Freddie's Last Flight

Nobody knows that Freddie Phoenix keeps a dark thought diary, but there's a lot people don't know about me. There's only so much that can fit in a thirty minute day.

The diary started one midnight when I started to have worries, and questions that couldn't be easily resolved by my friends on Rosedale Square. There was only so much you could do with a song and dance number, or a giant foam division sign. I knocked on my friend Rhonda smart's apartment door , apparently waking her from a dead slumber. I just unloaded on her. "Rhonda, why do I always go to bed so early? I got a stopwatch the other day and timed it - I only spend a half hour awake each day before turning in with my stocking cap and teddy bear."

"I don't know, Freddie," she groaned. "Why aren't you in bed right now?"

The lighting in the carpeted beige hallway looked strange at that hour. I got the impression that it might not even have a ceiling. A cigarette smoldered in an ashtray on her coffee table, indicating she hadn't slept long. On her orange velvet couch I spotted one of those strange books she liked, shirtless muscle man trying to rip open the blouse of a woman with breathing problems. Rhonda still refused to tell me what a `throbbing manhood' was. 

Rhonda herself looked a bit...strange, her makeup removed, her clothing, ordinarily shapeless, now showing off more of her legs and chest than I'd ever seen before.

"I can't sleep. I keep thinking about things. Have you ever seen photographs of birds in books? They don't have hands. Why do mine look like felt mittens?"

The woman looked uncomfortable. "Freddie, whenever you have thoughts like this again, I want you to write them down in a little diary."

"And then?" I asked.

This made her look even more nervous. "Just...keep writing it out until you relax...and go to sleep. You'll ...feel better about it in the morning."

So that's what I've been doing for the last one hundred 30 minute days. I climb into my enormous nest situated in the brownstone back alleyway of Cooley's hardware and Mazzio's Italian Eatery and write until I pass out.

Today is Migration Day. It happens once every year when the leaves change color and the temperature gets cold. Normally I don't mind it much because after I take flight from the roof of Maple Towers, I go...somewhere else. It's like I go to sleep, and don't wake up for a long time. But today I'm afraid.

Afraid this might be the last migration.

I spent the early part of the day packing my things, diary, little chalkboard, my picture of Mom, toothbrush, comb, copy of Goodnight Moon, the aforementioned teddy bear and cap, and a large letter B. I touched the objects but couldn't actually feel them. Mitten hands. 

I always pack so light. Shouldn't I have more personal treasures? Reminders of happier times on Rosedale Square? 

I searched my nest, but found nothing else of worth, except maybe my pillow. I don't even own a book with complex words. I frowned, bright yellow mitten hands closing my little wicker suitcase.

"Where are you going, Fred?" The voice sounded like a man speaking through a drain pipe.

I turned and saw a large purple octopus had come to visit me. 

My imaginary friend, who somehow became real enough for my friends to see. One of several mystifying things I have written about extensively in the diary.

"Oh it's that time again. The Great Bird Migration. You're probably not going to see me again..." I heard an inner voice prompting my next words, but wasn't sure I wanted to say them. Although the words felt wrong coming out my beak, I blurted, "Otto, I'm scared. What if I migrate and don't come back? What if this is the last time?"

My companion's foam and felt tentacles quivered, little coathanger rods manipulating each one. "You're scaring me, Fred. Why are you talking like that?"  

"Otto, how many days have passed between my last migration and the day I came back?"

Otto only trembled.

"How many days!" 

I never yelled like that before. It felt strangely...liberating, as much as it shocked the felt mollusc. 

"I...don't remember, Fred. It was...the whole winter. That's all I know...don't you remember anything about it?"

"It's...a complete blank. All I remember is flapping my wings and somehow being drawn up into the sky...then waking up as I drifted down to the corner of Jacob Goose Park. Otto, where did I go to? Why do I always fly from the roof of Maple Towers or Mills Store? And how is it that I can fly at all? My body is overweight, my wings small and useless as far as I can tell."

