Birdsong

Chapter One

     He awoke to the light tune of a bird outside his window. As he rose for the day, the birdsong continuously ran through his head. Once he was ready, he took a seat in his large armchair in an open room lit with natural light coming through a large window. He was given time off from his job after what had happened. The chair was meticulously facing towards the window at exactly straight like he intended, and thirty-six inches away from the window like he measures every night. He could see the apartments across the street that were also on the fourth floor. The window showed the whole city and, in the morning light, it seemed as if the rows of buildings would never end. It was as if the horns would never stop honking, and the people would never stop moving. But his area of interest was on the window right across from him – fourth from the bottom, third from the right, just like his apartment is. He continued to stare at the tiny apartment that seemed identical to his, but the inside couldn't be more different.

     He couldn't remember much; considering he's a young adult, it's ironic how little he remembers of his own home until he's grasping for the blissful image of the time before she left. When they lived here, he let her decorate their home to her heart's content. He loved the way she lit up whenever the living room looked just like the magazine picture she had hung on the fridge. There was only one small window -- just like the other apartment now -- but everywhere the light would caress, plants were placed. She had a green thumb; even the plants basked in her glow and survived not on the limited sunlight, but the warmth she gave off. Now he could only see a few plants right next to the window -- they were slightly wilted. The walls were the same -- a unique cross between a beige and a pale yellow. The owner of the apartments enjoyed the light and spacious color but he remembered that she never liked the color of the walls. She always said it was "drab and boring". Yet, she continued to live in the same apartment, even after. Fourth from the bottom, third from the right. The bird continued to sing, and he continued to stare.

     Her name was Lark -- named after the melodious songbird that landed in her mother's open window the day she found out she was having a girl. Her voice matched her name, too; the trill in her laugh made it sound like she was singing a harmonious tune of a song human beings have never heard until they met her. Growing up, she was always taller and skinnier than everyone. Most of the girls in her class were at least a head shorter and wasn't as gangly – and, consequently, clumsy -- as she was. She was like a newborn bird first learning to shakingly balance on branches. It doesn't bother her as much anymore. Yet, after high school, she began to stand tall with the most perfect posture and walks as if she's dancing to a festive tune. She's always humming, too -- a real songbird. But now she's gone. Somewhere near to him, yet so far away. All he has now as company is a lone lark who wakes him up in the mornings despite the busyness of the city. Even though the city tension should drive the lark away, he continues to stay. It's as if the bird has a duty to fulfill; wake him up in the mornings so he can watch through the window of what used to be. His Lark.

     She never belonged in the city. The noise was always too much for her. At first she came because she assumed all of the greatest artists lived in the city. Lark soon realized that her upbringing in the country was what made her feel free, without the chaos living in the usually city brings. Yet, she stayed for him. It helped him to escape and disappear in the busy world rather than to be lost in his thoughts that keep on repeating and repeating and repeating what if the door is unlocked what if the stove is still on what if what if what if go check go look just make sure one more time --

     After the sun had set and the city lights turned on, he rose from his chair. The room was dimly lit by the traffic lights repeatedly flickering from green to yellow to red. He glanced at the mirror for no reason – he wasn't wearing anything different from his everyday clothes: a white waffle-printed long sleeve with blue jeans. He had at least a dozen of the same outfit; uniformity is key in his life.