The Red Robin

June 2^nd, 1999: I had just moved to Portland. I was trying to get away from my past, from all that had attached itself to me. The pain was something I no longer could bear. I just remember sitting on the bathroom floor of my New York apartment feeling my damaged soul cry from within. I remember how numb such pain had made me feel as I had laid amongst the cold, wet tile for nearly 3 hours with a sense of loneliness beginning to linger upon me. It was then when I realized I must leave it all behind as the string that once attached me to him had been cut from his end, and it was up to me to tie it once again. It was then, 3 months ago to this day, that I found a home up top a hill in Portland, Oregon.

Now, as I sit here on my balcony on this chilly summer night, the crisp air begins to wipe away my lost tears as they fade off in a bliss. I watch the trees sway amongst the gusts of winds that roared throughout the hilltop and the birds that flew beside its majesty into the unknowing of this beautiful night. I wanted to follow them, one in particular. I saw myself as it straddled itself to a branch as all else flew away. It stayed. Painfully afraid of what might be if no longer they had thee. That was me. But then suddenly the little Red Robin had begun to inch closer into the unknown until no longer its ruby feathers were in my sight. So, I grabbed my coat and walked off into the night.

Perched upon this hill I was for the first 2 weeks of my stay in Portland. Until a Red Robin had somehow pulled my subconscious into a park about 15 minutes away. I sat there in the soft green grass for hours, soaking in all the life that encompassed itself around me. Children laughing as parents chased them, couples walking hand in hand past the ginormous pine trees that enchanted the grounds of the estate. I was mesmerized. There were various trails that laid itself throughout the park, one in which I chose to venture upon. One in which would change my path forever.

Unusual were the trees as their leaves let off an orange glow, it smelt of familiarity of when I would walk through the autumn woods at Central Park. Although I was filled with such sorrow back then, I missed the city. It was easy to meet people. As I was walking through this uncanny set of warm colored trees in mid-June there was an old lady who had big brown, wise eyes who stood in accompany of me. She was wearing a crimson red trench coat and ruby red rain boots. We both were staring up at the sky as the night began to unveil itself. “Oh my, would you look at that full moon,” the woman had said as she inched closer to me. I looked and smiled in delight. It was bright orange, the moon, suddenly I began to feel warm. This wise creature then whispered to me, “They say when you are feeling lost, talk to the moon as she hears your nightly cries. She too can deliver warmth, just as the sun.” Before I had a chance to speak, I turned to see the crimson trench coat in the distance walking further into the night. Looking to the ground I saw a gold bracelet filled with numerous charms, realizing it must have belonged to the old woman I followed her. “Wait, “I shouted. Somehow the crimson red was moving speedily for a woman of such an age. I began to run. That was until I hit something…someone.

Tumbling to the ground, I heard a man’s voice encompass itself amongst my ears. “My apologies are you okay?” said the faint deep voice. As I got up, I was exhibited a man with shoulder length brown locks, dazzling green eyes, and nice round, pink lips. Reaching out his hand, I took it and replied, “Yes, yeah I am fine thanks.” As I stood up the man had gasped, looking down at the bracelet that was wrapped within my right hand. “Where did you get that?” he said in sheer confusion. I looked down at the bracelet and replied, “Well there was this strange elder lady who had said something to me and then walked away. I saw she dropped this and was trying to run after her, but it seems I lost her.” His emerald, green eyes seemed to be fixed on the gold charms. “May I?” he asked as his hand crept close to my grasp of the bracelet. I placed it within his hands and watched as a single tear rolled down his right cheek. Wiping his face, he looked at me and said, “This is my mother’s.” I gasped in realization that I had called her strange and quickly apologized, “Oh well it’s not that she was strange, I just have never been greeted as she greeted me. She seems very wise.” Resting his eyes upon the charms he looked up and said, “She was very wise, my family and I came to Portland to say our final goodbyes to her. She passed just this morning.”  I stood in complete shock. Was the reason why I could not catch this woman in the crimson red because she was a ghost? I was left speechless. “This woman you saw, can you describe her to me?” the man questioned in curiosity. “Well, she was wearing a crimson trench coat...” The man gasped before I can go into further description. Tears began to roll down his face. “This was her favorite trail, she’d always say there was something magical about these trees and how they stayed amber even in the summer months,” his eyes looked bright when he spoke about her being.

We began to walk further onto the path together, talking about absolutely anything and everything, from the purity of childhood to the complications of present-day work life. He was sweet, very charming. He had one of those stares that kind of makes you nervous to speak as if you may say the wrong thing. “My mother was a weirdo, she really was. Always having the most uncanny ideas that she would speak upon. But that is what we loved about her: She had to have been the wisest person I have ever known.” A smile shedding upon his face, soon had been covered by a touch of sadness when he asked me, “What do you think happens after we die?” A little caught off guard I was. “Um well I put very little thought into the idea of dying. I do not know if it is because I am not tied to a religion or if I simply just have not encountered it but, I guess reincarnation has crossed my mind once or twice.” He looked up to the bright orange full moon and said, “My mom believed in reincarnation. She told my sister and I that she was to become one with the birds.” Looking at me he huffed, “Yeah, I know right, a bird. I told her that was a little boring for someone of her caliber. But then she started going into detail: She said she was going to be a red bird, that she would travel throughout the world still living her life, just with the ability to fly.” “Well why red? I am guessing that was her favorite color?” I questioned. He stopped and laid back onto the lush grass, looking upon the night sky and sighed, “Not quite. She told us that if she were a red bird, then we would be able to spot her from all the other bland birds. But uh having a mother who is a bird is not the most ideal.” He laughed gazing upon the flocks of birds that flew past, “Especially in a place like Portland.”

We shared a silence for quite a while as we gazed up into the darkness that seeped through the sky. Something about that orange moon was so magnetizing. If it were the sun, we would have gone blind! “So, hey I just realized I never got your name,” the man laughed as he sat up to turn to me. I grinned and replied, “My name is Jane Jennings, and yours sir?” I smiled as I looked up into his eyes. Looking into mine he reached out his hand, “Well hello Jane Jennings, I am Timothee Taylor.” Shaking hands, it was like we both could not let go. Suddenly he spoke. “You know when you have met someone that you are sure is going to be in your life for a long time?” Before I could say anything, a red feather had fallen to the ground, I looked up to see what appeared to be the same Red Robin that guided me to this park, perched upon a branch just above where we are sitting. I gasped.

June 14^th, 2000: Walking down the aisle I smiled when seeing his face. Staring at me just as he did when we first met upon that magical path of amber trees last June. Now I walk down this aisle, this path to a new life that I shall share with him: Timothee Taylor. Oh, how delighted I, Jane Taylor, am to be his wife. I remember how broken I had felt back in New York. All the sleepless nights with a mind left without hope as I laid upon the cold, wet tile of my bathroom floor. An invisible string had tied Timothee to me. At least it is neat to think of it that way. Or maybe it was the Red Robin. She visits me as I sit upon our balcony each evening as I sit to read and each morning when I drink my tea. Never will I forget that chilly summer night with its crisp air and a bird that led me to a new life. Used to seeing in darkness, now all I see is light even when the sun is not out; the moon too, can give me warmth and I smile when I look upon thee, when I look upon he who is my light, my love, my life.