Making a Connection

Making a Connection

“Father, are you home?” Coming in the door, Leigh Covington the athletic, blond, thirty-year-old and Tony, her autistic, eight-year-old son, came into the house holding hands.  

“Merry Christmas, Father!” Leigh dropped Tony’s hand. She held out her arms to embrace her father, while the child stood at the center of the room and stared at the ceiling. “I have a special gift for you.”

The door opened and Leigh’s husband Willard Covington, strong and tall, built like a football player, drug in a bushy Christmas tree. Immediately, he returned to the car for a tree stand.

“A Christmas tree is a special gift?” The retired, but determinedly independent Chad Pierce frowned.

Leigh squeezed her eyes together. “Nooo. That’s not the present. I’ll go get it.”

Willard returned to set the Christmas tree in its stand. It almost touched the ceiling.

“You brought a tree that won’t fit in my house?!” said the father-in-law.

“This tree is eight feet. Mr. Pierce, your ceiling is nine feet.”

Chad rolled his eyes. “The angel won’t fit.”

“We thought of that too.” He held up a box with a shiny, silver star on it. “Here’s the star we bought. It will fit fine.”

“Jessica and I bought that angel for our first Christmas after we were married.”

Willard shrugged. “That was forty years ago. It is getting ratty.”

The father fumed like an overheated engine. “My angel is not ratty!”

Carrying a covered bird cage, Leigh said, “Ta-daa!” The bird came into view as she lifted the cover.  The feathers on the back sported a bluish gray color. Its belly almost glared from being so white. On top of the bird’s head was a small tuft of feathers, like a cap.

“This bird is a good gift for me? I don’t know anything about taking care of a bird,” said Leigh’s father.

“How hard can it be? I put bird food in my bird feeder. They eat and sing because they are happy.” Half disgusted, she added, “Mother has been dead a year. You can talk to this bird rather than Jessica. It will give you company.”

 Father snapped at her. “I’ll talk to Jessica all I want! . . . That’s a wild bird, isn’t it? How did you catch it?”

“The bird flew in our garage and hid in the rafters. At night I got out my ladder and caught it. Leigh thought of you and how it would be a perfect gift,” said Willard.

The grandfather looked at Tony. “Leigh, why aren’t you taking care of Tony? You should be spending more time with him. Maybe he wouldn’t be so . . . strange.”

Leigh said, “Father, I don’t have time. I hired a special babysit to help him learn . . . Let’s talk about the meal. I brought all the fixings for baked ham and sweet potatoes. And Mother’s recipes.”

Father gave Leigh a sideways glance. “You won’t put any jalapenos or cayenne in anything, will you?”

“Just a little in the stuffing. It tastes so much better that way. . . . Father, you look thin. Are you taking care of yourself?”

“I can’t eat out or sit around visiting with old friends since you took my car keys last week . . . I don’t have much appetite.”

“I’ll bring you groceries tomorrow,” and returned to the car to bring in the food.

“Whew,” Willard said coming out of the bathroom. “Mr. Pierce, when was the last time you cleaned in there?”

“I don’t have the patience to clean every day like Jessica.”

As Willard headed for the kitchen, he muttered, “You could clean at least once a week.”

The grandfather examined Tony who switched from staring at the ceiling to the bird. He knew Tony was eight-years-old and autistic, but he only met Tony a few times. Healthy enough to be active for any child his age, the grandfather was surprised Tony was so spaced out. “Do you want to eat?” Tony neither responded nor looked at him.

“Humpf. Fine upbringing by my daughter,” the grandfather said sarcastically. “You say the same thing Jessica, don’t you?” He turned from Tony to go to the kitchen.

The next morning, Leigh brought in groceries, but did not take time to teach her father how to prepare the food.

