Songbird

A Short Story

 She sat, all of seven years old, feet just reaching the pedals on the stool of the old, brown upright piano. She was a frail thing of pale skin and crackly blue eyes. Her pastor-grandfather left the tall, white doors of the church propped open for her every day after school. She was born to make music. 

     This. All of this; the piano, the solitude, the secret freedom to make compositions from the feelings in her heart and vivid pictures in her imagination, was an escape. Her beloved escape from the world outside that didn't make sense anymore. 

    Kate's mother and father had died tragically one year beforehand. Only her maternal grandparents were still around to care for her. No brothers or sisters. No friends, really, except for one, very faithful fan and friend, "Mr. Bluebird."  

    The plump, cheerful bird would perch just beyond the glass of the church window closest to the piano, listening with delight and chirping along with Kate faithfully, every time she played. They made eyes in between hymns or whatever melodies Kate sang right from her wounded-but-soulful spirit. 

     "What a voice you have!" the bird would chirp, knowing if she didn't understand his language, she could still interpret his affirmations. The bird and the girl each admired the song and sound of the other. 

   Once in a while, Kate would climb down the red-carpeted stage steps and meet Mr.Bluebird, "Blue," as she sometimes called him, at the window with a tap on the glass. "Hello, Blue, how are you?" she would ask in sing-song tones. Blue chirped and flapped to indicate his happiness. 

     One afternoon, Kate had been playing the church piano for nearly an hour, with no sign of her blue, feathery friend. She was curious, then scared. Taking upon the nerve to walk into the courtyard where there were trees, picnic benches, and above all, the place typical of Mr. Bluebird's musical enjoyment, she saw no trace of him. This was most unusual. 

     Her grandfather, the Reverend Hank Martin, hummed and hoed amongst his vegetable garden, not to be bothered. Grandmother Marjorie buzzed around the kitchen preparing supper. 

    "Ok, I will find you myself, don't you worry!" Kate promised the bird, wherever he was. "Blue? If you can hear me, sing!"   

    Kate heard other birds chirping and floating about, but none had the voice she knew best. "Blue? Blue!" she reinforced, this time with a tear begging to fall from her eye. "I won't cry, I won't!" she whispered. 

     Just then, a faint, injured squeak answered her near-cry. Mr. Bluebird had been struck by something larger; stronger. He lay behind a rose bush in front of the entrance to the church. He tried to sing, but only released a painful squawk, which would be his last. 

     In shock, nearly fainting, Kate's compassion overpowered, as she carefully scooped the bird up into her cupped hands and next to her heart. "Oh, Blue, not you too," she rhymed. Her tears fell freely now, washing away some of the blood from his wings. She ran her pink-painted fingernails gently through his stained coat. 

     The bluebird wanted very much to sing for her, but had no strength. He drifted into a permanent sleep. Kate fell into silent grief, save the last few words she would ever speak to any bird, ever again; "It's not right," she sobbed, "Nobody should die with a song still inside!" 

     From that moment on, she made up her mind to spread her own wings and share her music with anyone who would listen. Birds or people, it didn't matter. She became famous, but more importantly, she became herself. Blue would have been so proud. 

     On her last day of life, just shy of seventy years later, her voice had weakened to a faint whisper, once again. Her husband, children and grandchildren cradled her, as she tried her hardest to sing "Bluebird," a song she had scribbled down in her bedside journal. 

     Kate shook her head, wearily. "No use," she managed. 

     "But Grandma," little Timmy, only four, said right next to her ear, "Nobody should die with a song still inside!" 

     Kate took his hand, sang her song and flew away. 

     So did the bluebird who had been sitting on the window pane.