laptop, warbled something about needing headphones with noise-canceling to drown out the hubris.

 Lastly Liam, a young man, ever a stoic soul, let out a sudden glance of attention, an amount enough to keep the stage set.

Reluctantly, Chris launched into a grandiloquent tale of his latest "triumph." regaling them with fabrications of landing a prestigious sponsorship. Through the droning, Chris explained the company would pay travel expenses. The game Chris sunk the days into was Raptorial Prey. Chris loved to show off flashy moves with the character, Commander Hawk, as he was the most stylish in the game by a landslide and Chris found comfort in his identity, even going as far to pose as Hawk. The crowd seemed to always erupt with excitement whenever Chris played him, reinforcing his admiration and commitment to the newfound persona.

 Chris resumed his tale leaning back in the chair, the worn leather creaking. “So, I was at The Flock right!? Massive party you follow? Robin, Cramorant, Crane and Raven there ya know? The legendary gaming team and five-time world champions!? Anyway, I'm there, talking with lots of top-level talent after talking and convincing them to let me join under Commander Hawk who else shows up but Phoenix himself!? The best in the whole game, he gave me daps on my skills yo!” Chris paused, letting the silence linger reminding one of a seasoned storyteller building suspense. Chris's roomies, reluctant to attend with mixed emotions fraught with skepticism and irritation, saw when the embellishments grew, the air of unspoken truth too followed.

 Maya's eyes now wide open proceeded to roll them, Jake released a snort, “Right and Eagle was there too, so he could feed on you, and your obvious lies, Hawk.” he said laughing. 

Liam's forced smile began to flicker, like a dying candle. 

Collectively they knew Chris’s penchant for inflating the truth, a talent for turning minor mishaps into grand adventures, and insignificant contributions into pivotal life turning points. Yet, beneath the burly façade of a hawk, vulnerability danced in Chris's enlivened eyes. After all Chris craved anyone’s attention or admiration at the cost of weaving tapestries. This appearing to an outsider as a pathetic dance, one born of a deep-seated fear, a person's indifference, and being swallowed by the anonymity of the shared living space; however, tonight, the winds shifted, as Simon gently reminded Chris of a nest slightly less glamorous, how he would never see him as a hawk, rather a peacock. That the world of the sky was a mere fantasy, and he should be more grounded in reality, further reminding him of the place where he had secured a basic job at a local game store and nothing more.

 Maya and Liam as well swiftly pointed out the suspicious story and the embellishments after Jake and Simon confronted Chris. Suddenly, a crack appeared in Chris's carefully constructed persona. “A peacock?” Chris puzzled over Simon’s statement for a moment shortly followed by running up the stairs and closing the door in silence, a very sound that reminded him of an abyss and the emptiness within. “Why must my roommates confront me!? “I am the best Commander Hawk in the world! “Why would Simon call me a peacock? What does that even mean? I hate cryptic statements like that! Were they disappointed or angry? They are all just jealous of my skills yo! Yeah that's it, envy! Got to be dawg. None can measure up” These thoughts swirled in Chris, resembling an ocean of emotion and commotion.

Chris in the previous moment wrestled with the anger of Jake and Simon’s comment, recognized Maya's hesitant nod, Simon's focused eyes remained glued to his computer despite calling him a peacock, and the way Liam seemed to play a softer, more dull melody on piano. With reality setting in, were these perhaps connections incubated in a rookery of dishonesty? However rough or raw it might be, the lies and bravado stuck, for the aforementioned nest of deceit was set to unravel, the dissonance thick.

 Paralyzed by the fear of pushing his “friends” from the roost. The once-unknown insecurities began to surface. Seeing himself in the mirror as he showboated, Chris caught a glimpse of a vibrant feather, hurriedly looking away “How could they see me as a liar!? “A trusted friend, that is successful!? Probably more successful than they will ever be yo” “I am not a peacock! Simon can shove it,” Chris wailed. For Chris saw this woven fantasy as his very reality, not just a fabrication of truth. He yearned to see a hawk staring back at him, but Chris was blind to the fear of his gigantic ego crashing to the floor like a mirror shattering into pieces. Chris yearned for more recognition, a prestige to grow stronger with every false sentence uttered.

