Afternoon thoughts suspended in mid-air

A sad bird perched herself on top of my shoulder and whispered to my ear: "have you ever wanted to be alone and at the same time you do not want to be alone?"

"Yes", I said, "it happens to me all the time." I emptied the plastic cup of water and turned it upside down and I motioned to her to sit on it.

"Why are you here if you wanted to be all by yourself?"

She opened her wings and started flapping them like she was trying to shake off whatever that was burdening them.

"I don’t want to be alone either."
"But I’m busy. I have work to do. How did you find me?"

She was still fluttering her wings up and down as she said: "I have been looking for you all morning. I wanted to ask the sun where you might be but I remembered the boy who flew close to it. I don’t want to lose my wings, they are delicate, you know--my feathers."

"How did you find me? Oh Never mind. I have no time."

With that, I turned my swivel chair to what I was doing before she came. The bird flew off and I thought she had sensed my indifference and thought it was best to leave.

But the bird transformed itself into a little girl and there she was, in a white shirt and brown trek shorts, sitting on the chair beside my table. She had a yellow backpack that appeared too heavy for her frail body. I shook my head in resignation, she was not planning to go after all.

"I said I’m busy."

"You have beautiful eyelashes."

"Very well. You may stay here if you want but I cannot talk to you. I have so many things to do."

"Could you close your eyes for a while so I could take a much longer look at them?"

"I’m busy."

I handed a sheet of notebook paper and the purple crayon I use as a highlighter.
"Here, draw circles."

"But you have to teach me how to hold a crayon first. Could you close your eyes for a while, please?"

"I said I’m busy."

I put the paper and crayon back on the table. She sat there, her thin legs swinging back and forth back and forth, the way the bird was trying to shake off something heavy. She was humming some unheard of song: letmeuponaredhorseandswingmeroundandround.


"Stop that," I said.
Letmeuponaredhorseandswingmeroundandround
"Stop what?"
"Your feet."



Her gaze fell, expectantly, on to my cluttered table, as if there was some magical spectacle about to unfold. She pulled up her feet and hugged her knees tightly, rocking her body slowly, like one does when she feels cold or scared or sad. I saw in my mind another girl doing exactly that. And then there were more: yellow light illuminating faces in a kitchen. a woman staring at her half-empty plate. a little boy about to cry. a man going down a long flight of stairs, his arms loaded with bags and boxes. a girl clenching her fists...

"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Rocking."

With that, she started emptying her backpack taking out a book, a brown wooded top, a purple baseball cap. A stuffed beetle, a red sock, a rag doll with a pink apron and black buttons for eyes.
A faded photograph of a man carrying a girl on his shoulders.

The noise of her rummaging annoyed me.

"What are you doing?"

“I’m trying to see if what you’re looking for is in my bag.”

"But I have not lost anything."

"It doesn’t mean you are not searching for something."

She sat there searching thoroughly, and I could not take my eyes off of the pieces of odds and ends that was beginning to pile up on my table. Her silence was making so much noise in my head like china being thrown into walls.

I turned back to my table and faced the screen of the computer. I tried to remember what I was about to type before she came. The solitary line on the monitor reminded me: I am here.


I began working again. I have no more time, I muttered; my fingers furiously pounding the keys. When I stopped hearing the girl moving about, I looked back and saw that she was gone.

A sleek, black gun was sitting on the chair instead.