Sparrow Man

by M. R. Pritchard

  Just in time for the sunrise we find a small yard all enclosed with a high fence to keep the dead out. I think it was some type of animal pen, maybe a small goat enclosure or a dog sitting business. Either way it is clean now, no sign of any animals living in it for a while and the nearby house is empty. I fall asleep, wrapped in survival blankets, dreaming of what it will be like when I find Jim tomorrow.

  I wake up in the middle of the day to find Sparrow lying in the tall grass next to me with his eyes closed, his face slack and relaxed. He’s out cold.

  Liar, I think to myself.

  I crawl to him, silent as a mouse in church, and stare. For the first time I get a really good look at him. If he shaved that stubble off and trimmed his unruly brown hair, he could be very good looking. Even better looking than Jim is. The pit of my stomach seems to quiver a bit at this realization and I’m not sure why.

  My gaze wanders down the length of him. I know he’s tall, really tall, with a big frame. But it’s hard to tell what his body really looks like with his pockets stuffed with feathers. I reach for the top button of his coat, wanting to see what’s under there so bad before we part ways. I flick the button and frown; it’s just a button-down shirt, dark blue and checkered, buttoned up to his neck. I reach for the next button on his coat and as my finger tips the button up to flick it open, Sparrow’s hand is on mine in an instant. I breathe in and look to his face. His green eyes are dark and wild. He moves faster than I’ve ever seen his crazy ass move, pushing me away and standing, backing far away from me.

  “You’re not supposed to touch me,” he says as he buttons the coat back up to his neck. “We have an understanding. I don’t touch you, you don’t touch me.” He shoves his hand through his tousled brown hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, sitting back on my heels. “It’s just… just…”

  “What?” he shouts.

  “You’ve been hiding yourself under that coat all this time. I just wanted to see you.” And this may be my last time to find out what’s under there.

  “What the fuck does it matter to you, Meg? You hide in plain sight all the time.” He whips his hands in the air real crazy-like. “With every step you take, every move you make, everything you do, you’re just hiding yourself in plain sight. You might think that no one notices but I do!” He takes a few more steps away from me. “How about you go the fuck to sleep, Meg, and keep your hands to yourself?”

  I stop moving, stop breathing, my gut drops and a lump rises in my throat. In all of Sparrow’s crazy quirks I’ve never heard him drop an f-bomb. I’ve never seen him this angry before and for some reason-I’m not sure why-but I flinch away from him.

  Sparrow stops, stills, and taking one last look at me he turns, walking to the far edge of the enclosed field and stands facing the fence.

  I wait for him to turn around and sit next to me, to hum some Bon Jovi song like he does for me each morning, but he doesn’t. He stands still, his back straight, his coat stretched tight over his shoulders. I can see the bulge of something under the coat, whatever it is he’s hiding under there.

  I lay down on the warm grass with my backpack tucked under my head. And just like a true sinner, I fall asleep without feeling a hint of remorse for what I just did to him. Something inside of me really wants to see what lies underneath that coat.

  …

  “When do you think we’ll make it to the border?” I ask Sparrow. He’s refused to look at me since I got up. I get the sense that he’s still mad.

  “Few hours,” is all he says.

  I get a good look at him as he goes to open the fence so we can leave. His coat bulges with all of the feathers he has in there, some even stick out of the tops of his pockets on the outside of his coat.

  As we walk I start to feel a little bit guilty for trying to sneak a peek at whatever he hides under his coat. Even though I’m not sure why he has to keep it such a secret; I’ve pretty much told him all of mine since this journey began.

  He doesn’t talk to me. He doesn’t ask me any questions. His face is set hard, his tall body stiff as he walks down the road in the moonlight. When we reach the last few miles to the border, I can’t take it any longer. I can’t leave him like this as I move on to find Jim, never having apologized for my actions.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. As the words come out of my mouth, I realize this is the first time I’ve ever actually apologized to anyone, ever, in my life.

