Jamie the Duck

The sun had not yet risen. Brian the Beaver was standing across the street from the harbor, looking at the ships. It reminded him of his filthy childhood. The things he did at that harbor! He didn’t see any punks around there now, though. Maybe they had finally cleaned it up. Or maybe it was just too early in the morning.

Under the grey clouds it looked sad, just the way he liked it. For a second he thought about how in all those years he had never stopped to really look at the harbor, and appreciate how melancholy it was. But only for a second.

He made his way down the streets, into the meatpacking district. He wondered if he’d see a Gopher down here. The gophers were a strange crowd. Sometimes they would attack for no reason. But he didn't come across any out in the streets that morning. Maybe, gophers don’t get up early either.

Eventually he got to Serenade Street, and the bridge. He looked at it for a long time. That goddamn bridge. Six years later, it didn't look very different. The sun was just starting to rise and shine over it. Back in the day, when he came to the bridge it was usually fully dark. He had hoped to get here a little earlier – light around the bridge made him nervous - but this should be good enough. Jamie had always gotten up late.

He walked under the bridge. He remembered Jamie said it smelled like a wet dog down here. It still did. Brian looked up at the wall and saw some faint notches in the concrete. He tried to count the notches, but they were too worn out. Of course, he didn’t need to count them. He knew there were 88. Twelve short of what had been promised.

Brian the Beaver walked out from under the bridge – Jamie would look in there – and climbed up the steps halfway and retreated under the shadows of the adjoining building. He had a clear view of the phone booth, and there he waited.

Jamie the Duck woke up early. Well, early for him at least. He went to the bathroom to wash his beak, and when he looked in the mirror he thought how old he looked. He was no little duckling anymore. He looked at his beak, and his little, beady eyes, and all the strands of grey that were coming into his fur. He was reminded of his aging every day, and every time it was like a small dagger in his heart.

He went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee and saw his wife, Diana the Duck, sitting on the couch watching Judge Jackal, with a bowl of corn seed on her lap. She told him he was up early again - sarcastically, like she always did, no matter what - and he ignored her. She was always on that damn couch. Every year he got older, and every year she got older and fatter. Filling her mouth with more corn seed. Lately Brian had been seeing Dixie the Deer a lot. Oh, Dixie, that little vixen.

He drank his coffee and asked his wife where the newspaper was. She said “What?”. That was something she did a lot - pretending not to hear him so he’d have to repeat himself. He thought of it as some kind of passive aggressive power move, as if to imply he’s not important enough for her to pay attention the first time. Coming from a fat duck like her, though, he thought that was pretty funny.

After finishing his coffee, he got up and left the apartment without saying another word to his wife. The sun was high in the sky, but covered in clouds. He liked when the sun was trapped behind clouds. He liked when it was hard for animals to see.

As he was walking up the streets to the old phone booth, he couldn’t help thinking about the geese. Those freaky geese. They were taking over, and no one seemed to want to do anything about it. Everyone was scared. A goose is stronger than a duck. A goose has a longer neck and a much longer wingspan. They hit harder and from a greater distance - even three ducks working together could probably only bring a single goose to a stalemate.

But Jamie would never acknowledge that. He always said he’d duel any time with a goose, one on one. And few geese would take him up on it. He was a big duck, just like his father. Even at four months old he was nearly the size of a full-grown duck. And Jamie had a heavy beak. There were many animals in the streets that could attest to the weight of his beak.

With the clouds covering the sun, and a gentle, cold rain coming down – the kind of rain that refreshes you instead of making you wet - Jamie thought about Brian the Beaver. His old friend. He was sorry how things ended between them. He remembered when they used to sit under the old bridge, flicking acorns. Hoping to see an easy target, a car that some rich animal was driving. And leering at the female animals that passed by. It’s funny, out of all the animals Jamie dealt with – ducks, swans, geese, roosters – it was a stringy little beaver who he connected with the most. And as much as they were at odds with each other, as much as they disagreed – and they argued a lot, right up until Brian got put in jail - Jamie knew Brian wouldn’t have feared those damn geese either. Brian was small for a beaver, but astonishingly strong. And his teeth were some of the sharpest in the streets. He’d really stick it right back at those geese, old Brian. When he got out, Jamie thought he’d give Brian a call and try to smooth things over. Brian probably wouldn’t hear of it, he was always a vindictive beaver, but it wouldn't hurt to try. In their business, isn't it all water under the bridge?

Eventually Jamie made it to the phone booth. The sun was directly overhead now – it was high noon – but no one would know. Brian entered the booth and removed the ceiling board. He reached over the beam - and felt nothing. His heart dropped. Who could have taken it? His life flashed before his eyes. He reached frantically - and his hand grazed the plastic knot. He breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled down the plastic bag, and it was all there. All 2 quarts. I just hid it a little too well, he thought. He closed his eyes for a second. What a disaster that would have been – what the hell would he have done? No choice but to flee, but he wouldn’t have even made it out of the city. And even if he did, Mac the Monkey would have gotten him before the week was out. But that doesn't matter - he had the bag. He relaxed and thought about what he’d do later that night. Maybe give Dixie a call. Oh, Dixie. That little vixen. He was a night animal, and she was, too.

He opened the door to the phone booth, and there was an animal in front of him. Immediately he recognized the brown-red fur – the crooked nose – and those dark, soulless eyes. But somehow, he looked younger. Did jail make you younger? He wondered senselessly. Is that the secret?

He reached in his pocket for his stick, but then he saw the knife. A goddamn knife. He must have gotten that while he was in jail, from one of the humans. And he must have been here all morning, camped out waiting. Brian the Beaver said, “You look a lot older, Jamie. I’m surprised you got up so early,” and shoved the knife forward, and that was it for Jamie.