Lemonade

Lemon climbed up the vertical bars, her powerful scaled toes gripping each one effortlessly and pulling her ever closer to her target. Her advance was silent. Not a rustle of a feather nor a click of her sharp talons betrayed her as she crept upward. When she had manoeuvred herself into the perfect position, she reached forward with her impressive beak, slotting it into the space between metal poles and gripped the tiny paper corner that peeked over the edge of her cage. In one swift motion, she flicked it away. Down the label floated, gracefully swaying in its descent until it landed face up on the tiles below. Staring up at her was her own name. ‘Lemon - Sulphur Crested Cockatoo - $600’. That would teach him for giving her such a spiteful name. Just because she could not find her voice, it did not mean she was faulty.

She moved on, climbing up and back, crawling along the ceiling bars of her prison. Relaxing her muscles, she dropped, hanging upside down with only her long toes keeping her anchored to the cage roof. ‘Forrest’s Exotic Pet Store’ took on a whole new perspective when it was turned on its head. The small shop floor almost felt like a different room. Almost. It was not quite enough of a change for Lemon to imagine she was somewhere new. Forrest himself, his back to her, was absorbed in the television that was mounted behind the counter. His customers were too infrequent to keep him busy all day. Lemon was glad of that, his favourite crime shows appealed to her as well and helped the hours pass more quickly for them both. The one flashing across the screen at that moment, she had seen before, and on this occasion, she desired his attention instead. She hauled herself up and banged her beak on the bars. Ting, Ting, Ting. Quickly dropping back into the position she wanted him to see, she waited, watching for his head to turn. The shop owners long auburn hair didn’t even sway. She banged again. Ting, Ting, Ting. Nothing. With a sigh of annoyance, she pulled herself up and with all her strength battered the bars. DongDongDONGDONGDONG. Just as she reclaimed her hanging position, he turned and saw her. It took him a moment to notice, but when he did he threw his head back in frustration and swung to his feet.

“Dammit Lemon! Why must you always do this?” He said as he approached, in a tone that was more defeated than angry, “It’s bad enough that you can’t perform for the customers. Either learn to talk like the other parrots or at the very least, leave your price tag alone. How can they buy you if they don’t know how much you cost…or even your name? You’ve been here far too long already. You need a real home, where someone can give you the attention you need. Staying here for almost a full year is not good for you.”

Lemon watched as he reattached her name tag. She wanted to believe he had named her for the bright yellow crest that stuck up on her head when she was excited, or for the pale tint that grew from her wing feathers and merged into the white of her body. She even hoped that perhaps he had noticed the thickness of her skin, useful when assaulted by every customer's harsh appraisal of her silence. But she knew, it was probably none of those things. It was that she was a dud. A parrot that could not talk, could not squawk and would never appeal to a true owner. 

Before Forrest could turn away again, she began swaying. It pinched her toes to do it, but she rocked her head back and forth in a dance that always forced a smile on the shop owners face. It worked like a charm. With a big grin on his face and sounding far from convincing, he said,

“No Lemon! No! You have to stay in your cage. If I took every animal out when they gave me that look, I’d have a safari park rather than a store.”

She responded immediately, if she let him get away, he might actually stick to that conviction this time. She hauled herself up grabbed the ceiling bars with her bill and swung her legs toward the wall where he was standing. Once there, she reached out, grabbed her name tag and flung it back onto the ground with a snap.

“Lemon…” He began, then simply sighed, unhooked her cage door and retreated back to his seat. Satisfied with her victory, Lemon climbed down from her perch, skittered along the tile floors and pulled herself up on the counter, where she snuggled down against Forrest’s arm and watched the repeated show she had little interest in. She knew exactly how the expert crew would pull off their bank heist, but it didn’t matter, she was outside of her little prison and settled against her favourite person in the world.

