Sunday, November 11, 2018

mockingbird

june 3 2008
June 3 2008
Oscar ran out again this morning. I went out calling for him for a few hours before giving up, he always comes back eventually. He didn’t show up until later, emerging from under my bed. I guess he must have snuck back in when I wasn’t paying attention. He hopped up on the bed and dropped something in front of me that he was carrying in his mouth. A dead mockingbird. He let out a single meow and stared at me with those big marble eyes of his, almost seeming like he was sensing my distress and trying to help me out somehow. I gave him some extra thorough rubs and took the dead bird outside. I dug a shallow grave for the bird in the garden with a trowel and buried it. Something about the black of that bird’s eyes brought me back to last month at Noah’s house. It reminded me of the dark complexion of Firebrand, the glints of light reflecting off of the bird’s eyes were like the pinholes of white that were in place of his eyes. I had turned my phone off after getting back home. The only calls I was getting at that point were only telemarketers and I had to disconnect from Noah, so I felt it was best as I barely even used the phone as it was. But, the question of whether Noah had forgotten what had happened or not had been burning in my mind ever since I got off the plane. My curiosity ended up getting the best of me and I turned the phone back on to see if he had messaged me. Like popcorn, a barrage of notifications chimed in. They were all from Noah. 12 messages. Every single one was painful. “Hope you got home safe, great to see you again!” “did you land yet? lmk when you touch down” “Milo! Next time you visit let’s have a Lord of the Rings marathon!” He didn’t remember anything. It was hard reading a one sided conversation from your best friend, but it was the last few messages that really made me violently shift my mental gears.
june 3 2008
“Hey, I know you’re probably really busy but my mom told me that your mom tried to kill my dad.” What the fuck? “A pecan pie got dropped off at his office on his birthday and he’s deathly allergic.” “My mom thinks Mary sent it” “Do you know if your mom sent it?” I was appalled. I have no proof to back it up and I have no idea of a legitimate motive, but I’m sure that she’s behind it somehow. Speaking of proof, I had to put all that on the backburner because today was the day of my appointment with Dr. Garner. I had converted the footage of Noah encountering Mr. Slim at the playground to a video file along with those photos from my phone and put it all onto a flash drive. Overcome with the same familiar ambivalence that I felt last month, I walked into her office unsure of how this was going to go. We had a standard discussion about my progress and at the end of the session I used my trip to Florida to segue into bringing up my evidence. Instead of going all out and describing what in detail, I simply told her that I had something interesting that I wanted her honest opinion on and gave her the flash drive. She plugged it into her computer and when the file window popped up I said that my cousin had shot these and I wanted her take on what she saw in them. She first clicked through the blurry shots of Mr. Slim. “Just blurry splotches. Is this your idea of a Rorschach test?” she remarked with a sarcastic chuckle. I said it was more like a Where’s Waldo test of sorts and hold her to watch the video file. At first she seemed pretty confused watching corrupted footage of a playground at night. Even when the full body shot of Mr. Slim appeared on screen, she just
june 3 2008
stared blankly like the obvious visual of a figure was invisible. “Well, I didn’t see Waldo. What am I supposed to be looking for?” she asked. “Did you see the suit?” I said, which was followed by a puzzled look from Garner. “No? All I can make out is just this playground filmed at night.” “Well, he was telling me that he was seeing someone in a suit and I figured, since you have some experience explaining these kinds of things I thought you could help me make sense of what we’re seeing.” She replayed the video and asked where I thought I saw anything. “There,” I pointed, right as the close up of Mr. Slim’s tie came on screen. She was silent, then, “I...” I held my breath. “...I have another patient waiting. I’ll take another look at this and get back to you next visit, okay?” Something felt a little off about her tone. As I left the building, I noticed that there was no one in the waiting room. I went around the back and peeked through a small gap in her blinds. She was watching the video again. She watched it several times on repeat. My heart was beating so loud I was almost afraid that she would hear it and turn around. Then there was a car horn. John was in the parking lot, waving at me. I jumped in the car and we sped off. He sternly asked what I was doing and I told him I was checking out someone inside who looked just like my old boss. He came off more irritated than usual, Mom had forgotten to get groceries and he had to do the shopping and cooking since she was bogged down with work. When we got home, Oscar bolted past us from the back yard into the house. I asked how long he had been outside again but John had no idea that he had even gotten out again. During dinner, I had this bubbling of
june 3 2008
confidence inside. I figured that Garner would no doubt see Slim eventually and finally back up my claims. Mom and John were getting into a heated argument about the upcoming presidential election. Mom kept throwing out falsities and ad hominems while John was trying his best to stay level headed. Regardless, he was becoming more and more upset, remarking about how the fresh catch was sold out at the seafood market and that the fish he bought was rotted because of this putrid smell. Amongst the yelling, I felt the sensation creep up. Glancing out the window, I saw Slim standing by the tree. My newly found confidence forced my hand and I couldn’t help myself. “Hey,” I interjected, “check out that beautiful mockingbird!” Mom turned her head to the window and screamed, nearly falling out of her chair. “What’s wrong?” John was shouting, but she was in hysterics. “Isn’t it pretty, Mom?” I teased. She glowered at me in fear from the glassiest tear laden eyes and locked herself in her room. It felt so gratifying to see her in terror for a change. John was panicking, “What did you do to her, Milo? What the fuck did you do?” and I put my hands up and said, “Some people just can’t handle politics, I guess.” As John banged on her door to let him in, I wrote a message on a napkin and slipped it into her purse. “There was no bird.” I scurried into my room, giddy with power. And then I noticed the smell. It wasn’t the fish. Oscar was sitting on my bed, staring at me, something in his mouth. He dropped it with a weak meow and licked his chops, not breaking eye contact. He had dug up the dead mockingbird. In an instant, all of my morale had turned into insecurity. I opened the window and threw the bird out. This is a bad omen. I began sinking in this quicksand of doubt. What if Garner doesn’t see anything and doesn’t back me up? What if this stunt that I just pulled with Mom went too far and I have no recourse? What if she knows I’m awake now and calls for backup? What if they take me and th    John is shouting for me. He’s demanding that we all finish dinner now. He is very angry.