Come in Peter, Bring back Paul

Peter's eyes tracked her, to the left, to the right, up, down, and diagonal. Liv refused to surrender. She pointed a birthday candle back at the cage like a magic wand to threaten and tame the bird and, yet, it started to scream again.

Peter's high-pitched cry only stopped when Liv shook the cage, through the frosted window, above the grease of the narrow street. The bird's hollow eyes darted at her and she forced her gaze deep into them - if Peter wanted to stay here for the holidays, it would have to accept her rules. The winter wind swung the cage and Liv gave it a brutal shake, Peter was now still inside. She closed the window and put the cage by the heater. Not too close, not too far. For that creepy bird needed to stay warm but not to burn. She sliced a piece of candy cane and slipped it through the bars of the cage, sitting down on the floor next to it. The warmth of the heater rubbed her spine through her woollen sweater and she crossed her legs. Peter ate and cooed, she caressed the top of the cage gently. If she had been a bird in a cage, no doubt her owners, too, would have dropped her on a neighbour's doormat and driven off, on Christmas Eve.

Her notes laid untouched on the wooden kitchen table. She sneered at them. Sometimes she wondered if she really attended the exhibitions she had to cover for Facts&Arts8T7TE Mag or if she just ghosted through museums and galleries. She skimmed through her notes, they were plain descriptive and she could not recall a single thing from what the curator had explained on that Thursday afternoon, two weeks ago. She had lost her camera and could not take pictures for her article. Maybe that is how it all started: she was sad and could not miss the exhibition. Once, in the museum, she took notes without listening. Although there was nothing special about the camera, it was still new and they still had to go through future memories together. What was worse? Journeys that haven't started yet or journeys that are long over? She often wondered.

The chat at the bottom of her screen tinkled. Fred. Oh, no.

"How is the article coming along?"

Too late. Fred had seen she had read his message. Damn, she should turn off notifications.

"Hi, Fred. Merry Christmas. I hope all is well in the countryside. I have decorated the tree and have even received a parrot for Christmas. Still getting used to it, haha."

"Do you have a first draft?"

"Editing it at the moment. Will send it in three hours." She looked at the red kitchen clock - 10:32pm.

"Either in one hour or tomorrow morning, first thing. I want to avoid typos like last time. Also the curator from the Railway Museum called last week - he pointed out inaccuracies in the history of the building."

Oh, no.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"Olivia... You make mistakes all the time. I hate to tell you this but we have started looking for someone to replace you. If the article you send us tomorrow works, we may change our minds though."

Her fingers typed something and erased it.

"Just send me the final version tomorrow, 8am. Ok?"

"Sure, Fred. Good night."

His status light turned red.

The clock ticked in her back and she sat still. The Japanese lamp in the corner of the room lighted only the round table and her loose hair. Peter was asleep on the swing of the cage. Lucky him. She folded the screen of her computer slowly and felt her stomach twisting inside. That job was not a battle worth fighting for, or at least, not in such conditions. They had found a replacement for her and Fred had given her an ultimatum on the chat - she pictured the scene in her head and laughed. The laughter stung behind her eyes and its sting trickled down her nose - it hurt. Maybe they were right and maybe she was wrong. As wrong as the grammar she edited, the facts she reported, the images she legended, the tone she used in articles, and her writing, in general. She dragged herself up and to the bed, where she collapsed, fully dressed. As she closed her eyes tight, a drop trickled down her cheek and tickled her neck, as it ran straight into the collar of her shirt.

Peter cooing the next morning forced Liv out of bed. 11am. She had missed the deadline. So be it. Peter's whining entered its aggressive phase - candy cane was not enough of a meal for that little thing, maybe she should buy seeds. Liv threw black tea and bergamot petals into the brewer and turned it on. While she savoured her steaming tea, Peter started to cry - she grabbed its cage and opened the kitchen window again, a thin layer of snow had covered the panes outside. Peter recognised the narrow street underneath them and the bite of the wind, it calmed down immediately. Its silence didn't relieve or sooth Liv - what a Pavlovian reflex she had inflicted to the bird. She closed the window and lifted the cage up to make eye contact with the bird, she apologised and promised to never do it again. But Peter, too, should now make efforts - a new chapter was starting for her, and for them, on that morning and Peter had to be up to the challenge. The bird hopped onto his swing inside of the cage and ignored her. Liv decided that she would still fulfil her part of their non-agreed-upon contract. She had had enough of being grumpy. She gulped down her tea and snatched her shopping list from the fridge. She needed some fresh air anyway. As she was about to lock the door of her flat and leave, she made eye contact with Pete and thought it might miss the outside too. They had been locked in here together for three days because of the weather and their companionship had been rocky due to misunderstandings mostly. But she preferred Peter to Fred. And just for that reason, she thought she would take Peter with her to the grocery store.

