The Birdcatch
Every so often, a bird fell from the sky. Bird! someone would shout, and when it was your turn, you ran across the sand and caught it, just like you had practiced. Once you caught it, that was it—you were safe. You could move forward with your life. But if you failed to catch it, if the bird bounced or wriggled from your grasp, there was no going back to the way life was before you dropped it. So you couldn’t drop it. You had only one chance.
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In school, you practiced alongside your peers who were better than you at catching birds. These birds weren’t real, of course. They were mock-ups designed to be slippery, heavy, and mad. It made sense to your peers. Many of them longed for a bird like that to one day grace their open arms! They thought it would make them appear tough and successful.
Throughout your youth, you wondered what kind of bird was coming for you.
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The morning of the birdcatch, your mother's hands were on fire, great flames lashing forth from each palm. She batted them against her apron while your father gave you a pep talk. “Whatever you do,” he said, lowering his voice, “don’t drop it.” His face broke like a plate, and he howled until his howling filled every corner of the house. He was kidding, slapped you on the back, which made your knees buckle. “But really, don’t you dare drop it.”
Your mother pulled her hands out of a sink of ice water and dried them on Scarlett, the family’s no-shed, allergen-free, gluten-free dog. She popped a bagel in the toaster for you, explaining, stuttering, that that’s what she had had — before she — when she — the catch — back when — she had — your age — it was —
She brushed her hair back. Breathed deep. "The carbohydrates will help.”
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The day was sunny, but you had prepared for sunny. Also, hazy and wet. There was nothing you had not prepared for, except what you had not prepared for, which you could not know.
You watched your peers race into the sun along the shoreline. You watched them scoop up large angry birds in their tired baby arms. Coastal birds and corporate birds. Birds with tiny waists and fat pensions. Birds unaware that they were even birds. Bird! someone shouted, and like everyone, you looked to see whose turn it was, only to find everyone looking at you.
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On the hill past the bleachers, you spotted a band of birdless wanderers. They were the exact kind you had been warned about every hour of your life. Funny how you’d never actually seen them before. They must have come down especially for the birdcatch. But they appeared to be leaving now. Across the dune, they carried a living, full of distant music.
You watched the bird plummet through the sky like a train. When it was almost to the sand, you wondered when you might move. Everyone screamed at you. If you might move.
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