Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather

The constant vibration of the street car gyrated Corry Gavin’s innards. The invisible undertow affirmed the superstitious sleuth's personal mantra: It’s what’s on the inside that matters most. Cory believed this magnanimous understanding empowered him in the same way the principle of lift enabled birds to soar through the sky. Passing Lafayette Square he observed the noon-day crowd: tall, short, thin, fat, and those like him, the malformed.

She sounded desperate on the phone, thought Cory, checking his wristwatch. It’s been almost an hour. Cory hoped it wasn’t too late to help a ghost from his past. He dismissed a teenager’s gawking stares and scanned the Garden District for a good omen. While visualizing where the hysterical woman said her twelve year old daughter, Krystal, had last been seen—the ear-shaped lagoon in Audubon Park—Cory remembered the first and only time he met Gabriella Snow.


After receiving a meager serving of beans and rice, Gabriella’s laconic “Thank you” brought a weary but sympatric smile to Cory’s face.

“I’ve served over a five-hundred meals today,” he'd said. “If you’d get here earlier, the selection would be more to your liking.”

“To be honest,” replied Gabriella, pulling her dark hair to hide the stress circles under her eyes, “it’s getting too difficult for me to come outdoors. The storm surge was . . . well, if not for a brave Samaritan, Katrina would have surely drowned me. It took my husband.”

Cory considered her life-altering ordeal and the possible consequences. “I could pick you up tomorrow on my way here. I’m harmless, not the monster that I appear.”

“I didn’t mean to stare,” said Gabriella, lowering her eyes.

“No harm done. I joke that my high forehead and tiny legs make me cute, but, believe me, I know my birth defects make uncomfortable voyeurs of most folks.”

Gabriella’s dark eyes widened. “I wasn’t staring because of some sordid fascination. You have the reddest hair and brightest blue eyes. Anyway, I must decline your kind offer. The world is closing in on me. But if I’m ever in the need of a private-eye, may I call you?”

Cory shook his head and pushed his oversized eyeglasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Community volunteers are such gossips. I only take on —“

“Lost causes,” she said quickly. “No no, your colleagues are innocent. I’ve read how you help those who have lost hope and have nowhere else to turn . . .about your superstitious and unconventional methods . . . and your unfortunate childhood. You’re exactly the kind of person I would want on my case.”

“You’ve seen enough trouble for a lifetime,” replied Cory. “Hopefully you’ll never have need of my service and, more importantly, won’t allow this tragedy to hijack your life. Mademoiselle, the strength to overcome the most horrendous of events resides inside all of us. Keep your eye on what’s most important to you.”

The streetcar’s sudden jolt brought Cory’s focus back to a pair of Monk parakeets that were fluttering about a magnificent row of magnolia trees and azaleas. Cory believed a successful outcome depended entirely on his ability to follow the signs, no matter how seemingly random, vague or inconsistent. Cory awkwardly hopped off the streetcar at the park's entrance and wobbled like a penguin.

“Excuse me. Have you all seen a teenage girl, a thirteen-year-old, with long, dark hair?”

A round-faced young lady carrying a Tulane University book bag answered, “No, huh uh.” The gaped mouths of her friends were painfully obvious as they closed ranks; the Delta humidity smothered Cory like the disappointing experiences of his childhood. “We should be getting along,” one girl whispered, motioning the others.

“Listen,” pleaded Cory, “this girl may have been abducted. Have you seen anything out of the ordinary? She might be with an older man.”

“Nothing other than the huge crowd,” replied the round-faced girl. “IThere's a new exhibition at the zoo.”

Cory gave her a reassuring nod, wiped perspiration from his forehead, and lumbered on. He scrutinized every person, and everything, he came across on the way to the lagoon. Nothing registered, other than Gabriella’s terrible ordeal with the rushing waters of Katrina. According to Gabriella, Krystal was never late coming home, and a friend reported seeing her in the park with an older man. A squawking seagull flying south triggered what Cory called his "Inner Mojo": From a an early he had interacted with the world differently than other children, believing everything was connected, and that everything--human emotion, animals, and inanimate objects alike--if studied with an open mind, would allow him unique insight into the natural world. After years of honing this pracice he developed an incanny sense of perceptiion, as well as a superstitious nature.

Cory spotted a beggar. His hair resembled Albert Einstein's. Even though the flow of traffic was several yards away from the disheveled, timid panhandler, he remained in one spot and debated with himself the pros and cons of his sitution. A small dog, with a simillar hairstyle, happily ignored the panhandler's ridiculous ruminations and annoyed passers-by.

