Bird Rescue

Bird Rescue

Lorene Boddington arrived at her friend Sharon’s house around 6.30 pm on that Friday evening in September. She swung her long leg over the back of her Honda 350, stood up straight, and removed her helmet. Her jet-black plaits dropped a further inch down her back brushing her waist, as they were freed from under her helmet. She stripped off her cotton lined leather overalls, revealing black denim cut-offs and a fitted white t-shirt. She exchanged her biking boots for red gladiator sandals, and carrying her gear headed to Sharon’s front door. After she rang the bell for admittance, she dumped her gear in Sharon’s front hall and they headed to the kitchen for a cold beer. Their sleepy seaside hometown didn’t offer more than a pub for nightly entertainment, so on the week between fortnightly paydays their group of friends met at Sharon’s for a cards’ night. The refreshments were ice cold beer and salty peanuts, and if Noel, Sharon’s boyfriend, was feeling generous there might be some mixer cans of Rum and Cola.

That night six months before her 23rd birthday, Lorrie was playing cards with Stacey, Sharon and her friends’ boyfriends, David, and Noel. Noel commented, “It would be so much easier if you had a boyfriend Lorrie, then I wouldn’t feel guilty when I bust you at Euchre.”

“Why do you feel guilty? You always deal me two hands.”

“But you don’t have the benefit of two minds to strategize with the cards,” Sharon said.

“I’m perfectly fine,” said Lorrie, blowing a bubble in her strawberry gum, “I like playing with you lot. It would be stupid to pick up a guy just to play Euchre. Besides most people we know don’t know how to play it. If we hadn’t spent so much time with my late Gran and her friends in the last few years, we wouldn’t know how either.”

“Forgetting cards for a minute,” said Noel, “why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“You know, no one has ever asked me out.”

“What? You’re kidding me, right?”

Stacey gave him an elbow in the ribs for what she felt was excessive enthusiasm. He kissed her on the cheek and smiled.

“Nuh, I’m serious. I have plenty of people to hang out with, but no one has ever asked me on a date.”

“But when we talk about boys,” chimed in Stacey, “you talk about different boys who are attractive or nice.”

“Yeah, I do,” Lorrie raised her right eyebrow.

“And we assume,” said Sharon “that they’ve asked you out.”

“Of course,” said Lorrie “there’s no law that says I have to wait for them to ask me.”

“So”, said Stacey, “you aren’t interested enough in anyone to ask.”

Lorrie shrugged, and they resumed their card game.

It was one week later when Lorrie had ridden to a quiet spot by the local estuary that she reflected on the conversation with her friends. Most of the time she was so busy talking to anybody and everybody that she didn’t think about who she might want to hang out with. Last week she’d gone to a party in Bayswater, and she’d spent half the night arranging to swap motorbike parts or help guys out with their bikes. She hadn’t found out what anyone was thinking or feeling, or met a guy that gave her that buzz, just talked about bikes, parts, and the best way to fix things. She shook her head and sighed.

There was the Senior’s home she volunteered at: that was a bust for eligible young men. Mostly she got on well there but there were a few that muttered about her and sometimes lowered her confidence. Some of the little old ladies at the nursing home where she visited once a fortnight were taken aback by her appearance and her gum chewing but they enjoyed her skilful guitar playing. Despite her distinctive casual clothing (Aren’t her shirts a little tight and low? Mrs McNeil used to mutter and nod with the gossip lovers) Lorrie was a hit with the senior ladies. After she led them in rounds of, She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain, Waltzing Matilda, Puff the Magic Dragon, and Amazing Grace, Lorene would paint their nails or style their hair. When it was time for her to leave, the ladies would gather to watch her put on her leather jacket or overalls, her red helmet, and finally the black gloves with red stripes. They watched as if she might not be able to do it without their assistance. She’d gotten used to the synchronised waving as she climbed on her motorcycle, kicked it into a muted roar and rode slowly away. Lorrie was careful not to let the throttle out too far until she was well around the corner.

She leaned against her propped bike at the end of the carpark, gazing over the grass and sand to the water. There were two cars parked but no one in sight. There was a tree at the edge of the parking area from which she could hear magpies fussing. This mating pair had a good brood. She turned away, trying to enjoy the peaceful view of the water. She kept being distracted by the cawing and the busyness of the mother, flying back and forth, then shoving her beak into the open throats in her crowded nest. The mother flew off once more, and the fussing quieted. Lorrie relaxed, but then a lone piercing squawk started at the base of the tree, and she couldn’t bear to ignore it. She stood up and turned around, walking towards the sound. Halfway down the carparking area, she stepped up on the curb and found herself at the base of the tree. She stepped around the trunk and found herself face to face with a young man bending toward a magpie fledgling hopping in circles on the ground.

“I was gonna get it”, Lorrie blurted out.

“It doesn’t matter which of us does, as long as this baby ends up back in the nest, because my dog over there,” he gestured to a handsome Shepherd with bright brown eyes, “is showing way too much interest.”