Chad looked through the sack. “Flour. Sugar. Jess, I’m not going to do any baking. Buttermilk waffle mix.” He picked up the Macaroni and Cheese box. In spite of his old reading glasses, he managed to see the word “cup”. “What kind of cup? A coffee cup? A soup mug?” The numbers of the amount blurred together. He still couldn’t read the directions, but gathered something about “boil water”. “I don’t believe I’ll use a cup. Whatever I use will be fine.” The water from the faucet gushed into the pan, almost filling it to overflowing. He set the pan on the burner and turned it on.

Chad stood by the pan and waited. Fifteen seconds later, he said, “This is ridiculous.” He left to watch the bird.

The bird gripped the perch tighter than a surgeon’s glove and stared straight ahead. It reminded him of his grandson.

“You aren’t eating or singing, bird.” Chad saw poop on the bottom of the cage and cleaned it up. “I could make a newspaper fit, but the paper went online.” Chad searched for the large plastic bag from a shirt he received for Christmas. He pulled the sack out of the trash. On the floor of the cage, the sack spilled over the edges, but Chad didn’t care.

“Jess, do you like the bird?” . . .  “You like beautiful things. You were the one good at naming, but since you aren’t here, I’ll name it Bird.”

Chad turned on a western. When the show ended, he remembered the boiling water. It had boiled away to a couple of inches, but he threw in the macaroni anyway. With a sizzle, the water finished boiling off. He tried to poke the macaroni, but it was too crunchy to let a fork poke it. Chad looked for butter in the grocery sack, but there wasn’t any.

“Jessica, I loved your rich food. I want this to be rich. You used lard a lot. Is that what I should use? . . . I’ll put in a good, big spoonful, and the cheese mix that came in the box.” He took a bite. Instead of macaroni and cheese, he tasted rancid grease and dry pasta on his tongue and spit it out like a baby learning to eat solid food.

“Jessica, I loved your macaroni and cheese. It was tender. I could taste each of the cheeses you used.” His voice wavered. “I don’t know how to cook.” His eyes teared up. “I remember your chocolate cream pie and fudge at Christmas. I remember your touch on me as you gave me my gift. And my touch on you with my gift. And the embrace. I miss you.” Chad cried unashamedly since no one was there.

That afternoon, Bird’s feathers appeared to be ungroomed. It did not eat or sing.

“Bird, I am obligated to take care of you since you were a gift. But what can I do for you?”  

At the sound of the doorbell, Chad opened the door for his neighbor, a healthy, relaxed looking man about Leigh’s age. He held fresh onions and cauliflower. Off to one side, there were three gladioli. “I’m Lance Gerrard. Leigh asked me to check on you. I brought you a few vegetables and flowers from my commercial greenhouse. I raise them organically for restaurants.”

Chad said, “Come in and thank you, but I don’t know how to prepare them.”

“If you want to set them in the kitchen, I’ll show you how later.”

           When Chad returned, Lance stood by the cage. He turned to Chad and said, “How are you getting along?”

“Oh, okay, I guess.” Pointing at Bird, he said, “This is my roommate. He is not eating or singing. I don’t know what to do about it.”

Lance looked at the bird again. “O! I recognize the kind of bird it is. You have a tufted titmouse. I believe it eats both seeds and bugs. . . . What are you feeding it?”

“Whatever my daughter brought.”

Lance tried for a closer look at the bird, but found himself looking at the bottom of the cage. “What kind of liner are you using for the birdcage? A plastic bag?”

“I couldn’t find anything else.”

“My mail brings plenty of advertisements. I’ll bring some for you to use.”

Chad showed no emotion. “It may die.”

“I’m my own boss and I can take off when I want. How about if we take Bird to the veterinarian? Leigh told me you don’t drive anymore.”

“Jessica keeps me company, but Leigh won’t admit it.” Chad sighed resignedly. “Let’s go to the vet.”

Lance took Bird to his car and put it in the back seat. Chad sat in front.

At the veterinarian’s office, Lance set the bird cage on the examining table. The doctor reached in the cage to examine the wild bird, but the bird clung desperately to the perch and remained motionless.

