The Sparrow

                              FORKS, WASHINGTON, 2002, 10 YEARS AGO.


         I knew this was serious. The faces of my teachers and classmates showed the disappointment as I got sent out for the eighth time this month. I didn't care. For all it was worth, my depression was my business. I didn't think my mother understood. Just being here showed her lack of interest in leaving me alone. The room was blinding white, and so was my vision. My own clothes stood out in contrast to the whiteness. There were approximately two pieces of furniture in the room: the table, and the chair that I sat on. One wall was made of glass, and overlooking that, I saw a counter, which looked clean and convenient for business affairs. For a moment, all I could hear was my own breathing, but that didn't last long, because the door swung open. Strange, I didn't even notice that there was a door. A tall and thinly man walked in formally. I had to crane my neck upward to see his face, which looked like it had been injected by botox a million times.

         "Hello, Mr..." He searched around his linen tux for a small piece of paper that was tucked in his waistband. "Ah, I see, Mr. Sloan. It says here you have been ejected from school eight times for the whole duration of the school year..." He paused to look at me blankly, as if in disgust. "Classes resumed last month, Mr. Sloan. How had you managed to get ejected eight times?" He looked back at his paper and blabbered on nonchalantly, but I felt for no reason why I should listen. Instead, my eyes flickered to the scenery behind the tall vampire man. A young lady with a fake smile plastered on her face now occupied the counter, which had been empty earlier on. I watched her for a few moments, operating the counter with the most polite manner she could manage. I was about to look away when an old man approached the counter. He smiled at the counter lady, with wrinkles all around his eyes.

         The man looked about 65 years old, and seemed like a grandfather anyone would want to have. His thinning gray hair was ruffled and messy, as if he just rolled out of bed and came here without even bothering to brush his teeth. After he had claimed his I.D from the lady, he glanced at me, probably because he felt me looking. I instinctively looked away, but I still felt his eyes on me. I looked up at the man and nodded, as if I were actually listening. Just in time, the man was closing on his seemingly endless speech about my imperfection. "I expect for you to learn a lot here. We at Helping Hands are always open to appeal and entertain students." All this he said with a monotone voice. Who hired this guy? Entertaining people may not be the most accurate job description. "Children like you come in everyday, and we never fail to bring the best out of them. Sometimes, children just need a little-" I never found out what children need a little of because the man was halted by the sound of the door opening. He looked back as a familiar face stepped in. I forced myself to look away as the familiar wrinkled smile of the old man had appeared once again. The tall man bowed his head. "Mr. Reid, good evening. I was just lecturing this student." The old man, Mr. Reid, nodded briefly and studied my face. I felt uneasy and shuffled about in my seat.

         "Thank you Martin, but I think I can take it from here." Martin the vampire-looking man looked taken aback, but nodded nonetheless. Whoever this Mr. Reid was must be important, for Martin to just agree like that. Mr. Reid watched as Martin closed the door quietly, turning back to me at sound of the door shutting. "Well, I must say that you have great resistance, for you have endured much by listening to my old friend Martin speak at such lengths. I saw your face through the window and couldn't help but notice the look of pleading on your face, so I came right away." The old man winked, and I felt the tension on my body ease down. I brought myself to a side smile, kind of a half-smile. The old man jumped in surprise, which made me jump in my seat as well. "Oh, I am sorry for my bad manners. My name is Orion Reid, and I am the senior guidance counselor of Helping Hands." He noticed that I was incredibly silent, and decided to lead me out to a different room. "Come with me, I sense your discomfort." He led me through the modern hallways of Helping Hands and into a casual looking room that smelled of coffee and old books. It gave the feel of a detective's room in the 1800s mixed with a kid's dentist's room. The walls were cedar wood with pictures of kittens, ice cream and happy people with balloons. I guess they were supposed to be calming. "Now tell me," Mr. Reid said, "What is the cause of your problems?" Wow, what a straightforward question. I knew the answer, but I didn't want to say it. I looked down at the carpeted floor and bit my lip. It was my father, who died seven years ago in a car crash. Every time I think of it, I get so mad, because I always think of how unfair it was for him to just leave like that. Mr. Reid coughed. "To be a little less direct, what is your most distinct memory of it?" There it is again, that same memory.

         Seven years old and barely knowing how to tie my shoelaces, my father held my hand. It was a stormy night, and the rain poured endlessly. I stood outside of the building where my father worked, waiting for the bus that would take him home. I wouldn't be riding with him, because my mother would bring me home from her work. I looked up at my father's tired but handsome face as he let my hand go for a second to wipe the rainwater out of his glasses. "Daddy?" I tugged his brown coat before he took my hand again.

