Ethan grew old befriending pigeons on his fire escape. The birds knew his window. It was regularly coated in a swath of lard caked in seed, nuts, and the dried fruit he picked from trail mix. In the sun, it oozed. Dripping down the glass and onto the sill, it fell in thick globs of greasy mucus to the sidewalk below.
When building renovations began, the birds left. Brick repairs on the facade led to restoring the cornice and repainting the fire escape. Work completed the following summer but Ethan continued with the lard.
In August, the property manager sent him a warning on letterhead. His window was “unsightly.” A second warning followed. He ignored both. A week later, someone cleaned the window and a week after that a third letter carried the threat of eviction.
The birds never returned; Ethan was alone.
Desperate for the familiar coo of companionship, he began spending his free time in the park. Seed lined his pockets, but the birds shied away. Returning daily, he carried the weight of this rejection on his brow.
On a gray afternoon with an uninviting wind, Ethan watched children flying kites as the birds scuttled around their feet. The vibrant diamonds colored the sky and mingled with ideas in his head like confetti in a crowd.
He returned to the park with a kite spool each day thereafter. The end of the string was looped to hold a ball of lard and seed. As the birds ate and became comfortable, he shortened the line until the ball sat squarely between his feet, blending with the brown of his oversized trousers. Soon one bird, plump with bravery, lingered after the feed was gone. Ethan sprinkled a handful from his pocket and, as she ate, turned the loop of string into a collar, nestling it gently into her feathers.
Satisfied with her fill, the bird lingered by his feet before tugging the string with her beak. When Ethan finally stood at a speed his own, the bird watched, followed his movements, and cooed in unison with his gait.