When morning broke and the sun began filtering golden rays through the front windows, Lemon awoke. She was greeted by Forrest, turning the little sign on the door from closed to open. She must have fallen asleep under his warmth and barely remembered being returned to her cage. She noticed he had left her half an apple, wedged in the bars. It would take some work to pull the delicious little seeds from the flesh and onto her side. A treat and a challenge from her thoughtful Forrest. As she was shaking off the nights sleep and moving to investigate her prize, the little bell on the front door jangled, startling her to the point that all her feathers stood on end. What came next was horrifying. An entire horde of young children poured into the store, all but pushing its owner to one side. Every other animal in the store reacted in the same way that Lemon had, rabbits shot under cover, hamsters shuffled further into their bedding, tortoises pulled inside their shells and all the other parrots squawked and flapped in a din of noise. Lemon was, as always, silent, and simply took a careful step backward on her perch.

“Look! Rabbits!!!”

“This ones white! I love white ones!”

“RATS! SO GROSS!”

“These ferrets are enormous! And they stink!”

“Why won’t this tortoise DO anything!?”

"Where are the GECKOS!?"

The sudden wave of noise was overwhelming. Lemon looked this way and that, her eyes darting from one perceived danger to the next. Even Forrest, visible in the corner of her eye looked concerned, his body language tense and protective. Then Lemon heard one voice above the rest, announcing what she knew had been inevitable.

“OH MY GOD! Look at those PARROTS!”

All of the invading children swarmed instinctively toward the bright blues and reds of the Macaws. Their long tails and showy plumage drew attention like fluorescent lights drew moths and unlike Lemon, they revelled in it. The children begged them to talk, shouting words they wanted imitated as each bird fought to make themselves stand out with hoarse cries of ‘Hello!’, ‘crackers!’ and ‘Love you!’. Phrases learnt and well-practised poured from the show birds in a display that screamed of a desire to impress. Their spectacle continued with ever more complex words and phrases. The intent was obvious, to be bought and taken to a new, more comfortable home. Lemon, conversely, remained on her perch, pulling in her head and hoping to go unnoticed. It was a vain hope. It did not take long for one of the children to pull away from the crowd and approach her cage, insisting she use a voice that she did not have. When she did not react with the performance the little boy demanded, his tiny fingers began poking through the bars in an attempt to provoke a reaction. She could not fathom why he thought jabbing her with his sticky and strange digits could make her speak, but the harder he found it to reach her, the more determined he became. Knowing he would never get the purchase he needed to touch her didn’t matter to Lemon. The waggling worms that pushed toward her triggered a deep-seated fear. One that she did not completely understand. Her breath came faster, and a blackness threatened the edges of her vision, meaning all that was left to her was the sight of the searching probes. She leapt from her perch to the ground and hid under the arch of wood that she had seldom used. She looked out desperately for Forrest, but could not locate him in the chaos. The child’s clawing fingers had followed her descent and again blocked the view of all else. In that moment, the smell of the timber, the moving fingers and the deafening noise all combined to slam a memory into the forefront of Lemons mind. Images that she had not known she held.

A violent storm, raging through a porthole in timber. Rain sheeting down and gusting winds sending it in this direction and then that. Yet comfort, soft warmth and darkness all around. Hard wood, encasing her and keeping her safe from the chaos that reigned outside. Then a shape. A bird that looked so much like herself that she was confused as to whether she was the one inside or the one entering. A musical warble gave her the answer. Her mother. A protector she had forgotten she had ever known. As the larger bird shuffled her to the back of the nest, she spoke the only lesson she would ever be allowed to teach.

“Stay hidden! Stay silent!” she whispered with such force that the words branded onto Lemon's mind, imprinting a concept that would ride with her into adulthood, “I’ll lead them away. You’ll be safe here. I promise.”

But she had not been safe. When her mother did not return and searching hands came blindly padding around her nest. She remained hidden. She stayed silent. Until the tiniest chirp of fear broke unbidden from her throat. And they had her. Handled roughly she was moved from wood to metal, fed only when she was so hungry she couldn't think straight, and always lifted from one confusing place to another. After an eternity of feeling lost and alone, with nothing making sense, there came Forrest’s face, and more importantly, his voice.

“Where did you get this bird?”

“What do you intend for it?”

“Here, take your blood money. It’s worth every cent to see this creature away from you”

“Don’t mistake me. I ever find you with a wild animal again, you’ll have the authorities at your door. This one will never have the life she deserved because of you!’

Then safety. Warmth. Forrest’s protection.