Otto deftly avoided my second question by saying, "You go to Cancun to live with your mother. It sounds nice."

"It does, doesn't it." I sighed. "Otto, this might be the last time I see you. I just want to say I love you."

"Aww, Fred! I love you too!"

I gave him a great big hug. "I'm going to miss you more than anyone else."

Otto's eyelids rolled up like a window blind. "But Fred! I'll never leave you! I'll always be in your heart!"

"Yeah," I whispered. "But where will I be?"

I took my wicker suitcase and marched up the red brick alleyway, pausing to knock on the lid of a trash dumpster, home of the Grumpalasaurus.

Another point to ponder: I didn't know why I had no ability to smell (no nostrils), but could appreciate a flower bouquet, and could say things about Grumpy's unpleasant dumpster, or comment on Rhonda's cooking. I suppose that's another question for another time.

A large dragon-like head burst open the heavy plastic panels, fire blasting from its nostrils. "What!"

I had to smile. despite the rough scaly exterior, Grumpalasaurus had a kind heart. "Goodbye, old friend. I'm going to miss you."

"Oh don't get mushy on me! Yuck!" The dumpster lid slammed shut. 

I knocked again, and his head emerged once more. "What is it this time! I have a life, you know!"

"Grumpy, what's down there inside that dumpster?"

"None of your business! Do you have any more annoying questions to ask me?"

I was supposed to stammer no, but instead I made my beak say other unnatural words. "Is there a world outside of Rosedale Square? Or is there only nothingness past State Line?"

For the first time in memory, Grumpy was unable to form a sarcastic reply. Instead, he peered at me with...was that newfound respect? Steam poured out his nostrils like cigar smoke.

After a long pause, he replied, "I heard you talking about this with Otto...have you ever tried flying from the rock outcrop at Goose Park?"

"N-no?"

"I've seen a wire. It goes up your back every time you migrate...can you actually use those wings?"

"I.. I don't know. I...didn't even know there was a wire."

I set down my suitcase and did a few experimental flaps for him.

"Keep trying. Let me know what happens. If you can get off the ground, I might show you the inside of my dumpster."

I know a statement like that, from anyone else, would sound creepy, but this was Grumpy. "Thanks. That would be nice."

It astonished me how gently Grumpy descended into the dumpster and closed the lid.

I continued on to the square itself, past Mr. Cooley's store-the only one in the neighborhood who actually died and had a funeral. 

When I migrated, was that death? Is that what death is like? If so, why did I get to come back and Cooley didn't?

Friends had disappeared before. Marty the rat showed up, stayed a few days, and was never seen again. Pablo from apartment 17B stepped into an elevator and never returned. Even Rhonda smart was not immune. She took a taxi to New York and came back with a different facial structure and wrongly colored hair, still claiming to be the Rhonda I knew and loved. 

No, only when Cooley died did I know what it was to die and what dying meant. Why was that?

I sighed, continued on down the path. 

It was the established ritual, saying goodbye to everybody in the neighborhood, all of them having the expectation that I'd be back in the summer to be with them once more, but I doubted it.

I said goodbye to The Meep, Hairy Herman, the cows, Murray the Mummy, Finnie Frazzle, Isaac Iguana, Arty Ape, Bob and the rest. My emotional farewells got misinterpreted as mere silliness on my part, like that time I wouldn't go to the barber because I thought it would hurt to have my feathers cut.

"Don't cry, Freddie!" Rhonda told me. "You'll be back real soon!"

I decided I didn't want to go. At least, not in the way they expected me to.

Ignoring the voice in my head, I marched to the mermaid fountain in the main square, testing my wings. I still couldn't get far off the ground.

"That's a great idea, Freddie! Jumping jacks! Gotta limber up before your big flight, don't you? Here! Let's do them together!"

I disliked the condescension. "Rhonda, do you think it's actually possible for me to fly?"

I got a plastic smile and scripted answer in reply. "Why of course it is, Freddie! You've done it lots of times before!"

