Changing Feathers

On my last day of work at the Pet Center, I set the parakeets free.  I don’t think anyone was expecting it, and I can imagine there was some element of shock when the first person noticed the tiny, winged creatures emerging from a generic store cage in a blur of green, yellow, and blue. I didn’t stick around to see the reactions of my co-workers nor the unsuspecting customers; as soon as I unlocked the cage and the first Keet spotted her chance at freedom, I was already running out the automatic sliding glass doors. 

I have no regrets.

When I applied for the job, I didn’t know much about caring for pets beyond the low maintenance dog and communal neighbor cats, as those were the only sort of pets any of my foster families had.

 “Is this going to be a problem?” I asked the store director, Tim, in the interview. 

“It’s not a prerequisite that you be a pet connoisseur; most people we hire are recent high school graduates and college students and learn as they go on the job,” he said as he stared at the computer screen, scrolling down my application. “You recently got your GED, then?”.

“Yes sir,” I responded, hoping my lack of a traditional high school diploma wouldn’t be grounds for denial. “I would have graduated high school in six months with the rest of my class, but I felt it would be better to um, speed up the process a bit. So, I could work full time,” I paused. “I need to work.”

I didn’t expound on the severity of that statement.  Most eighteen year olds “need” a job because their parents are on their back about learning work ethic and taking personal responsibility when it comes to paying for gas, car insurance, or their cell phone bill. But just as I wasn’t like most ten year olds when I was changing homes, parents, and siblings for the third time in one school year, I wasn’t like most eighteen year olds when I said, “I need to work.”  At eighteen, I am no longer the state’s responsibility, my “family” is no longer getting subsidized by the government, and they no longer have any legal obligation to me. I could not, would not, let myself become homeless, forced to resort to prostitution and drugs to survive. Though such circumstances are the reason for my existence, they would not drive the rest of my life.

“Well, Lucy,” Tim set my application down on the desk and leaned forward in his chair. “There are no red flags in your application, and we certainly need some help this holiday season. Would you be able to come in on Thursday for orientation? After that, we can get you on the schedule.”

“Yes, absolutely. I can and I will. Be there, I mean. Thank you, sir.” I shook his hand and left his office. I arrived at orientation thirty minutes early.

When I started my first shift, I didn’t realize that I would grow so attached to any of the creatures at the store. During my employment training I was told the basics on how to care for the reptiles, fish, ferrets, and the various types of rodents. I listened diligently, determined to forget nothing and to excel at this job. Perhaps if I am impressive enough, I can work my way up the ladder in this company, I silently hoped to myself as I was being taught the store policies on opening the cages and showing customers the various pets. Given that the other pets struck me as nothing beyond merchandise, I was surprised at the fascination and compassion I immediately felt for these tiny birds. The employee assigned to train me, Luke, held up the key to the cages.

“Be careful when you open the cage that you don’t leave it open long enough for them to realize an opportunity to escape and fly away. Because that would suck.”

“They are all so pretty,” I said as I watched them flutter about. “The colors are amazing.”

“They change feathers every year.”

“That’s annoying.”

Luke looked at me strangely.  “Why?”

I shrugged. “I mean, it just seems like it would be. Just when they get used to the pattern of colors on their feathers and get comfortable living in them, they just get a new set…whether they want it or not.”

Luke smirked a little and raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t think they care all that much.”

“Well, I think they do,” I retorted with more bite in my tone than I intended. He stared me down for a minute, as if debating with himself whether it was worth the trouble to argue.

“All right then. Well, let’s go talk about the cats up for adoption.”

Before following him, I stuck two fingers in the grid of the cage. A tiny blue and yellow parakeet flew near my fingers and perched to the left of them. It looked longingly from my hand to the world beyond the cage. 

The rest of the week I was paired with Luke, instructed to shadow him throughout the day in order to get the hang of the job. He didn’t seem too enthused about having his workday slowed down by having to explain his every action to a trainee, but he was friendly, nonetheless. He reminded me of my foster brother a few families back. Not only does Luke have the same sandy brown hair as my ex-sort-of brother, but he wore a small crucifix around his neck and a bracelet with pictures of Jesus and Mary. 

The main reason I enjoyed Luke’s company, however, was that he knew so much about the parakeets. “I had parakeets when I was younger,” he told me one night after store closing when we were cleaning the cages. “They are pretty cool little dudes.”

“Can they learn to talk?” I asked. 

“Yeah, they can be taught words and short phrases. They can only repeat what they are told, though.”

