Mr. Lincoln Was A Robot

    “I think I’ll fly down to Florida, and try to get a job at Disney. If I do, I’ll come back and get my stuff and bring it down.” It happened so fast. It was almost defeatist talk really, but it rolled off my tongue. I don’t know why I said it or how I could formulate the words. It wasn’t in my make-up at all to ponder such a daring move. Surprised at myself, there was no expectation about an answer. I wasn’t even looking up when making the casual comment. “Why don’t you go down there, and give it a year? If it doesn’t work out you can always come back.” With ever so delicate emotion, mother had replied without restraint as she slowly took something out or put something in the cupboard. Wasting no time thinking it through, or giving in to the implications of her answer, selfish lust drove me. Leaping to my feet I accepted whole heartedly. I failed to see or maybe refused to acknowledge the obvious difficulty she had mustering those words: Or the obvious difficulty in carrying this out. I mean, how could she even suggest? How could she consider? But there she was offering the invitation of a lifetime. The chain locked door I’d patiently waited years for someone to come by and open for me, was blown off its hinges in mere seconds by the same woman who for the first eight years of its run, was my religious viewing partner every Sunday night during Angela Lansbury’s “Murder, She Wrote.” How could she give me up? Too shocked to think of the significance of this proposal, or the execution, and too scared I’d heard incorrectly, I acted quickly to avoid the deal being retracted. If I questioned it, or gave it one extra second of doubt, mother may have back peddled. She could have convinced me to stay easily. Her presence in my life was always honored and loved. She respected me and counted on me to be there when the pressure was on; and life was a pressure cooker at this point. I owed it to her to stay. But she was letting me go, and lucky for me I neither questioned nor gave room for an extra second of doubt. With disbelief but awesome gratitude I hugged her while stuttering to agree unquestionably to her suggestion. My heart pounded and refreshing anticipation returned vivid color and vitality to the dull gray exterior plaguing me of late. The best Christmas present ever, and some assembly was required. I planned feverishly. Returning to school for the next semester after the holidays was no longer of interest and first to go. With that out of the way, scheduling departure dates and termination of my job took precedence. Putting this mission into affect enveloped me. I ran out of the kitchen toward my room, leaving my mother to wallow in her brave, but likely devastating decision.                                                                                                                                                                                                     In some western state, dry and bright with faded yellow and orange hues, I drove in silence. Everyone else was sleeping. It was early, and I took in the quiet highway twisting through towering desert buttes and flat arid landscapes. BAM! I took out a bird. A scream burst from my lungs, short and loud. Leah woke up suddenly to see me, still driving, but visibly upset. She questioned me, and I regrettably filled her in. Two birds, large black ones, swooped down from behind the high rocks obscuring them. Their low arch brought them instantly in front of my car, but it was too late to slow down. The first, spread eagle, slapped my windshield, neck twisted by the force I too felt through me. Just at that moment, the second bird, the one who was following swooped up in time and continued on course. I had killed a bird. “Are you okay?” Leah asked feeling my pain. “I guess so, but I feel so bad. I wished I killed the other one.” It sounded horrific, but I knew what I meant. Here in this vast, open and seemingly lonely environment, were two birds flying in tandem. I took ones life, and the other would surely investigate the carnage, and suffer as it went off on its own. If I was to kill one, I wish it could have been both as the thought of the lonely companion haunted me for miles.