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Question Everything
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Question Everything

Bird Island, Chapter 12: The Bottle Man

Patrick Fealey

    “He’s drunk,” Mary says.
    “What’s new?” Jess says.
    “They’re bitches,” Wawp says.
    Bob laughs. Bob’s stomach shakes.
    “Shut up, fatty,” Mary says.
    Bob looks at Bob’s cards.
    Jess is kicking Wawp. Bird flies to the couch. Wawp closes Wawp’s hand and hits Jess on the leg. Jess reaches for Wawp’s hair. Wawp is hurt. Wawp grabs Jess’ hand and Jess cries out. Wawp and Jess look up from Wawp and Jess. Bob and Mary are running for the door.
    “I’m sorry,” Jess says.
    “I’m sorry too,” Wawp says.
    “You’re making friends as well as ever,” Jess says.
    “Did you get a look at them running outa here? Mary’s ass looked mean!”
    Wawp and Jess laugh. Jess puts her hand on Wawp’s leg. Wawp and Jess kiss.
    On the floor Wawp and Jess laugh off their shoes.

    The wind shines on Jess’ face.

    Wawp is moving on Jess.

    Wawp is moving on Jess.

    Wawp is moving on Jess and she cries.

    Wawp is moving.

    “JESS!”

    Wawp makes Jess faster. The floor is under them. Jess screams.

    “WAWP! WAWP! WAWP!”

    Bird flies into the screen. Bird flies into the food room. Bird’s wings hit the doorway. Jess screams.

    “YES! YES!”

    The door is closed.

    Bird flies past Jess and Wawp down the hall and hits the wall. Bird is on the floor. The door is closed.

    “YES, YES, YES!”

    Jess is silent. Wawp is breathing. Wawp has done it to Jess.

    Wawp laughs.

    Jess laughs.

    “Bird!” Wawp laughs. “You’ve seen this before. Well, not seen it. Are you okay? This is good. We do this because we love each other. Nobody is getting hurt. Come here, Bird.”

    “It’s okay, Bird,” Jess laughs. “I like it.”

    Jess?

    Bird walks the hall. He has heard Wawp and Jess. Then Bird sees. Jess smiles at Bird.

    Wawp stretches for the hellophone on the ledge by the window screen. Wawp’s is laughter: “Hi, this is Tommy, your alcoholic friend. You’re not fat, Bob, and you’re not mean, Mary, I mean you’re not a bitch. If you guys drank a little more, people like me would be easier to tolerate. See ya.”

    “What’s with all the bottles?” Bob says.
    “Are you an alcoholic?” Mary says.
    Wawp says nothing.
    “I’m just making an observation,” Mary says.

    Bird is allowed in the house when Bird wants to come. Wawp does not say no.

    Jess is sleeping. She is still here. No mail-call.

    “The bathroom looks the same every morning, Bird. Bird, this is where the monotony of existence expresses itself best. Pissing in the toilet and brushing purple teeth. If it were not for cold water, we would never make it. You want some orange juice?”

    Wawp tells it Bird sleeps outside. Wawp tells it Wawp bets if Bird was white Bird could sleep inside.
    It says, “My contractor found a hundred golf balls in the gutters. Your pet is costing me money. My wife likes you, so I’m going to forget about it, but I don’t like that creature one bit. If he gets hit by a car, you won’t see me losing any sleep. Are you the bottle man?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Are you an alcoholic?”
    “They’re from awhile back.”
    “Have you heard of recycling?”
    “I do that. At a pace.”
    “I saw bottles blocking the back fire stairs.”
    “I’ll move them.”
    “What do you think about someone who drinks more than he can carry?”
    “He should switch to cans.”

    “Bird, there’s nothing as irritating as the sound of concern. The landlord doesn’t know me. And real or false, I have no need for concern, for contempt. You think I don’t know where I am? You think I don’t know how I got here?”

    Bird stands on Wawp’s tree while Wawp rubs it with a white rag. Wawp makes it shine.

    Wawp says, “I was ambitious. That’s what my sixth-grade English teacher said when she met me. ‘I like you. You’re ambitious.’ She smiled. I didn’t know what the word meant, so when I got home, I asked my mother. But I had forgotten the word the teacher had called me, so first we had to figure it out. Mom told me what it meant and said it was a good thing. Then, that year, this teacher tossed me out of almost every class. The other students complained that I was interfering with their language exercises. I was interfering with language. I was ambitious. It’s what she got for encouraging me. Eventually she put me in an empty classroom where I wrote and drew pictures while the rest of the class divided up sentences. Now I talk to a crow, no offense.”

    “It was a mistake to ever get him,” Wawp says.
    “How can you say that?” Jess says. “Look at you guys!”
    “It’s too late now. You know, it’s a miracle he’s lived this long.”
    “I know,” Jess says.
    “That’s what makes me think of it. I love him. I’m glad. But he wasn’t given the choice about what to be glad about. I was selfish.”
    “He doesn’t know,” Jess says.
    “That’s irrelevant. And that’s the point. He was robbed and he doesn’t know it. And he might, on some instinctual level. He lives with confusion and conflict.”
    “But he loves you. Why question it?”
    “Don’t look at him through our point of view,” Wawp says.
    “Don’t question love. That’s what I’ve always said. Accept it.”
    “Even when it’s artificially created? Or created by mistake?”
    “Look at him and tell me he is not real,” Jess says.
    “I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s not.”
    “He could live ten more years. You could die first.”
    “That makes me feel better,” Wawp says.
    “Good. Accept it. You guys are a pair of unredeemable bums who would rather dive garbage dumps than apply yourselves to your circumstances.”
    “What circumstances? At least one of us can fly.”

    Bird is riding on Wawp with the other little humans on bikes. There are no trees. There are houses. The sun is high and the street is hot. Bird’s mouth is open, breathing.

    The house is small. The hanging willow trees shade the front stones. Passing, Wawp stops. The humans drop bikes over the side into a patch of sharp trees.

    In the trees behind the small house are the colors. Wawp hunts through the colors and the colors Wawp keeps are the colors Bird wants.

    A human with sand legs leaves the house and gets into a car. Bird ruffles. Wawp says softly, “That’s the bottle man. All these are his.”

    Wawp says, “BLUE. This bottle is a NIP, bird, and it is BLUE. Maybe someday we will drink. For now, the color is BLUE.”

    “We’re too bored and tired to be running into this girl now,” Wawp says. The human is bigger than Wawp and the other humans. It looks at Wawp and Bird, but does not talk. This is its house. “She has lived here longer than us. She goes to a private school. That plaid skirt and maroon sweater mean she never talks to us in three years. We hate her. We’re mean to her.”

    “Is your father an alcoholic?”

    “Is your father an alcoholic?”

    “Is your father an alcoholic?”


    Jess is making the pants smaller.
    “What day is it?” Wawp asks.
    “Sunday,” Jess says.
    “Sunday? I thought it was Saturday.”
    “It’s Sunday.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Yesterday was Saturday. I know because I worked Friday.”
    “That means no liquor stores.”
    “It means laundry.”
    “An abyss.”
    “Your shirts came out nice and white,” She says.
    “Yeah. I haven’t worn those in a year.”

    Through the window the leaves flutter on stiff branches.



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