 Chris was determined to be the vision he built up in order to soothe the crippled psyche he held unto. The guy with a sexy girlfriend, an E-Sports dream of a lifetime, wealth, and ultimately to be a hawk rather than a peacock.

The apartment, a desired nest for his self-aggrandizement, might have just become a haven for honesty, had it not in his eyes turned into a messy workshop where lies would be chipped away and debts increased. 

Chris unknowingly bore a resemblance with the likeliness of a peacock, as Chris had an unruly desire to flaunt and show his feathers, and to reverse a transformation into something more beautiful and honest would be far out of reach as peacocks don’t build roosts as hawks do. Doubling down on a persona of arrogance and inflated self-importance to resemble that of Commander Hawk. Perhaps desiring that transformation, Chris seemed to lose more feathers with every word losing a beauty promised to him. Chris would need a journey back to friendship, through shared moments, and not embellished triumph. He desired to be seen as the greatest who would fail to build a nest as Chris was a peacock.

The following day after work Chris decided to head to his girlfriend Amanda’s place to complain that his so-called “friends” aren’t too happy with the new “opportunity” received.

Chris sitting slumped on the couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table “Ugh, I swear, those guys can’t be happy for me, it's insane!” Offering the opportunity of a lifetime! money, glory, sponsorship deals, the whole nine yards! No one cares about me, Amanda!” “Simon called me a peacock!? “What does that even mean?

“I care Chris,” Amanda returns

 “I know, I know”, Chris states dismissively, cutting Amanda off before she can answer fully, “but it's just so disrespectful, I put in effort; you know? For them to trample over me like it doesn't matter? “The great Commander Hawk! It begs the question if they even appreciate having someone this successful around?” Chris continues "Oh, Is that right Amanda? About the, uh, the.. Chris trails off, completely forgetting what she wished to talk about earlier “The thing you mentioned?" Chris raises an eyebrow playfully to hide his ignorance of her desired topic. Chris chuckles halfheartedly. “Well you know I need you here to help me fly? “I have to take care of my baby bird, tidy the roost and…” Chris trails off, looking at her hopefully to see if his words are even landing.

 Amanda sitting in a recliner puts down a magazine revealing a soft smile playing on her lips. “That's quite a compliment.” She states. “Oh hawk, are you trying to cuddle up your baby bird or something?” 

Maybe just a little, Chris warbles leaning closer. “Look, living with those guys… it gets tiring sometimes, ya know? I miss having someone around who appreciates me, who sees the effort I put in, who makes me feel well, who wants to see Commander Hawk soar…

 Amanda reaches out to touch his hand, “I do appreciate you, Chris. I see everything you do, even when you think nobody's looking.”

 Chris replies, “and yeah, maybe this place wouldn't be the same without my hatchling” squeezing her hand for reassurance and control. 

Amanda giggles, “That means a lot, Chris, I love my big strong bird! However, sometimes I just worry that you deserve better Chris. 

“Well Amanda, you deserve someone who has their life together, not a hawk stuck sharing a nest with three men!” Chris screeches.

 The two reach in to lock lips. After the fleeting moment Amanda replies, “Hey, those guys are your best friends and just want the best for you Chris, and speaking of better, you are like a rare crimson-tailed hawk, more striking than a flock of falcons parading in the sky... Hearing this a grin forms and relief washes over Chris. 

Chris replies, “Good to know. I want to forget about them.” Chris says pulling Amanda closer, “Let’s focus on appreciating each other instead? 

“You read my mind”; Amanda returned. They kiss again, tension dissolving into shared laughter, a quiet comfort, yet something gnawing at them knowing this too may fade. A relationship hung on the balance of fear and disappointment.

With the tension built they head toward the bedroom. Chris’s head hung heavy from the fleeting moment and poor foreplay now realized by Amanda, that weight of disappointment settling thicker than dust motes in the filtered moonlight. Chris lay sprawled on the sheets, lanky arms resembling wings stretched out, sweat clinging to his skin like a shroud, a hollow ache blooming in his chest. To his side, Amanda stirred, face etched with confusion to mirror his own. The intimacy, she felt electric moments ago, had fizzled to a whimper, leaving behind a chasm of unmet expectations. Through each fumbling touch, aborted attempt, it had hacked away at Chris’s confidence. Chris falling from the bed lay shattered on the floor along with his pride becoming a victim of his own faltering body.

