Sparrows.
The leaves on the branch twitched with life. A small bird, no bigger than a pocket-watch, had perched there, his claws wrapped tightly around the coarse bark. His two, small, beady eyes scanned his surroundings, checking to see if any predators were watching. Whatever he was doing, he couldn't risk hunters knowing. All he saw was me, sitting on the park bench, staring back at him. He studied me briefly: a woman in her thirties, hair stretched into a tight ponytail, clothes dark and formal to comply with a dress code. In my hand was a small mobile phone that had vibrated moments ago but was now dormant in the shadow of my fear. I had been too afraid to read the message I received because I knew who it was from.
Sensing my trepidation, the sparrow chirped - a squeak of a shoe slipping on linoleum- before continuing on his way. He bounced across the trees limb to a cluster of dried leaves and twigs. Inside nested his wife, who had her feathers fluffed to keep a few tiny eggs warm. She looked comfortable amongst her offspring. It was a feeling I could not share with her as I didn't have children. The thought of bringing another life into the arms of a relationship deprived of any loving emotion made me wince.
Eyes embedded on the scene in the trees, I noticed that the father bird was looking at his wife with pride. She looked at him with compassion. Together, the pair looked harmonious, as though they were more than prepared to dedicate the rest of their lives to one another. If one was to fly away the other would be right behind. I didn't share a relationship like that with my husband. I never looked at him with love anymore. I barely looked at him at all. I was too afraid of what I might see in his eyes; hunger and rage. Before we were married it wasn't like that. Things were different. We were in love, or thought we were. Maybe we hoped we were. Either way, both of us were so 'in love' that our true needs were numbed and all we could think about was getting married. After three months of casual dating, he proposed to me, and like a fool, I said yes.
Things have changed between Mark and me now. Our love was merely a rubber glove that had begun to snap and tear beyond repair. That's why I enjoy sitting in the park by myself, staring at sparrows.
A buzzing in my hand indicated I had received another text. At first I thought it was a bee on my finger. I jumped, heart leaping out of my chest and a squeal escaped my lips. That sent the sparrows into distress and they chirped at me gingerly. But when I noticed the screen to my mobile light up with 'New Message from Mark', my muscles calmed and my pulse became regular again. The birds were relieved that I wasn't going to lunge at their nest, and they returned to their conversation. Without a moments thought, I pressed the little green button on my phone and mark's message appeared on the screen.
"Where the hell are you?" it said.
I clicked the reply button and began to write.
"I'm at the park."
But I stopped. My fingers hovered over the keypad. I looked up from the screen and back to the sparrows. The husband was grooming the wife, searching for imperfections in her cloud-like feathers. She had her eyes closed and I watched, wondering if she was getting a little birdy massage. The look of comfort radiated from her.
Studying the birds, I began to think of what to write to Mark. "I'm at the park" seemed too open ended. I didn't want it to seem as though I were to go home soon. I wanted something more definate. I erased my previous sentence and, in flurry of excitement and anxiety, I wrote one word.
"Gone."
That was all I needed.
The husband sparrow and his wife and their tiny little pearl eggs were a picture perfect sight. A real family. Happy with who they had to turn to, and content with staying in that little nest in the oak tree at the edge of the park. I had never felt like that. It seemed that I would be the one who would fly away.
