During my second year of high school, we moved into a more rural area of the big city. I loved it for the wildlife. My siblings hated it for the smell and cramped spaces. Regardless, one day while I was getting ready for school, I heard a loud clatter, then a “whump, whump” at the door, almost as if someone had crashed into the glass and decided to knock as an afterthought. Terrified, I considered calling my mother at work, then shook the thought off. My mom worked 30 minutes away. By that time, whoever was outside the door would be gone. But what if it was someone who needed help? Straightening my spine, I opened the door and shouted, “Hello?” After a glance around, I only found an old man walking his dog. I was about to ask if he had knocked when a caw/groan directed my gaze down. A large, crow-like bird lay on the ground, stunned. I quickly picked up the bird and set it in the chair next to the door. The old man stopped, commented that the poor bird saw his reflection and dive-bombed, shook his head, and kept walking.
The bird lay on the seat, still dazed and staring as though I held the secrets of the cosmos. Fifteen-year-old me, believing that it was too terrified of me to move, ducked back inside the house to see if it would fly away. Eventually, it came to and took off. That day I missed the bus, but even now I still feel it was worth it.
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