The Way Things Are

Oh, it was a perfect day. It was warm and bright, and the sky was devoid of clues, a sea of blue. The little birds in the air made patterns as they flew, zooming around each other, weaving in and out of the trees. Something soft was in the wind today, something warm and catching. It tumbled the grass and flowers. But the light that gave the day its wings, it could not help me, nor give any levity to the heaviness that bore me down. But it was beautiful, I had to agree, a picture. Tall buildings looked over the green lawn, beautifully built, well implemented. The lovely campus that I called home. I had a couple minutes until my next class. But I liked this one. It was not my favorite, but I liked it. Psychology. It was interesting enough, and we got to do a lot of discussion about ourselves. Well, not me. No, I don’t like to talk about myself. Not usually.
The class was noisy, at least until Dr. Kirkland walked in. He always had a way for the theatrical. As he paced in front quieting students, he pulled at his purple tie. His glasses hung on the end of his nose, and he was nearly cross-eyed.
“Well, I hope you all told some really deep secrets… that way none of you will ever talk about it again in this classroom unless it directly relates to the discussion…” he looked us over with a bemused eye.
The students stared up at him with gray faces.
“I’m kidding… who forgot to put sunshine in your cheerios this morning?”
He skipped over to his desk.
“Today…drumroll please,” someone tapped a pencil on their seat, “we will be studying…”
He wrote something resembling a moon clad in a nightgown.
“…Dreams.”
We all faked excitement with loud gasps and shrieks.
“Yes! Yes! You should all be actors!”
“But, as you all know, today is textual day. Our discussion won’t be until next class. So, you can all go ahead and get out your books, and turn to page 215. I want you to read, uh… to the second blue title, and we’ll have questions, and continue on. So, get started.”
It wasn’t absolutely boring, but I hated these days. He would only answer technical questions on Text days. At least I had something to look forward to tomorrow. Everybody watched the clock, even the professor. The room was silent. The boring kind. Every cough, or page turned, or water sipped sharply resonated in the room. Dr. Kirkland looked over his book loathingly. He got so bored he began to doodle stick figures on the white board. Poor man. He was more bored than we were.
It felt like a giant breath after being underwater when the bell rang. We filed out of there like cattle.
I got to my apartment, and I had never been so happy to see it. I plopped down on the ugly couch, and slipped off my shoes. I groaned as I let my head sink down into the cushions. I inhaled the febreeze and musty smell that loomed within the couch. I coughed a little. I heard Pocco, my rainbow Macaw, calling me in the bedrrom.
“Hello,” he said, “are you going to eat me?”
I taught him that. Got me every time.
“What is there to eat?”
“Uh-oh… bye-bye to me…” he said. I loved that parrot.
I slugged over to my refrigerator. I eased open the door.
“Yummy… water and lettuce…”
I looked around the apartment, and gave it an air hug.
“Looks like I’m going out, huh?”
I didn’t really want to. Then the fatigue I felt in my bones was shut the fucked up by my growling stomach.
“Yeah, yeah, you win… asshole.”
The only thing I could afford was McDonalds dollar menu. So, I got three McDoubles. I still couldn’t believe that the only difference between a McDouble and a double cheeseburger was a slice of cheese. I wonder how many people pay that 30 cents extra for a fucking piece of cheese. 
Lights shimmered past me on the road. Music waved beyond my window, the wind whipping with it, distorting it. The city air was dense with the smell of gas and cooking food. I took a bite into my burger, and grease rolled down my throat.
“Ahhhhh…”
It was time for some Zeppelin. I opened the little console beside my seat, pulled out the top CD, popped it in the player, and turned the dial that let the music roar. I sang along with Babe, I’m gonna leave you. It was one of my favorite Zeppelin songs.
“Leave you in the summertime… leave you when the summer comes a rolling… yeah…”
But I heard something, a lyric I had never heard before.
“ knowing everything… it messes with your head….”
It totally messed up my perfect music roll.
I hit the rewind button, and all I could hear was static. I kept hitting it, almost swerving into another car, who’s lights nearly blinded me. They blared their horn, and I steered out of the way, still rewinding the tape.
“Is that a part of the song?”
I really wanted to know. I hit rewind one more time, and the CD stopped playing entirely. In fact, as I was beginning to give up, the disk shot out of the player, smashing against the back windshield.
“Shit! Shit!”
I pumped the breaks, almost pushing them to the floor, but I remembered I wasn’t in any danger. Just a reflex, I guess. My heart beat against my chest. I realized I had dropped my cheeseburger on the console. I picked up, and tossed it out the window. I couldn’t understand why I was shaken up so bad. I had a feeling, something terrible, like I was about to die. I looked at my hand, and it was shaking.
I got home, and lolled up the stairs. A cold air caught me as I opened the door to my apartment, and it was dark. The fan sent soft little wisps in the room, the chains jingling unnervingly. I went over and pulled on the chain to stop the fan. My hand was still shaking.
“No greeting, then, Pocco?”
He didn’t even squawk.
“Pocco? Come on, buddy?”
I walked into my boring bedroom (It was small, white, with a grey twin bed, and a small dresser where I put Pocco’s cage.). A silvery-blue light came in from the window, giving the room a watery feel. I looked into Pocco’s cage. There on the bottom, with dropped food and feces, was a bundle of bright and colorful feathers. My eyes filled with tears. He was a perfectly healthy bird. Damn it, Pocco. Damn it. I reached into his cage, and picked up his cold little body. I put him close to my chest for a minute, just holding him there. He didn’t move. It was a blind hope. I opened both my hands, and laid him across them like a coroner’s table. I looked him over for any visible signs of distress. I found two. His beak was chipped, right at the tip. The curled talons on the end of his feet were chipped, too. I looked at his cage, and I could see scratches and chips on the bars, he even left a hole in one of them. Some of his missing feathers still floated, little pieces of a rainbow, in his cage. I wrapped him up in toilet paper, and buried him in the tiny plot of grass in front of the complex. I had to dig the hole with a spoon. After I was finished, I laid some of his father’s on top of his grave.
“Damn it, Pocco.”