  He stops in the road. “Sorry only works when you mean it, Meg.”

  I step in front of him so I can face him, remembering all he’s done for me these past few days. I shove my hand in my pocket and find the flower he picked for me when I told him how my father greeted me each morning. I look down myself at the short shorts and flannel shirt that’s unbuttoned just a little too far and I notice in the crook of my arm where the snowy owl landed there is a tiny white feather stuck to my shirt. I grasp it between my fingers and hold it out to him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I mean it.”

  Sparrow’s eyes focus on the object in my hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I won’t ever try to look under your coat again. It was wrong of me to try.”

  He stares at the tiny feather and I’m not even sure he’s heard what I said until he responds with, “No one has ever given me a feather before.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Really.”

  He takes the feather from between my fingers and tucks it into his chest pocket, repeating his pocket watch pat.

  “Better?” I ask.

  He nods. “Better.”

  As we walk, Sparrow whistles a tune that I recognize as Have a Nice Day. It seems my offering has improved his current disposition. It’s strange how something as simple as a tiny feather can do that.

  …

  Just as the sun starts to rise, I squint at the view in front of me and recognize the border crossing a few miles ahead of us.

  “Jesus, Sparrow, look!” I point. “We’ve made it and just in time for daylight!”

  I take off running and I can hear his steps right behind me as he follows. As I get closer I notice that the gates, the ones that you used to be able to pull up to and flash your I.D. and they would let you pass with just a few questions then let you drive on in to Canada, they’re locked. It’s all gated, locked up, and topped with barbed wire. As we get closer I see movement, a guard steps out of one of the huts you used to be able to drive past.

  “Hey!” I shout at the guard. “Hey!” I wave my arms. “Let us in!”

  He meanders over, taking his sweet time, chewing on something.

  “Well, well, well,” he glances between us. “So there are some of you that are still alive in there.”

  “Let us in, please?”

  “Afraid I can’t do that.” He shakes his head.

  “What? Why?” I ask. “Oh, wait a sec!” I shift my bag and dig through it, pulling out my passport. “I have dual citizenship!” I hold up the passport for him to see.

  “Doesn’t matter lady.” He shakes his head. “Under strict orders not to let you filthy Americans in.”

  “What?” I feel my shoulders drop in defeat. “But we’ve come so far…” I turn to Sparrow but he’s looking away, his gaze locked in the treetops across the bridge where I can see some dark birds fluttering about.

  “Listen,” the officer starts. “I feel bad for you two, seeing you’re alive and all and you look like you’ve traveled a mighty long way. Look over there.”

  I follow the direction of his hand. There is a dam, with water pouring out of it into the nearby river.

  “That’s the only location around here without gates. And it’s for a good reason. That water pumps through there faster than a jet plane at top speed. Those meat sacks can’t climb that, but if you and that crazy man can scale that, you’re in. I won’t even call it in to report you until a day after.”

  “What makes you think he’s crazy?” I scowl at the man.


  His eyebrows rise.

  “Okay.” I look at the dam and then back at Sparrow who now stares down at me. “Okay,” I tell the officer. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, miss,” the officer starts, pointing in the direction of the dam. “Those walking dead creatures, eh, they’re at the bottom of that river, milling about like piranhas. Those suckers can’t swim or climb, but they can hold their breath for a mighty long time.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” I nod at him. “Come on, Sparrow.”

  …

  I stand on the bridge that once stretched over the dam. It’s busted now. Looks like someone blew up the middle of it so no one could cross. We have to climb down, across, and then up. I watch the water and see the walking bags of flesh under the surface.

  “How deep do you think that is?” I ask Sparrow.

  He looks down, leaning a little too close to me. “Looks deep enough,” he replies.

  I turn to look at him and he smiles. I kind of love it when Sparrow Man smiles, his perfectly straight teeth all white and gleaming at me. His green eyes twinkle a little. I smile back at him.

