Zach El-Tayyeb September 20, 2013 English Red Call to the Feathers The chilling air holds onto my feet as I emerge from my bed on a cool Saturday morning. I pull the shades up and let the beams of light inside. I gaze out the door, silence; just the way I’m used to as an only child. My feet twitch as I step down the ancient wooden stairs. I take in the symphony of creaks down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Now that my dad is back from overseas, he says he would replace the worn-out wood with hardwood. I pour half a glass of cold water from the tap to wake me up. On my way to the TV room I hear chatter coming from outside. Not wanting to interrupt, I put my ear to the glass and my ears shutter. I can faintly make out, “Good job, you guys are making progress.” My dad praises in a whispered tone. Convinced I’m not crazy, I walk outside to the front porch where my dad, wearing an army shirt is tossing bread to a cluster of cardinals and baby birds. The cardinals embellish their radiant feathers and carrot beaks. My dad notices me and purses his lips with a finger over it. I understand and I find a seat on a creaky wooden chair. The air feels cold but warm with life. My dad sends out a call with his lips. Two seconds later, a mother cardinal reply identical to him. My dad gives her kudos and tosses her a piece of bread. The cardinal didn’t need to move from the baby oak tree 3 yards away as it was lobbed directly to her red-yellow beak. I notice I am barely on my seat, almost hanging over in fascination. I re-luxuriate myself. I put my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around; the goose bumps are starting to disappear. My father calls again, this time it was echoed by a baby bird. The little bird was hobbling around probably not confident in his flying. My dad breaks the bit in his hand to a reasonable piece and tosses it to the delighted diminutive; it plummets in front of the bird. “Man I’m getting rusty at this” he croaks and sips his hot beverage from his camouflaged colored mug, the aroma of mint resonating throughout the air. “How did you learn to do that?” I asked curiously. “Well, knowledge comes with time, right?” He asked rhetorically “I still think I can do better.” I yelped. He smiles, “Alright cardinals can reply to rhythms life low-high-low or high-low-high, just do not make them blow like in Shrek!” I knew he didn’t lose his sense of humor. I furrow my lips together and let out a faint sound, I try to fluctuate my sound but it doesn’t sound anything like my dads. A cardinal mirrored my sound and all the cardinals squawk too. “They are mocking you,” he says “ Try a sip” he passes me his mug. I take a sip and gulp down the sweet tea and my mouth and body feels replenished with life. “Try now” he orders. I attempt again, the last time I’ve whistled was in boy scouts 5 years ago in 3rd grade, the same year my dad left and my mom was overwhelmed. It was too much of a burden on her shoulders. The sound resonates much clearer this time. A cardinal who I swear has gray hairs replies in a baritone voice. “They taught you a lot in Iraq.” I acknowledge. “ I know” he replies and I sense the softness in his voice.
Posted on: Mon, 23 Sep 2013 13:39:26 +0000
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