Michael T. Hare

The boy was only seventeen, and the bird was only a fledgling, bearing only a few sprouted feathers. If it weren’t for the camping trip to the rocky mountains, this boy might never have stumbled upon his true friend. He was surprised to see the tiny bird looking up at him, but he was more glad than ever to see him, and so was the bluebird.

The bluebird had his wing jammed between a rock and a log. He tried to jerk himself free and chirped with eagerness as he did so. The boy carefully handled the situation, tenderly freeing the small bird from the trap. The bluebird looked up at him gratefully, but his wing was beyond functional.

After that moment in the mountains, the boy generously took the bird into his life, and that very act began a never-ending bond. A bond that could not be broken.

He took the bird home after that, feeding and nourishing him until he was once again healthy. He could tell that the bird was abandoned by its former family, and it was undeniable by the way the bird’s meals were devoid of any leftovers.

The two formed a close friendship that lasted the next three years. In the earlier days, the boy’s friends never ceased to mock him for his passion for the small bird, asking him why out of every bird he chose the smallest, but the boy would never have let his friend go, and neither would the bird let his.

Soon, they were by themselves, living as two individuals. The bird’s feathers were now brighter than the blue sky, and his chest shone as rich as the leaves in Autumn. They stayed together, nested in the rocky mountains as they had been in their youth.

One beautiful day, when the sky was dark and the winds were high, the bluebird soared through the skies, coasting on jet streams of freedom and the roller-coasters of mini tornadoes. The boy was in his house, speaking with someone he admired greatly. He kept a close eye on his friend through the window, and that’s when the house shook with a violent wave of wind. The gust could have sent a man off his feet.

The bluebird was swept away like dust in an ocean. Dust came from the valleys and swirled in the air, making it difficult to see anything. The boy quickly ran outside, shouting the bird’s name. He couldn’t see him, and the dust stung his eyes, causing tears to flood them. The person he greatly admired ran out as well, questioning why he was so anxious about the bluebird. She wouldn’t understand, not until later.

The boy was twenty-five, and he still hadn’t found his friend. The windstorm had ensured they would forever be separate. Boxes littered the house, and two new family members were on their way. He was leaving that mountain range to move a few miles away. They couldn’t stay there any longer. They simply needed more room.

The boy drove away then, feeling a sickening feeling. He had failed his friend and didn’t even know if he was still alive. Whatever had happened, the bird wasn’t there anymore anyway. It was time to move on.

The boy was twenty-eight as he sat by the window in his house, two small children sitting on his lap, and his wife by his side, just looking at the giant mountain view as the sun rose from their porch. The boy told them stories of the bluebird he once knew and the bluebird that was now gone.

But when one of his children pointed above at their pine tree, he squinted up and looked. He shielded his face with his hand. The sun was almost blinding as it peeked over the horizon. The boy opened his eyes a little wider, and he was surprised to see the tiny bird looking down at him, two little fledglings by his side and his mate by the other in their nest, but he was more glad than ever to see him, and so was the bluebird.

THE END