part0082

P ulling the vanilla cake from the oven, I plop the pan on the counter before shaking the oven mitts from my hands. I allow it to cool as I mix the homemade frosting, dripping some purple food dye in, and watching the darker swirls blend in with the lighter ones until it’s a desirable dark purple hue.

“Happy birthday to you,” I sing to myself as I spread the icing over the cake. Reaching across the stove, I retrieve the bat shaped sprinkles and shiny black stick candles. On my own, I fashion my 28th birthday cake. Something I’ve been doing by myself since I was seventeen and mom decided that she wasn’t going to do it anymore.

“Happy birthday, dear Emily, happy birthday to you.” I sing as I light the candles. Then, I close my eyes, and I make the same wish I’ve made since I can remember: not to feel alone, for once.

Sighing, my eyes flutter open and land on the dark form perched on the open window’s sill. “What the fuck?” I murmur to myself, abandoning my cake as I cautiously approach the bird. “Get out of here,” I whisper, shooing it with my hands. But all it does is shift left to right as its head cocks to the side, eyeing me with those strange eyes.

When I consider the eyes of a bird, I see something subtly feral – even more so once you’ve captured it, holding it in your hand while its tiny heart wildly beats beneath your thumb – only to release it when the little thing looks like it can take no more.

This bird does no such thing. His tenacity never falters, and my hands fall to my sides as I look into the eyes of this peculiar crow.

“Are you following me or something?” I ask, my head tilting to the side as I take a step toward it, the concrete cold on the pads of my feet.

Running my hand through my hair, I frown as approach the window, keeping the bird in my line of sight as I scan the street below. For a moment, I think I see a shadow, but in the blink of an eye it’s gone.

Once again, I peer into the eyes of the crow, never abandoning my spot beside him at the window. His gaze tells a story most animals do not. I see life in there, and it goes beyond basic instincts. “Strange that I only began seeing you around once I met that guy…”

God, I wish that this bird was some type of messenger if it meant seeing him again, but alas, it’s just a bird, and I’m just some crazy woman. Still, the thought makes my blackened heart beat a little faster as the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. For some reason, I don’t feel alone on this birthday.

So, I leave the crow where he sits on the window sill, and I cut him and I a piece of cake.

Sitting on the worn ottoman beside the window, I slide the cake to the crow from across the sill, and it cocks its head to the side before it begins pecking at it wildly. There are those animal instincts; no hesitation when offered something. No hunt necessary. A gift, and though he can’t say thank you, I can see it in those odd eyes that stay fixated on me.