She wrapped the cage into her largest, and most delicate, scarf. The peach one in cashmere. The grocery shop wasn't far and Peter would for sure appreciate the walk. In the elevator, she warned the bird about the wind swirls that awaited outside and apologised again for her amateurism. Peter didn't reply and she checked on it - it was half asleep. She cleared part of the cage surface from the scarf to ensure the bird would not suffocate or freeze. Maybe a walk outside was a bad idea, but it stemmed from a good intention - she did want to spend time with the bird. For now, it was all she had. And she was all it had.

The snow on the pavement had turned into a greyish mud and slippery ice. Liv's thin heeled boots zigzag between the snow piles and she opened her arms to slide on the frozen puddles. It never lasted long but she likes that feeling - and she was good at sliding with heels. Snow flakes caressed her nose and she stuck her tongue out to taste the snow. Peter was silent - so she took momentum and accelerated towards the long puddle ahead. Peter screamed and she laughed out loud. They slid for long.

"Sorry Miss, pets are not welcome in the shop."

"Can I leave it here, five minu- Please."

The cashier rolled her eyes and grabbed the cage wrapped in the peach scarf. Liv waved at Peter and headed towards the candy aisle.

"Excuse me, where can I find seeds for birds?" Liv asked a salesperson who was unpacking items and put them onto the shelves.

"That way then, follow me."

"Oh, I like this song."

"What song?"

"The one that's playing. Video killed the Radio Star." The salesperson looked back at her as they walked through the aisles, with a slight frown. "I did a figure skating routine to this song back in high school." Liv said. He stopped and turned around.

"When was that?"

"Twelve years ago or something. Why? Do you also figure skate?"

"Excuse me, what's your name?"

"Olivia."

He frowned and his eyes studied her face for more than two seconds, but less than three.

"The seeds are on that side." He pointed at the shelves to his right and started to make his way back to their initial spot.

"How do I figure out which -"

He turned around.

"What kind of bird is it?"

"It's a small parrot that doesn't speak, I don't know." She shrugged. "I don't even know its real name. I just called it Peter."

"Why Peter?"

"The Two Little Dickie Birds." Liv mimicked the two birds with her hands.

He laughed.

"It's funny you mentioned it because my name is Paul. Just take any bag from the second shelf."

Liv's heels smashed the door of her flat closed as she juggled two bags of groceries in each arm and the cage that hung to her finger. Never ever again. But at last Peter seemed happy. She unzipped her boots and threw them in the entrance. She dragged her chair by the heater and stuck her feet against its warm surface. She opened her laptop and closed all the windows relating to work. She didn't want to hear of Fred, articles, Facts&Arts8T7TE Mag , the Railway Museum and other non-sensical non-sense. She wanted to do something fun. But first, she checked her emails. One new message... from FigUreSkating4U. She laughed - she had forgotten about that forum. How long had it been since she last visited or updated her profile there. And how long had it been since she last figure skated. She started to count on her fingers and stopped, better not to think of it. But why would they write to her? Did they update their data or privacy policy? She clicked. Oh. She had a new message on the platform. What was her password again? Certainly something really silly. Yes, it was. That was so predictable. The design of the website hadn't changed in a decade - how time flies.

She clicked the little envelope at the top right corner. New message from P45L38. Oh, she had forgotten about that guy. How funny.

It just said "Hey" and asked what she had been up to. Well, nothing in a decade. But lost my job today and just bumped into someone with the same name as you at the grocery story as I was looking for seeds to feed Peter, my new friend. And you? Oh, studying to become a helicopter pilot. Just like you wanted to. Of course, I remember. Nice. But we are in our thirties, why are you still studying? Oh, working on the side and career transition. Courageous. Me? Nothing much. No, really. Not being humble. Nothing much. Just that little bird that my neighbours abandoned on my doormat four days ago. And that nursery rhyme in my head on two little birds. Flying away and coming back. Interesting, indeed. No, I've moved to the other side of the country. To become a journalist - ended up copywriting and writing articles for a small arts magazine, but now it's over. No, I injured my ankle and stopped figure skating a long time ago- that's over too. Don't know yet. But I'm sure life will throw something unexpected at me. Why are you laughing? How do you know it will? Haha, I'm curious now...