 “Why can I not perform!?” Chris thought, the shame burned in his throat, acrid and suffocating. He'd promised her a night of passion, a tapestry woven with whispered secrets and sacred pleasure. Instead, he'd delivered a fumbled sketch, a pale imitation of the masterpiece he'd envisioned. Chris couldn't face her disappointment, the unspoken questions in her tear-filled eyes. 

“What happened?” Chris thought hard and then retreated, similar to a wounded bird seeking solace in a nest away from prey, a game he knew too well. The bathroom door hissed shut, slamming with a force that echoed his inner turmoil. In the sterile white haven, rage coiled within him, a bird trapped in a cage of porcelain and chrome. 

Chris slugged the mirror, his fist connecting with a sickening crack. The reflection that stared back was that of a peacock with vibrant feathers, an unfamiliar visage lacking grit and confidence. Chris spat a curse, as he remembered cool dusk feathers, the plumes were all but vibrant unlike the nom de plume he had mantled under Commander Hawk. Due to the new emotions swelling in him and bitterness it is said the feathers fell, denying the self-image portrayed in front of him, a bitter taste on his tongue. What had he become? A hollow shell, defined by his made-up achievements and tales of grandiosity? Could it be that he was overcompensating for something deeper and hidden within his identity? He clung to the fiction of a hawk yet still an image of Amanda, her worried frown etched in his mind, brought a fresh wave of self-loathing. Chris realized he could not be the one who would paint the night with fireworks and leave her breathless with desire as Chris was not a hawk but a peacock.

Chris sank to the floor, head cradled in his lonely hands. Tears washed away anger leaving behind a raw vulnerability he hadn't dared to face. This to Chris was a moment of reckoning, a stripped-down truth that lay bare and bleeding like the knuckles before him. Chris opened the bathroom door and walked over to Amanda who was sheltered by the moonlight from the nearby window behind the bed. Chris was not yet ready to face the dire consequences of his failure. 

Before he could utter a word all Amanda could say was, “I know” Chris muttered, “Know what?” tugging at Amanda to explain. 

Amanda explained, “You are not a hawk Chris, but a lovely peacock.” Flustered with embarrassment he rushed to pick up his clothes from the ground where he once lay. Amanda reached out to him and grabbed him by the wrist with a look in her eyes resembling deep pools of sorrow and acceptance. 

Amanda had a quiet understanding, like the moonlit surface of a still lake. 

Amanda’s brow gently furrowed, not in judgment of the scorned lover, but in the weight of perceived burdens. The two would arch their bodies slightly inwards, as if drawn together by the gravity of the situation; however, yet retain a softness that speaks to Amanda’s compassion. A gentle curve on her face that reminds Chris “It’s ok.”

Chris violently tugs but can’t seem to pull away from her iron grasp. The harder he pulls his tears begin to swell and downpour as he fights the newfound identity. Unable to escape her insistence 

Chris stops trying to fight Amanda, as he caves and collapses onto the bed.

 Amanda hugs him tighter, rubs his back and whispers, “That’s alright, you don’t have to run anymore. I have seen your fallen feathers, they are lovely” Her words to him, a soft lullaby, a melody spun from starlight and stolen breaths. Her own thoughts, an ill-painted dream of a desire never to be realized, through the cuddling she sought the warmth of a distant barren shore. 

Although her hands, once woven like the roots of ancient trees housing nests seeking communion towards the alluring sun, felt the sturdy wood begin to rot. Her desires pounded as she pined for a deeper experience due to promises Chris could never seem to meet. The sunrise began to peek through the gauze curtains. The light painted Amanda’s tangled limbs now resembling wings, in shades of amber and gold; however, the darkness instead consumed Chris on the other half of the bed.

Chris lay still in the shade emitting an absence of color which stained his body in the black hue of a hawk; however, his body still resembled the figure of a peacock. In that accepted silence through Amanda’s realization of Chris’s internal secret, a universe wilted between them due to Chris’s denial and stubborn desire to remain a hawk. The two were never meant to share a roost, speaking of the final chapter of their tragic tale, one of a peacock that lost its feathers.