I was walking home on Bainbridge today when I saw a little object on the sidewalk in front of me. It looked like one of those smooth, translucent yellowish-white pebbles that you find in a body of water, but as i got closer, realized it was a tiny plastic fetal bird. I had seen a similar object at Seraphin Gallery at Hiro Sakaguchi's "My Dog Speaks" exhibition (Cheap, by Darla Jackson, shown left). I crouched down to look at the object more closely, and started to really admire the craftsmanship of the piece. Its large, black, perfectly spherical eyes were veiled with a cloudy layer of wax that perfectly mimicked developing eyelids. A deep red object was embedded in the bird's chest. So many layers of what appeared to be milky wax built up the flesh and sinew of the baby bird. The beak seemed to be made out of an entirely different material- opaque and hard and bright yellow. When I noticed that there were 2 tiny abrasions on the bird's perfect skin (which shone only slightly red for lack of a complete cardiovascular system), I thought of the possibility of this bird being real, but there was no setting or crime scene. The little corpse was alone on the sidewalk. There was no shattered egg or fallen nest. It had to be fake. Someone's sociology experiment or just a sick little art kid joke.
I had to move him. If he was fake, I could put him in the trash, if he was real, I needed to think of something else. I could not bear the thought of someone stepping on him.
Luckily, there was a bag of paper recyclables next to the body, and I found an empty Claritin box. With the help of a receipt from my purse, I rolled the little friend into the box. As he limply flopped into the box, I realized it was entirely real. I don't recall ever holding anything dead in my life, but you definitely know when you are. There is nothing there but cold weight.
I carried him in the Claritin box for a few blocks, trying to decide if I should be upset or confused, trying to understand if it was possible that this little creature could have gotten to where he was, in the condition he was in. I found a garden box that had no flowers planted in it and i picked up a stick and started to carve a deep, tiny hole with my right hand, holding the box in my left (which was developing a cold spot in the middle of my palm through the thin cardboard where the bird was lying). I tried to pour him gracefully into the hole, but he flopped in a tiny heap. I tried to imagine that the cool soil felt good on his skin as i packed it tightly around him. The soil, at least, felt good on my hands. I walked with the Claritin box for about 6 blocks, as Bainbridge is not particularly rich with trash cans.
It is weird to shift from objectifying something to realizing it is or was a living thing. I had enjoyed this creature's skin and transparent layers so much when I thought it was a fabrication. It punched me in the gut to realize my folly.
An interesting aside; the first sentence of my horoscope for today reads:
"Your life is complicated by your ability to see the truth, especially when this awareness makes it impossible to keep up superficial appearances."
Beautiful.
