Archive for January, 2010

The Uncaged Birds

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on January 1, 2010 by Arthur

It’s early morning after a long Blue Moon night. Moonbeams mix with sun rays in the room where a boy sits alone. The young man decides to not go to bed just yet even though his hosts are in bed holding each other as the boy holds onto his evening’s memories. It was a few hours ago that the wooden floorboards were squeaking with delight as heavy, friendly footsteps filled the yellow-green walls of the one bedroom apartment. It was a few hours ago when the boy was encapsulated by soothing snickers and a gin-scented airspace. It was also a few hours ago when he remembered why he decided to leave the old man behind and greet the newborn baby with these people over anyone else.

He sits quietly and looks around the carcass of the once lively room and is content. He holds his friends very close and is appreciative of what has commenced in the past night. They knew he was feeling sullen since his boyfriend made his heart weep earlier that day. And even though the room consisted of pairs, they all kissed him simultaneously once the countdown reached zero. His smile was as bright as the over-sized Christmas lights that still hung in the living room window. In that exact moment, nothing else mattered: his hurtful paramour, the rude message by his neighbor from last year, or how little money he had in his wallet. The night was perfect, whether spent in the heavenly room or alone in the cold with his cigarette.

As the sun bleeds through the curtains of colorful birds in abstract cages, the glorious echos are slowly dissipating with each grain of time. He starts to concentrate on the tangible noises of the shaking ceiling fan and the uncaged birds singing out to the sun. A familiar song plays with the current sound orchestra. It’s a tune that was popular in 2005 and is reserved for his fond memories of him and his deceased friend. He isn’t sad and instead of a river, a smirk forms. The boy is happy in knowing that he had made him proud tonight. Flashes of his past are now running a marathon in his mind and the smile decorated on the young man’s face doesn’t fade.

The song ends and the fan is still vigorously waving its noisy hands. A new sound appears and the boy realizes it’s his makeshift bed for the next few hours; the lumpy, quilt-covered couch is screaming his name.