“Birds this small are very tender. If I force him off his perch, it would probably kill him. He is extremely tense. Wild birds are hard to keep. What have you been trying to feed him?”

“Probably the cheapest bird food Leigh could find,” said Chad.

The doctor shook his head. “The right kind of bird food has sunflower seeds, peanuts for protein, and no red milo. The best thing for him would be his freedom.”

On the car again, Chad said, “I feel guilty if I free him because he was a gift.”

Lance turned to him and said, “I have an idea. He needs a large area to fly and yet where you can see him. What if we turned him loose in my greenhouse? I’ve been having trouble with whiteflies and scaly insects. Maybe Bird would eat them. My building is organic and he would be organic pest control.”

Chad raised an eyebrow and paused. “Jessica says it is a good idea. I would buy the bird seed. You own a large greenhouse?”

“Yes. Twenty-four by ninety-six feet.”

“Let’s try it after we eat.”

Lance and Chad walked into the greenhouse, which seemed to stretch forever. Rows of onions, Brussel sprouts, and cauliflower looked healthy and green. Gladiolas could barely be seen at the back.

Lance set the birdcage on an empty bench. Chad opened it and waited for the bird to fly out. It remained motionless.

Lance said, “Let’s leave it alone and come back in a couple of hours.”

Chad still had his woodworking tools from being a custom cabinet maker. However because of sight and unsteady hands, he needed Lance’s help. They decided how to make a perch, then a feeder and a birdhouse

When they returned to the greenhouse, Bird still sat on his perch. But now it was turning its head from side to side with the natural fast motion of wild birds.  

Four hours later it was still on its perch, but Bird preened its feathers as the men watched.

The next day, they found the birdcage empty. When they heard the bird singing in the rafters, they looked up. As they watched, the bird stretched, flapped its wings and flew off.   

Both men smiled.

“I may have to get more birds for my greenhouse, said Lance. Putting his hand on Chad’s back, he continued. “You can visit my greenhouse anytime.”

A week later, Leigh brought Tony to be babysat. “My babysitter is sick. I have to hurry to my choral group and then pick up Willard from for his part in the Christmas story.”

Tony stood by the empty cage to stare at it.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” said Leigh.

“I don’t know how to take care of him. Why can’t you watch him?” said her father. “He just stares at stuff and doesn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. He won’t be a bother.” Leigh slammed the door shut as she ran back to her car.

“Jessica, how did you ever teach this, this . . . autistic child anything? And for so many years?”

Chad rubbed his face as he considered the child. “Would you like something to eat? . . . What do you like to do besides stare at the ceiling and an empty bird cage?” Chad caught a glimpse of a fraction of a head movement when he said “bird”.  

“Jessica, should I take him to see Bird? . . . I think so too.”

To Tony, he said “Do you want to see the bird?” Tony remained looking at the cage.

The grandfather tried to take the Tony’s hand as he had seen the grandmother do with Leigh many times, but Tony pulled back. Chad said, “Bird, do you want to see the bird? The bird? You, know, a bird.”  

At the repeated mention of the word “bird”, the grandson took the grandfather's hand. They walked through the snow to the greenhouse. On entering it, the heat and humidity pushed on their faces. The new perch, located at the center of the greenhouse like the center of a stage, attracted the titmouse to perform for them. Bird sang, “dala dala tsee saysaysay”.

“It’s a tufted titmouse,” said the grandfather, feeling quite the educator.

Tttt,” responded Tony.

“Tufted titmouse,” said Chad.

Tony pointed at Bird without looking at his grandfather and said, “Bud.”  

“Bud? O, bird. That’s his name, Bird.” They listened to Bird’s song until he flew off.

“Name, Bird. Name, Bird. Name, Bird.”

“Would you like to see more birds? I have your grandmother’s nature books. It has bird pictures.” The grandfather again took Tony’s hand and led him back home.