The Potential of a Day

Chapter 9: Birds

Birds

          Once we leave the dress shop, I expect that Abby and I will go back to the festival. To my surprise, Abigail reveals that that isn’t precisely her plan. The two of us end up on the beach. It’s summer, so the sun is still high in the sky. People litter the beach, surfers, tourists, screaming children. And then, there are the birds.

          Tons of them, like a flock taken home on the beach. Though I know it isn’t a flock; as there is an assortment of different species. Mainly seagulls, loud, screeching gulls, filling the beach with animated sound. And then, there are the sand pipers; the small birds, with their pointed little beaks, and legs, scrambling forward with a quick grace. The seagulls all seem to hover above the beach, swooping into the ocean, where the sandpipers choose to trot down the beach, honouring their namesake  

          They’ve learned to accept the people who have taken over their beach. Accept the newcomers. The seagulls take wing, and the smaller birds scramble down the beach; just making room for the humans, on a beach that is no longer theirs. But if they didn’t? If the birds hadn’t accepted that we have overrun their lands, what would they do? Where would they go?

          Where would they go? Because beyond this point, there is nothing but open water. Nothing but blue ocean. Nothing at all. Because what is there, beyond the end?

          They would just fly and fly, with nowhere to land.

          They had to accept that they would no longer have the beach to themselves. They had to accept, that the world no longer belonged to them.   

          But what would they do, if they couldn’t?

          While I stand there, thinking, Abby demonstrates that she has no time for such things. In moments, she’s running, giggling down the beach, chasing birds like the small children and the terriers. The birds strut quickly away, taking off for several meters before touching down again. But Abby finds some sort of sick pleasure in chasing the poor little creatures down the beach, and won’t let them land for long.

          “Come on, Abby, are you five!” I call after her, laughing.

          “Lily come on, it’s fun, haven’t you ever chased birds?” Abby giggles, turning back to me in a flurry of summer dress and hair fallen loose.

          “Of course I have; when I was like five.”

          I’m about to tell her off, for chasing the pitiful birds, when a frisbee lands at my feet. I pick it up, turning to glance over my shoulder. I’m about to toss it back to the child who mistakenly launched it at me, when Abby grabs back my attention. “Here!” she calls lifting a hand above her head, indicating for my pass. My expression indicates to her that I am not amused with her excitement. “Aw come on Lil, just pass the frisbee.”

          And so, I do.

          I fling her the disc, a perfectly novice throw. It clatters over the beach for a moment, then lodges itself in the white sand. “Lily, that was a fail,” she laughs, an easy sound.

          “I haven’t thrown a frisbee in years, okay?”    

          “Well you better try a little harder than that, Lily.” She throws it back at me, a gliding, elegant throw, floating along above the sand. I catch it, just barely; it glances off my fingers, I stumble to try to recapture it. “It’s all in the wrist, Lily,” Abby instructs, “flick your wrist.”

          Sighing, I throw it again, a noble attempt. This time, at very least, it flies, if only a little floppily. Abby catches it, then lets it drop, though clearly on purpose. She giggles, clapping her hands as she hops up and down. “Yay! You did it Lily!”