         "Mmm?" He said. I let out a small hiccup before asking him,

         "Why is it always traffic when it rains?" My father looked up at the sky then at the wet pavement. He was always intelligent and patient that way. "Well, I guess it's because the rain is slippery. When the rain is slippery, the cars must be careful and move slowly, otherwise there will be accidents. We don't want that now, do we, Jackie?" I smiled up and shook my head at my father as he wiped some of the rain off my face. The bus had arrived already, and my father climbed on, waving goodbye. My mother came just in time to shout at my father to buy some pizza for dinner. I clapped my hands because pizza was my favorite food. The only problem was my father never got to buy the pizza. What happened after that was a blur. There was a lot of fussing around, a lot of tears, and a lot of yelling. Ever since then, I was wounded deeply. It was like I got trapped in a box and never had the interest of getting out.

         Now here I was, telling Mr. Orion Reid about this. I had never openly talked about it because I was afraid of being called a coward for crying in memory of my father. I tried to suppress my tears as I told the story shakily. I hated the feeling because my father's face came up, a face that I was trying so hard to forget. After I told him my story, he leaned back on his leather seat and thought hard. More memories of my father came into my mind, but I pushed it away as best as I could. At this moment, Mr. Reid had already thought of some response. It wasn't what I expected, though, because he had reached under his desk and pulled out a few things. He set a paper and a few colored pencils in front of me, much to my confusion. Taking the brown pencil, Mr. Reid masterfully drew a small brown sparrow in small, quick movements. He was a great artist. "What becomes of a sparrow," Mr. Reid began slowly, "Set free for the very first time?" At this point, he picked up the gray pencil and enclosed the sparrow in a cage, careful to leave the door open. "There." He stepped back to admire his work, and I looked at it, pondering the possible explanations of this drawing.

         "Well..." My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. It must've been from being silent for too long. "I guess it's a good thing, for a sparrow to be free." Mr. Reid eyed me suspiciously, and I squirmed in my seat. Was that wrong?

         "Interesting, yes. That is correct. It is one of two correct answers. If you release a sparrow for the first time, there are two possible outcomes. The first is what you said, that the sparrow would react positively and grab that freedom he has longed for so long. He will spread his wings and fly. Other people however, often question the other, but it makes the most sense anyway. The sparrow may react negatively and opt to stay in. Why, you ask? I might just as well ask you." He noticed my uncomfortable manner and told me to ease down. "I assure you, this is not a threat. You see, here you have a sparrow that has been imprisoned for most of his life. Imagine that after so long, after years of waiting, the door has finally been opened to him. The sparrow can now be free! There will be no more tears, because freedom has already been offered. It might not make sense to you, but the sparrow can choose to stay. Now you might ask me why this sparrow chose this. The answer is simple: fear." As if for dramatic measures, Mr. Reid stayed quiet. All that could be heard was the silent tick of the clock, pulling me back to reality. "Fear is the four walls that trapped this bird, and it takes a measure of real courage to step out. I wonder if this sounds familiar to you, because it applies so much to your own life. You have been imprisoned in your own little box of fear, and you reject the possibility of getting out."

         I took some quiet consideration, but then my anger surged again. "What makes you think that you know? You act as if you understand, but you don't. You don't know what I'm feeling, so stop acting as if you do." The old man was taken aback, but he just shook his head and even smiled a little.

         "Take a look at this, Mr. Jack Sloan." Mr. Reid pulled out a small picture frame that was hiding under the huge pile of paper on the desk. He set it on the table for me to see. The picture was of a young man, about 24, wearing an orange jail suit that read Forks County Jail. The young man's unevenly shaped stubble and disheveled look showed that he barely took any baths. Despite all of the dirt and mess, I saw the man's eyes, which were brown and familiar. I looked back up to Mr. Reid in realization. He barely smiled and nodded briefly. "Yes, Mr. Sloan, that is I. Barely a college graduate, I was arrested for attempted murder and theft. Amazingly, I was released last year, and the first place I ran to was here. I wanted to help people, be a blessing, redeem all the lost time." Mr. Reid started tearing up. "I was like that sparrow, you are like that sparrow. The thing that separates us is the decision we made." I looked down for a minute, and then looked up at his face, which was full of emotion. "I chose to be free, even if I wasn't. You can be free from your own condemnation. You have a choice. Be released! Be free!" His voice echoed repetitively, getting silent.


         FORKS, WASHINGTON, PRESENT TIME.


         Everyone was there. It was embarrassing because of the huge space they took up. I smiled broadly as Mr. Wood handed me my diploma. I took it gratefully and smiled to myself. Finally, I can go and be my own person. Next for me is law school, which is tiresome, but I've already come this far. I raised my diploma high as loud cheering emanated from around the whole school building. My eyes scanned the huge crowd, and I could see my mother, my stepfather, my best friends, and finally my eyes rested on one man. In the midst of the sea of people I spotted him, smiling at me so broadly. His wrinkles grew through time, but it was still the same man. I smiled. It was Mr. Orion Reid.