“Well, people are the same way.”

“Except that people have minds of their own and speak based on individual, intelligent thought.”

“Not all humans. Some just repeat what they are told their whole life,” I said, pointing at his bracelet. 

“So you don’t believe in religion?”

“No. But if I had to pick a supernatural belief, it would be reincarnation. It makes sense to me that we would just recycle into something else.”

Luke snorted. “So, what were you in a past life?”

He was joking, but my answer was serious: “A parakeet. I think I was a parakeet.”

I worked at PetCo for a year after that week of training. It got pretty boring after Luke quit three months after I started, as I didn’t care much for any of the other employees, but after that time I had saved enough pay to cover the first and last month's rent on an apartment in a relatively affordable part of town, and that was the original goal. No more pretend families and no more temporary homes.

It was a mundane job, but strangely the parakeets made it worth it. I enjoyed going to work and admiring the multiple colors of the different, individual Keets, complementing one another perfectly as they ate, slept, and played in their little community. My heart reached out to the parakeets in a way that made me ache: each parakeet left in the cage at the end of each workday represented a bird unwanted. Customers would give all sorts of reasons for choosing one Keet over the other, and all of the reasons were shallow and sickening. This one sings too loud, this one doesn’t sing enough. This one has too much blue, and this little gray one doesn’t have much color at all. I heard it all when I showed the parakeets to customers. One lady even chose a sleeping, uninterested parakeet over the one who was perched on the side of the cage, affectionately pecking at her young daughter’s fingertips, yearning for a permanent home. The reason she gave for not wanting that particular parakeet is that he was yellow and green; they were looking for a blue and white parakeet to match the young girl’s bedroom. In other words, the yearning parakeet was rejected by a family for not fitting perfectly into their lifestyle. 

“I understand little Keety,” I whispered to him as I stroked his feathers. “I’ve heard that before, too.”

I was not expecting to give my two-week notice when I arrived at work that day. The shift had progressed as it usually did on Saturdays with many customers coming in with dogs on leashes, some asking for directions to the organic dog food aisle and others wanting to look at the birds. I was feeding the parakeets and giggling as they pecked playfully at my arm when Tim approached me, doing his usual managerial rounds checking up on his employees. 

“How’s it going Lucy?”

  I smiled. “Just giving the Keets their lunch.”

“It’s a shame we aren’t selling more of them. Some of these little fellas are about to be transferred to a Houston store next month.”

Startled, I spun around away from the cage, spilling some bird food on the ground.  Ignoring the mess, I shrieked “Wait, what?”

“They sell much more of them at that location than we do here. They just don’t seem to be in a high demand in our area. So we are going to give that store some of our inventory.”

“Inventory? They aren’t chew toys or bags of kitty litter. They are birds. They are parakeets!”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “And they are store merchandise. So they are being moved where business is better for them,” shaking his head, he walked away to continue his rounds.

“This is their home!” I called after him. “You can’t just switch them off to another home just like its nothing!”

I don’t think he was paying attention anymore, but when I stopped and looked around several customers and a few employees were looking at me incredulously. 

“Excuse me,” I whispered as I walked past them toward the restroom, where I sat for the rest of my shift with my face in my hands, fighting tears.  Before I left that evening, I went into Tim’s office.

“This is my two-week notice. Please don’t put me on the next schedule.”

Without another word or allowing for a response, I quietly turned and walked out the door. 

My last day at work was slow. It was a Monday evening, and we didn’t have more than two customers in the store at a time throughout most of my shift. Nobody asked to look at the parakeets that day, either. I thought it was ironic that I was preparing to leave for a new job after only a year at this one; flashbacks ran through my mind of the many times I prepared to leave for a new home after no longer than a year at the old one. 

I would say that this is because some things will never change, but I know that’s not true—I won’t let it be true. I will leave here today and find somewhere permanent, with people who value such permanence and commitment. And, I resolved, I will make sure my parakeets have the same out of life. They may have to travel awhile before they find that place for themselves, but they will not be shuffled around. Nobody deserves to live like that. 

I decided to leave work an hour early that day. My manager was in his office in the back and only one cashier stood up front. A few customers were mingling near the parakeet cages, looking at feed. 

Pulling the keys out of my pocket, I fumbled for the correct one with sweaty hands and trembling fingers. I then brought the tiny, silver key to the lock, turned it until I heard the click, and flung the door wide open. 

It was only seconds before freedom was realized.