And forever silence, lest she ever risk losing it again. 

Lemon became aware of her cage again only after the din of the children’s assault had ceased. There she saw Forrest, yet again pushing away the threat and escorting the youngsters from the store.

“Oh Lemon. I’m so sorry. Did they scare you?” He said, opening the cage door and reaching in, “Here, come with me”

She hopped readily onto his outstretched hand. A hand that did not search or reach, only waited for her approach. He took her up to the counter and held her close, then switched on the television. This time, to a new episode. A jailbreak.

That night, inspired, Lemon set her beak in determination. She would never be sold. She didn’t want to be. Why would she want to go to a home where a human would berate and poke her to get her to talk, to squawk or to sing. There was only one option she desired and she intended to take it for herself. She leapt, grasped the bars of her cage door and reached through the gap between. She clamped her strong bill around the handle of the bolt and pulled, shuffled to one side and pulled again. With all her might she yanked and moved, wrenched and stepped, until finally, the door released and swung open. With a satisfied nod, she hopped through the open gap. Lemon followed her usual route, climbing down onto the tiles and clicking her nails as she made her way across the expanse. She froze mid step when one of the Macaws chirruped in his sleep, only to sigh in relief when the bird settled once again. Their racket, should they wake, would certainly give her away. She moved more gently from there, sneaking past the hamster cages. Inside, each was focused solely on running its nightly marathon to nowhere upon its spinning wheel. They paid her no heed. Before clambering up the displays to the counter top, she grasped a dog lead in her bill and with some difficulty, managed to unhook it from its peg. Dragging the leather rope behind her she made her way up to her usual spot in front of the television, but rather than settling there, she looked to the back wall where she spotted her goal. A closed door. A way out.

Lemon could not fly. She had never learned. To learn a thing, you must have a teacher. Since she had been forced from the nest, she had lived only with wingless humans. If she had gained anything from her long study of the greatest criminal getaways, it was that everything must be accounted for and planned. This next part of her blueprint, however, was nothing but a risk, unable to be prepared for from the confines of her cage. She readied the loop of the lead in her beak, braced her legs against the very edge of the desk, smothered her fear and simply leapt, without allowing herself to overthink it. Her wings opened as they were supposed to, she pushed them down as she figured was sensible and for a fraction of a second, she felt her body lift. Until she crashed into the door on the other side. Her toes scrabbled against the smooth wood, her wings flapped in a frantic mess of feathers and she randomly stabbed with her beak at whatever was in front of her. When she landed on the ground, she was panting and disorientated, battling to get control of her racing heart. Lemon waited for an age, gathering herself, still and silent, expecting to be discovered. But when no one woke and nothing happened, she dared look up. There, to her absolute wonder, was the dog lead, looped over the door handle as she had intended. She gently took the loose end in her bill, gently pulled down and the door clicked open.

Lemon hopped up the dark stairway beyond, one step at a time, until she landed on the soft carpet of the hallway at its peak. The fluffy flooring muted her sharp nails and covered her advance perfectly. She was stealth itself as she sneakily bounced along. Finally unbound of all constraints, she felt the joy of freedom. She surged with the freedom to go where she willed. She was free as she had been born and free as her mother had intended. Yet she had only one direction she wanted to move in. She pushed her way through the slight crack of an open door. The dimness inside made it difficult to know if it was the right one, but her decision was confirmed when she heard the heavy breathing of his sleep. She pulled her way up the dangling bed sheets, wincing as she heard its threads tear and stretch and hopped along the luxuriously soft surface to his pillow. There, Lemon snuggled into her Forrest, making herself at home in his nest.

“Lemon…is that you…how on earth did you get up here?” He mumbled, half awake, “Lemonade, you are as full of spirit and fizz as the day I named you! You know what…I give up. You win. You can just stay with me. I’ll stop trying to find you a better home and I won't put you back in the cage. Just please, go to sleep, I’ve a shop to open in a few hours.”

He fell back to sleep almost immediately, not concerned in the slightest by her presence. She might never have the trees as she was meant to, but she had a Forrest, and that was freedom enough in her eyes. As she snuggled down against him, feeling truly safe for the first time in years, Lemon uttered a single quiet chirp of contentment.