Birds of a Feather

By Vickie Wippel

          “Nestor, please don’t take that tone with me. I was only trying to help.” Rhea perched herself on the edge of a wicker chair in the family’s sunroom, brushing invisible dust off her shoulders as she spoke to her only son.
          “Mom, I’ve asked you to call me Neil. You’re the only one who still calls me that.” He sighed his frustration—typical brooding teenager stuff, Rhea assured herself. “Please don’t pick at me.” She hadn’t realized she was reaching for lint off his varsity sweater.
          “I only wanted to understand why you’re skipping school.” She looked at the son, sitting in a matching wicker chair, facing her. “Mrs. Jansen called from the front office when she saw you pull out of the student lot.”
          Neil feathered his bangs and leaned back. “Like I said. I was just leaving for lunch to get something to eat.”
          “Honey, I packed you food.” Rhea clucked her disapproval- tsk! tsk!
          “Mom, I told you. No more bird food!” Neil stood up when he said this but didn’t make any motion to leave. Instead, he walked around the chair before sitting back down.
          “Nest…Neil, I’ve explained before, they’re not for birds. They are seed and berry chews, and they are protein-packed super food!” Motherhood was such a thankless job, she thought.
          “Well, save your chews for your crow friends, Mom!” Tears beaded up in Neil’s beady, black eyes.
          “My crow friends? My crow friends?’ Rhea squawked. “How dare you. Just because I rediscovered my passion for ornithology since your father left. I’d think you’d be happy for me.” Rhea stood to unruffle her dress beneath her before sitting back down, adding, “ Besides, Matilda and Walden have more sensory awareness than your father ever did- ha!” Rhea chirped a little laugh, despite herself.
         Neil looked at her in disbelief. “Matilda and Walden are not their names, Mom. They are crows. And dozens of them fly around our street. How do you even know you’re fawning over the same two?”
          “Of course I know it’s them!” Rhea was indignant. “And, more importantly, Matilda and Walden know who I am! Did you know crows have facial-?”
          “Facial recognition. Yes, Mom. And they pass it down by generation. You’ve told me this.” He paused. “Do you know what grade I got on my geometry test?” Hope hung in his voice.
          “My goodness, I forgot all about your test today! Who’s the bird brain now?” She chirped her laugh again. “How was it, Nessy?” She leaned over to him. Neil said nothing. 
A few quiet minutes passed, before Rhea cooed, “Well, you may just have to get yourself something for dinner if you don’t like my chews. I have a dinner date.”
          “What’s his name?” Neil whispered between pursed lips, angry as an empty-handed falconer.
          “Jay.”
          “You’ve got to be kidding me. Jay? Jay? Let me guess- he’s covered in blue feathers. I should have asked his species.” Neil grabbed his backpack. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
          “Oh sure, one disagreement, and you fly the coop! You’re just like your father!” The front door slammed. Rhea twittered about the sunroom before warbling out the open window, “ Hey Nessy, sweety, save me the cigarette butt, will you? Matilda and Walden love ‘em for an afternoon treat.” With that, Rhea shut the window, plopped herself back down on the wicker chair and pecked at her nut and berry chew.