Mr. Ethel At My Window

Mr.Ethel At My window

The sound of the wind blowing through these six floor sunnyside queens buildings and down the street to join the clacking percussion of the above ground New York city bound seven train. This soft whispering snow is brightening up the sky and reminding me of another time not long ago I met a Gentleman that went by the name of Ethel… Mr.Ethel, the pigeon.

The Day was lightly snowy and windy. A lovely day to sit by the window and watch the harmless snow swirl around like a snow globe. I had gotten into the habit of doing all sorts of activities surrounding that window.

Amongst the many scenarios I had found myself in at that window, it came down to either journaling on my typewriter, or watching my neighborhood birds, like Pigeons, Mourning doves, Starlings, and those little cute birds. I am one of those people that buys seeds to feed to the pigeon flocks that live on my block.

As I sat there typing on my Royal Futura 800. I held a moment of calm before a clapping wind breaking flutter came thrashing through the air with a whipping wind that chased behind the unmistakable sound of a pigeon landing directly on my windowsill.

Luckily I had some seeds to give this little distressed bird. I set out a bowl of water and sprinkled a small mound of seeds over the brick windowsill. The bird was all one solid shade of dark gray. I noticed the bird’s orange eye as it pecked away at the seeds I had placed out. After taking a long drink of water the bird began to “coo”. The pigeon paced about in half circles letting out a deep raspy coo noise. The coos seemed to groan raspier louder until the bird made a noise much like a person clearing their throat before a big announcement. Which did in fact direct my attention to the bird.

Stepping forward, while looking directly at me the pigeon introduces himself as Ethel, “Mr. Ethel”, he says. He thanks me for my hospitality and begins casually talking to me. You never really expect how you would react to a talking bird, but you certainly don’t expect to be more intrigued than freaked out. As I stand there with my mouth open in shock. I listen as the Pigeon has been going on telling me that he lived in the neighborhood and noticed me typing by the window.

He pauses for a moment and paces in a half circle, then looks me up and down. And in a deep raspy voice says, “Do you speak English?” With a concerned condescending tone he looks at me and says,” You do understand English don’t you?”

After confirming to him I did speak English by nodding slowly as my eyebrows seemed to twitch with excitement and concern. Intrigued by his polite nature I invite him in. Mr.Ethel shook off the snow flurries and stepped in as any invited guest. Wiping his little pigeon feet and making himself comfortable next to my typewriter. I asked him, “How are you talking to me right now?”. The pigeon takes a deep breath and sighs, he clears his throat,” I never tried to speak, it’s just something I just seemed to be able to do.” He turns his gaze towards the bookshelf behind me.

“All of the books my mother used to read to me. When mother was out, she would leave the TV on for me. Then when she came home she would tell me about her day. She would ask how my day was. I never replied, but I began to think in words.”

Mr.Ethel went on to tell me he was given to the person he refers to as mother for a bus stop in Sheepshead bay, Brooklyn. a man called Junior. “I don’t remember anything before that cardboard box. This is how my mother told it to me.”

I didn’t dare interrupt this bird as he stood up and told me. “I’ve only just become aware of the fact that I am a pigeon. I may not be human, however I contest I am a person nonetheless!”

He settled back down by the typewriter “Mother opened the window this morning to water the plants and took a moment to enjoy the sun. Excited by an instinct I didn’t know I had, I flew towards the window. Before I knew it, for the first time ever I was being thrown and tumbled by the wind. I had never flown out of the apartment before.”

After the rush of flying so high in the sky had subsided Ethel realized he didn’t know where he was, or where he had come from. He was lost.

Ethel noticed some Birds that he had never seen before. “ They were pigeons!” He exclaims. He flew over to the roof eager to meet his first pigeon.. They spoke a strange language of grunts and whistles in deep growling tones.

No matter how Ethel reworded, rephrased, or Reiterated his greetings statements or questions all the pigeons looked at him with anger, fear and distrust. Some birds distanced themselves. Other birds tried to attack him.

He even tried to fly down and ask some people on the street. However the New yorkers would run, scream, swat and kick before he could get a word in.

“No one could understand me, and those who could refused to even let me speak.”

I asked Mr.Ethel if he needed directions.

Obviously insulted, Mr.Ethel stood straight up and looked at me with a side eye. Getting a good look with his bright orange eyes. “I’ll figure it out.”

He stood up and with the same clapping thunder of wing flaps he was gone.

I grabbed my binoculars and watched him fly around Bliss street and watched him join a flock of birds that were chasing the seven train. The snowflakes whipping behind him.