One time I was in the garage with my brother. We were bouncing a tennis ball back and forth, and I’m sure at some point we turned it into a game. It would be interesting to illustrate a map of someone’s childhood using the games they invented, watching as the rules became more and more sophisticated, the focus shifting from action to strategy, then (as it did for me) settling on the importance of naming the sport.
I can’t remember the game my brother and I played/invented – if any – for one reason: a bird. We had left the garage door open to let the sun and breeze in, and ended up with a bird.
You never realize how fast birds are actually flying until they hit something. In this case it was the back wall of the garage. This bird slammed into it with the confidence of the tiny-brained, not doubting for a second that it was going to arc upward and away on its invisible path, probably following some magnetic field humans can’t perceive, or worse, maybe it was just playing. God. I really, really hope it wasn’t just playing.
Another missing piece of the story is my age. Maybe I was ten, maybe eleven. Whatever my age, I know I possessed an adolescent’s fascination with life – here was this thing, this foreign being so close – which is obviously balanced by a fascination with death – the shameful obsession, an inward fear that can turn outward so easily, usually when there is something weaker near.
This bird had invaded our garage. I don’t want to say what my brother and I were feeling was anger, but there was definitely a vindictive edge to our actions. The tennis ball transformed in our hands. It was a weapon now. We took turns throwing it at the bird, which was flapping against the wall, resting on a set of shelves that held boxes of old toys and Garage Materials when it became tired.
I killed the bird. I slammed a tennis ball into it so hard it died, most likely from a broken neck, but I’m not too sure about that part. I know I felt awful. It had died for nothing other than existing. For flying.
Bronson and Leonard, may God have mercy upon your souls.
-austin
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