The woman started cutting the carrot faster. The blade of the knife swished across the length of the carrot, each downward stroke barely missing the soft flesh of her fingers. The rhythmic thuds that the blade made against the cutting board synchronized with her heartbeats. Her hand swept across the board and small chunks of red and orange slid into a bowl. She wiped the knife on her apron, wiped the sweat off of her forehead, walked into the dining room, and stared at her son. The boy was sitting with his forehead against the dining table. His hands covered his face and his body jerked now and then accompanied by a sniffle or two. The woman could hear the sniffles grow louder.
He knows I’m watching him, she thought.
Her gaze shifted to the ceiling fan above the boy, spinning as fast as it could to beat the summer heat. A couple of crumpled-up black feathers fell from the blades of the fan. They twirled and glided as they fell, enacting a rhythmic dance above the boy’s head. A few of them landed around the boy on the table. One gently found its place on his head. One moved away from the boy and floated towards the woman. She held out her hand and grabbed it. She opened her palm and the feather was gone. She looked over at the boy. All the feathers were gone.
Her mind wandered to that day for just a moment but she pulled herself back to the present. She walked towards her child and placed a hand on the back of his head. It was damp.
The fan isn’t doing much, she thought.
‘Hey, get up,’ she said as her hand caressed the boy’s messy hair. ‘I’ll get you something to eat.’ He sniffled in response. He lifted his head and stared up at his mother. His eyes were red and the skin around his nose sparkled.
Her mind started to wander again. She also looked like the boy that day and the days that followed but for different reasons. The boy wouldn’t understand, not at this age. Maybe he would understand a couple of years from now.
‘I really want one Ma,’ the boy’s faint and husky voice pulled her mind back from that day.
‘I know, but,’
But what?, she thought. Should I tell him what happened? How she used to land on my shoulders every time I came back from school? How she used to dry herself on the roof after a nice cold bath? How she used to call out my name? And how I forgot to lock the cage, and how she, on that god-forsaken day, flew into the ceiling fan chasing a bug?
Her mind quickly replayed that day in her head. A little girl was sitting cross-legged in front of a television. She was so engrossed by what she was watching that she didn’t hear Mia fly into the room. A loud crack from above untethers her from the television. The mangled body of the bird falls in front of her. It twitches for a few seconds and then goes still. Pieces of black feathers hover around her. After a few seconds, she starts to scream.
No, he wouldn’t understand. Not now.
