AYJW

Parrot Trick Training

Poicephalus

Parrot Forum

It was by accident that he first met her.  He had gone to the local café for a drink, she had come in from the rain.  It wasn’t one of those moments where all the world narrowed down and he could only focus on her; instead, life went on as usual, with the sounds and smells of a run-down diner still playing in his head as he watched her find a seat at the counter several places down from his.

If he were the chivalrous sort, he would have offered his jacket.  If he were a hopeless romantic, he would have put destiny to the test and sat closer.  If he were looking to score, he would have bought her coffee, with promises of more whispered delicately in her ear as he swept the wet tendrils of hair from her neck.

Instead, he contented himself with watching her, the way her long fingers played with the rim of the thick ceramic mug, the way her eyes remained cast downward, as if she were afraid of the world, afraid of people’s gaze.  He observed as she nervously ran her fingers through her wet hair, the color of the sun, and the way she would stop and scratch at the back of her head, chancing a quick look around, her keen blue eyes piercing from inside the sunken, darkened rims above her prominent cheekbones.  He noticed the bruise on her chin, the way she favored her right hand, the way the left hand remained cradled near her chest, noticed the tear running down her cheek that others might have seen as just another droplet of water.

He watched as she scrounged in her bag for change, offered a weary smile to the waitress, and gathered her thin coat around her again before she stood.  And he watched himself, seemingly from a distance, as he himself stood, placed a handful of bills on the counter and followed her, his eyes catching the movement of her hips, the way her body seemed to turn inwards on itself, afraid of contact, afraid.

He didn’t follow her, didn’t feel the need to.  He leaned against a telephone pole, seemingly oblivious to the pounding, merciless rain, his dark eyes gazing at her, past her, as she broke into a run, chasing a thought or running from one, he couldn’t tell.  When the rain swallowed her up, he seemed to jolt out of his daze, pulling his hood up over his dripping curly hair as he headed back towards his car, back towards his life, backing away from this sudden appearance that would change things forever.

**********

He had no idea she was there.  He didn’t realize it until she stopped in front of his desk on the way out at the end of his lecture, three weeks into the school year.  He didn’t realize until she cleared her throat and he lifted his head from his briefcase.  He wouldn’t have recognized her.  

He didn’t categorize beauty.  He didn’t feel the need to define a woman as hot or sexy, nor did he need to define love in those terms.  But when he was presented with her appearance, the word beauty was the first that popped into his head, not just because of her long shapely legs, her lush lips or her golden-red hair, or any other matter of her physical appearance; it was her eyes.  Those same eyes that had stared out from the shadows on her face that day so long ago in the diner now bore into his with such intensity that he had to take a step back, had to look away to regroup.

And when she began speaking to him, he frowned, wondering why a woman like that would ever be talking to him.  He had to stop her with his hand, cock his head and find his voice in order to ask her to repeat herself.  

He had to think hard as she spoke, had to remember the basic rules of human conversation.  Answer her questions, nod and agree, shake his head, nod again, concentrate on not staring at her lips, concentrate on her words instead of the ones that seemed to be shooting through his head a million miles per second.  For once in his life, he found himself entranced by a rare beauty, and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her captivating eyes.  The sound of her voice mesmerized him, and he brought himself back to the conversation in time to say goodbye to her, having no clue what had gone on.  He absorbed her grateful smile and grinned idiotically back, watching as she opened the door to the dark auditorium, the light from the outside hallway illuminating her silhouette momentarily before it swung closed.

**********

Why any woman, particularly her, could ever entrance him so much was beyond him.  He found himself staring at her in class, losing his train of thought … and loving every moment of it.  But when the doorbell rang at midnight one night, she was the last person he expected to see.

He opened the door to find her sitting on his porch, a cigarette dangling from her hand.  “Catherine?” he asked, incredulously.

She merely glanced up at him before dropping her head back onto her hand and drawing a long drag from her smoke.

He was bewildered, never having encountered anything remotely like this.  But when she halfheartedly turned and vomited onto his walkway, he automatically found her head and held back her ragged hair as she retched again.  Then, he pulled her up and guided her into his home, helping her to sit on the couch.  He found his own seat across from her and waited.

In the dim lamplight that filtered lazily through his blinds, he could see the bruise around her eye, the redness around her nose, the way she seemed to shake, unable to sit still.

“Catherine?” he whispered again.

Her eyes met his, the dead look in them striking him more than her haggard appearance ever could.  She simply shook her head, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, shining in the glow of the street lights.  

His body again reacted without rational thought as he found himself on the couch next to her, enveloping this perfect stranger that he had known forever in his arms.  He listened to her sobbing confessions about her life, about the man at home that beat her, about the drugs he gave her, about the money she didn’t have, about the job she didn’t want, about the abuse she didn’t need.  All the while, he sat, stroking her back, rocking her, knowing it was wrong but ignoring it because it felt so right.  

And when her lips caressed the skin just below his ear, he knew he should pull away, knew she wasn’t in any state to be making decisions, knew that she just wanted to feel.  But for the first time in his life, he was consumed with need, with lust, and with another emotion he wouldn’t identify until later as love.  For one instant, all his insecurities melted away, and he bore his soul to her.  Instead of being logical, like he always had, he let his own mouth meet hers, ignoring the taste of alcohol and vomit, pushing past those barriers, obstacles, reality, until he could taste her.  It was a taste he longed for, he craved, and one that seemed so right that he wanted to devour her, to rid her of pain and make her feel beautiful.

**********

And every time, she would disentangle herself from his arms, tiptoe from his room and go home to her boyfriend, and every time he woke up feeling a little worse.  Every time, he would try to convince her to leave him, that Eddie was no good for her, and every time the conversation arose, she would deny it, stating that Eddie loved her more than anything, that they were going through a rough spell, and how dare you question his love for me.  It usually ended with her leaving, and coming back later that evening with another black eye or sprained wrist.  And every time he would kiss her gently wherever Eddie’s hand had marked her and whisper into her hair that it was going to get better.  Every time he would pretend she was his as she wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him on.

It was a vicious cycle.  She would come to him, make love to him, and go home, where Eddie would accuse her of cheating, slap her around, and send her back to him.  And he would wait for her.  

He walked by her house at least once a week, hoping to find her sitting on the front step like she always did after a fight, smoking that one last cigarette before she quit, or coming down from that last high before she left him.  He walked by her house and saw her and Eddie through the window, arguing, fighting, kissing, yelling.  He walked by her house and saw Eddie with a brunette, Eddie with a blond, Eddie with a redhead.  He walked by her house and took her home, waited on the corner in the rain while she shouted her final farewell to Eddie. He waited on the corner while she ran back to him.

Somehow, every time, she convinced herself it was the end, it was over, and convinced him of it, as well.  She managed to forget, just for a moment, that she never could leave Eddie, and he managed to forget, just for a while, that she wasn’t his.

And when she became pregnant, she told him sadly that Eddie had proposed, that Eddie had apologized, that Eddie had promised never to hurt her again.  And he told her sadly that he was happy for her, that he wished her the best, and that she could call anytime she needed to talk.  He didn’t tell her that he had seen Ed with the other women.  He didn't tell her that he loved her.  He didn't say a word.

**********

When the doorbell rang at midnight one night, she was the last person he expected to see.  She cried out and collapsed in his arms, screaming her sorrow into his shirt, begging him for help.  He pulled her inside, the light in his living room showing the bruises and scrapes, the split lip, the six-month-old baby staring up at him from her stroller.  He hugged her like he had before, willing the pain away, waiting for her to tell him what she needed.

And with her lips on his neck, she told him.