"Grumpy said I only flew because of a wire attached to my back." Granted, the Grumpalasaurus didn't really say that, but I expected some evasiveness to this line of questioning.

The woman sighed, gave me a look like I should know better. "Freddie, you shouldn't listen to Grumpy. Sometimes he says stuff that doesn't make sense, often just to be mean."

Her response disappointed me, to say the least. "I...know, but what if? I mean, hypothetically, if a bird were used to flying with the aid of a wire-"

She didn't let me finish. "Freddie, there is no wire. Grumpy was imagining things."

"Yes, but if a bird, any bird, normally used one, but suddenly decided not to, could they still have a chance of flying? Especially if they were my size?"

She put her hand on my wing. "Freddie, you can do anything if you put your mind to it."

"Gee, Rhonda, I hope you're right."

I did some more 'jumping jacks' then, with the pretense of needing to do some last minute packing, I returned to the alleyway, knocking on Grumpy's dumpster.

This time the lid just barely cracked open. "Did it work?"

My shoulders drooped. "I tried it. Rhonda thought I was just doing Cal, cal, calis-"

"Calisthenics," grumpy groaned. "I was afraid of that."

"Is it even possible, Grumpy? My body is so big..."

The lid clanked shut, and I thought he'd gone for the day.

I sat down next to the bin, at a loss for what to do. "I don't want to go," I said to myself. "This might be the last time."

The dumpster lid popped open, the dragon's head blowing steam. "You're right, Freddie. I don't think you can make it either, but I have something that may help."

Grumpy made several clearing throat sounds, like Hairy Herman about to cough up a hairball, and a glowing...thing flew from his mouth, landing in front of me.

I stared. "What is that?" 

"An important part of myself."

"Yes, but what?"

"I don't know. It is...a thing. All I know is, you must eat it at once so it may become part of you, or it will go away, like I myself will soon do."

I wasted no time devouring...the object, but as I did, a feeling of guilt and utter loss washed over me. "Grumpy," I whimpered. "Why are you helping me?"

"I see nothing inside this dumpster as well. Nothing except this object that has comforted me for so long in that total darkness. Perhaps, when you find a way to fly elsewhere, you will be able to retrieve me from that unknowable void. I...am sorry I've been such a grump. I have always considered you to be my friend, but it has been difficult for me to understand how to be one in return. I am sorry."

After saying this, he slowly descended into the dumpster. I did not hear from him again, but his glowing gift continued to swell within me, giving me a feeling of lightness, and power I had never before known.

"Freddie!" Rhonda called from the main square.

It was time. The stopwatch I'd nailed to the wall said we'd reached the twenty minute mark, my expected flight window.

I waddled out of the alley, into a crowd of well wishers trying to coax me toward my usual take off spot.

"Well, Freddie?" Rhonda said. "All ready to go? Bet you can't wait to see your mom again..."

"I'm not going," I said.

"What!" The woman cried. "But you love it down there! You always have such a good time! And don't forget your mother will miss you. You've just got to go!"

I took a deep breath. My inner voice was telling me all kinds of things to say in agreement, but I forced words of my own to come out. "If I'm going to migrate, I want to make my own choices about how it's done. I'm not going to have someone string me up on a wire as I stand on Maple Towers, or the shop, or the corner of the park."

Rhonda gawked at me, seeming to have temporarily lost the capability of speech. "Freddie, what's going on? You can't say things like that! We, you don't have that much time-"

"Right, because we only have five minutes left in our day! Since you're all in such a rush to see me off, goodbye!"

With that, I stomped off into Goose Park.

"It's almost the end of the episode!" I heard Rhonda shout to someone as I climbed the rock outcrop at the end of the park. "Can he really say all that?"

Something like a loud school bell rang. A blinding set of lights switched on. A boom mike hit me in the head, but I brushed it away.

"Freddie!" My inner voice again, this time much louder. "What are you doing! I know we allow you to ad-lib lines, but you're going way off script!"

I ignored the voice, climbing to the summit.

There, from the pinnacle of that small mountain, I spread my wings and leapt.

I soared.