Cory dropped five dollars in the beggar’s bucket. “Most of the crowd is passing you by, friend. Maybe you should change locations and keep your dog under control.”

“It seems fate chooses my spot and I have little say after that," said the beggar, "stuck in reality, grounded so to speak. It’s difficult to explain, of course. I never thought I’d end up homeless or saddled with what must be a compulsive disorder. Having once been a professor, i never thought I'd end up homeless nor have my wings clipped with a compuslsive disorder. My rambunctious canine assistant isn’t really a bad chap, though. He just doesn't understand my unfortunate peculiarities. Understanding one another is the key, wouldn't you agree?"

Cory nodded and flipped open his phone and rang Gabriella. After several pointed questions, she reluctantly confessed the depth of her agoraphobia, and that she and Kristal were at odds over her blossoming independence. Cory took a deep breath. “Didn’t you think this information might be helpful to me?”

“I was ashamed,” admitted Gabriella. “The outdoors, and especially water, terrifies me. I don't need to tell you how dangerous the world is. Krystal is growing up so fast. If only I would have heeded your admonition that day in the food line. I’ve been much too controlling of Kristal and ignored her needs. I’ve ruined everything, Mr. Gavin. I don't think I'm capable of fixing things.”

“Gabriella, If I bring your daughter home, you can do what needs to be done. I know you can.”

Cory crossed Magazine Street and thought of A Love Song for Bobby Long, knowing the movie had been adapted from a novel, Off Magazine Street, which focused on a group of unfortunate characters suffering life’s harsh, unforgiving realities. Problems are always magnified for those who are most vulnerable, thought Cory, struggling through the teeming crowd.

Fixteen pelicans soaring effortlessly, all in a row, moved Cory forward as quickly as his tiny legs could muster. Distracted sightseers slowed his progress, but not his finely tuned intuition. Cory knew the ramification of a wrong decision and that every minute was critical in an abduction, but abandoned the idea and followed his Inner Mojo. Like always, he knew this pivotal moment would either validate or reject his modus operandi. After paying the zoo's entrance fee the signs led him to his destination.

Spanish Moss from huge live oaks hung over Krystal like a canopy in the rain forest; a line of nature lovers and future ornithologists stood patiently outside the red-roofed attraction. Kristal sat at a fountain, distaught and frazzled, like a wounded bird caught in a storm.

“Life is random,” said Cory, touching her shoulder. The start jerked her head.

‘Who are you?”

“Your mother sent me, Krystal. The only control we have over life is how we react to it. I understand what you’re going through.”

“How could you possibly understand?”

“Look at my face," said Cory, leaning closer and making eye contact. "My mother was given a drug that killed her when I was born--it left me deformed. I felt helpless helpless a long time. I wanted to give up. Believe me you’ll regret running away, like your mother regrets all the pain that she didn’t ask for, and how you’ve suffered because of it. She’s so sorry. You’ve already lost your father. Let’s go home.”

Krystal grasped Cory’s hand and tears pooled in her dark eyes. “You wouldn’t beIieve what I’ve been through . . .I just want Mama to get better.”

“Of course you do,” said Cory, helping her up. “I believe you have the inner strength to give your mother a second chance. If you do she’ll surprise you.”

"I've tried," mumbled Kristal, "but nothing ever changes. It just gets worse."

"Don't underestimate a mother's love. One day it will be time for you to leave the nest, but the decision you make right now will change your life forever. Think how far you've come already.

Cory and Krystal made their way back through the park as raindrops began to fall. The greenery along the path welcomed the afternoon showers, as did a woman sitting at the lagoon, softly crying, with her feet in the water.

Krystal sprinted to her mother's side. “Mama, I can’t fathom it! How is this possible?’

“I almost lost the most important person in my life made it happen, sweetie. And the fact that someone I met only once cared enough to help. It’s all going to be different from now on, I promise. We're going to make it. Cory Gavin believes in us. Where is he?”

“He was right behind me, Mama. He’s strange—really strange.”

“He’s different all right," said Gabriella, smothering Kristal with kisses. “Gory Gavin has dedicated his life to help those that others can’t or won’t understand. he has a unique understanding."

"Were did you meet him, Mama?"

"I met him where people who have similiar needs, who are like one another, come together."

At the tip of the lagoon Cory watched a mallard protecting one of her ducklings, struggling with a broken wing. He looked up at the sky, smiled, and then lumbered off.





If you want to read more about Cory Gavin click below:

ID: 1461608   (Rated: 13+) Two Sides of a Coin  Superstitious private eye solves a case. by Coolhand