His hands were covered by a large t-shirt, and he reached toward the wings, pinning them gently with his hands. The baby bird struggled, stabbing its beak into the air.

“How are you going to get it back into the nest?” Lorrie asked.

The young man looked at her. Their eyes locked, Lorene’s golden brown, and his deep blue meeting for the first time. She avoided dropping her eyes to his bare chest. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his shoulders were broad and muscular.

“I thought the shirt would act like a sack, while I climbed the tree.”

Lorrie looked up the tall tree. Even though he was tall, the branches of the tree were spaced far apart.

“That could be awkward.”

“How far do you think that nest is from the ground?’’ he asked smiling.

“About ten feet.”

“How tall are you?” he said.

“Five foot eight”

“And I’m six foot, two inches.”

She smiled. “I’ll climb the tree, and you stand on that rock at the base of the tree, and we should be able to see this baby reunited with its family.”

She leaped for the lowest branch while he watched, shimmied along the branch to where it joined the trunk, and then stretched up to the next branch. Wedged in the v made by the junction of the third main branch and the trunk was the nest filled with fledglings. Perched on the branch, Lorrie tied a knot in her t-shirt and hung upside down. Her hair was loose fluttering in the breeze from the estuary, kept out of her eyes by the red bandana tied at the base of her skull. The young man, stretching upwards from the rock at the base of the tree, stared up at her.

“Tie the t-shirt with a knot each end so I can hold it with one hand.”

She watched his tanned sinewy hands tie the knots and noticed his firm abdominals visible above the hip line of his jeans. The little black and white bundle of bird struggled in the makeshift sack. Their fingertips touched as they passed the bird. Tucking the bundle against her chest with her left hand, Lorrie used her legs and right arm to pull herself upright again. Panting and feeling droplets running down her spine, she paused to take a deep breath. With one hand she loosened the knot, then placed the open end of the shirt over the nest. The bird plopped out onto the back of the other fledglings and flopping around settled into the bottom of the nest.

Lorrie smiled down at her fellow rescuer, punched one fist into the air, and lost her balance.

When Lorrie woke her father was bending over her, “Lorrie, honey, you’re in hospital. You fell out of a tree at the beach car park and broke your left arm.”

“Oh, Dad. I feel totally crap, and idiotic too!”

“Lucky that nice bloke, Tim, was there when you fell.”

“Tim?”

“Yes, he said you were rescuing a bird?”

Her father shook his head at her, smiling the fake frowny smile he always used whenever she had gotten into mischief throughout her life. She had grown so fond of it. She tried to give him a real smile of her own, but her head was throbbing.

The nurse appeared beside Lorrie with two white pills in her hand. She poured Lorrie a glass of water from the jug on the nightstand. She helped Lorrie to sit up enough to swallow the pills. Her father kissed her on the cheek, and despite the pain in her arm, she drifted off to sleep.

The sun was bright when she woke again, and she felt like sitting up. Her Aunt Sally was gazing at her from the red vinyl chair beside her bed.

“Hello Lor,” said Sally. “It’s good to see you awake. I’ve missed you working at the cafe, but Sharon said she’ll help out for a while.”

The ward attendant brought a plate of roast chicken and vegetables. After Sally chopped up the food, Lorrie devoured it with the supplied fork. She was so hungry that she didn’t notice it was oversalted, and the gravy watery until the plate was half-finished. It still smelled good to her starving stomach, so she cleaned the plate.

Later a kind doctor came, and after checking the cast announced, “You’re free to go home this afternoon. The cast is fine, and you can check back at outpatients in two weeks. They’ll make you an appointment.” After she wrapped her cast in plastic, she had a warm soapy shower. Sally assisted her to dress in shorts and a loose white t-shirt. She and Aunt Sally had just stepped into the hallway when Tim appeared.

“Hello, birdman,” said Lorrie smiling. Tim smiled back, and they stood there gazing at each other.

Aunt Sally cleared her throat. “Who is this young man?”

Lorrie laughed, “It is Tim?” He nodded. “This is my Aunt Sally.”

They shook hands.

“I came to visit,” Tim said, “I wanted to be the first to sign that cast. Is your name Lorrie?”

“I’m Lorrie,” she said stretching out her right hand. Their palms met and their fingers curled together. She enjoyed the warm and slightly rough feeling, a place her own could settle into. He smiled and she held his gentle gaze.

In silent agreement they sat down on a bench against the hallway wall, and Tim wrote on her cast with a fluorescent blue marker. She did not pay too much attention to what he wrote. She was enjoying his profile and admiring the curve of his bronze-coloured lashes as he looked down. When he was finished, he stood up, and said, “It was great to see you, but I have to get back to work.”

He nodded at Sally and herself. They both watched him walk down the hall to the elevator.

Feeling a little disappointed, Lorrie looked down at her cast, To Lorrie, call me please, I want to rescue a falling bird. LOL :) 0499 555 444. Xo

She laughed.

The End