  “This is going to suck, isn’t it?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  “Most likely,” he replies, still smiling, his green eyes still twinkling.

  Crazy men shouldn’t be able to make faces that look so innocent.

  …

  The rock and crumbling cement are cold and wet. On top of that, it’s slippery and hard to hold onto. Sparrow follows me. Every few moments I catch him leaning over my shoulder to look in the direction that we are going. Being daytime, I can see the meat sacks milling about in the water and it’s just like the officer said; piranhas.

  I grip the rock at my side, my fingers numb from the cold spray of water, and slip a little. I stand still and take a deep breath. I need to stop thinking about those bodies in the water. I need to focus on the task. Or maybe I just need a distraction.

  “What’s on the playlist for today, Sparrow?”

  “Bon Jovi,” he says.

  “It’s always Bon Jovi. What song?”

  He takes a thoughtful breath. “Dead or alive?”

  I stumble a little. “Please, don’t sing that.”

  “Blaze of Glory?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Bed of Roses?”

  I think for a moment. I can deal with Bed of Roses. It has nothing to do with death, or dying, or heaven or hell. “That’s good. Sing that.”

  We continue our climb down as Sparrow starts to hum.

  …

  As we reach the bottom of the dam I can see the dead, and they must sense us because they’ve congregated right below the area where we are climbing. It’s hard judging the depth of the water, but it looks like it’s a few feet above their heads. This is good, because we have to pass a few steps of the broken dam that are just under the water.

  Stepping down, I settle my foot on a piece of water-covered rock, I grasp a rock to steady myself and as I move my other foot, I slip.

  “Oh shit!” I mutter, trying to steady myself, waving my arm as I dip backwards. My heart thumps so hard I think it’s going to pop out of my chest. I feel something brush my boot and realize there isn’t a few feet of water above those dead people, there’s just a few inches! The next thing I feel is a tight grip on my arm. Sparrow’s lean body jumps down next to me, and just as he lands he grunts and shoves me up and away from him, across the slippery water-covered dam to the other side.

  I grip the rock and press my face to the cold stone, taking deep breaths. That was close. I turn, reaching for Sparrow and…dear God those dead things have a hold of his trench coat as it dips in the water. I reach out for him.

  “Sparrow!” I shout.

  He doesn’t look at me, instead he lets go of the rock and grips his coat with both hands, standing on the slippery submerged piece and struggling to pull his coat away from them. The fabric starts to tear and I see a handful of feathers fall out of his inside pockets and flutter towards the water.

  “No!” I yell at Sparrow. “Stop!” I scream at him.

  “My feathers!” he says with a panicked voice.

  “Sparrow!”

  “Can’t, can’t lose them…”

  Another dead hand reaches for his coat, pulling it harder, ripping the corner of his coat and the pocket of feathers off of him. I see one of the large white feathers of the snowy owl drift away from us.

  “My feathers!” Sparrow leans forward like he’s going to dive in after them. “My feathers!” he shouts, panicked.

  “Sparrow!” I scream at him until he turns towards me.

  I hold my hand out to him. “You can’t risk your life for a pocket full of feathers.”

  “They… they aren’t just feathers.”

  “Sparrow!” I scream louder. “You will die!”

  “My feathers,” he whispers, his green eyes wide, his hand reaching as they flow downstream.

  “I will find you more feathers!”

  His eyes flit to mine; he reaches further, bends his knees to jump.

  “SPARROW!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “NO!” He stands up straight. “I will find you more feathers! Don’t jump in that water, please, dear God, don’t do it!”

  He stills and looks at me. “You promise?”

  “Yes!”

  “A promise is a promise, Meg.” I don’t miss when his eyes flit downstream, towards the feathers that are floating away.

  “I promise!” I reach for him, the spray of the water soaking my sleeve. “Let’s go!”

  Sparrow reaches out with one long arm, his hand wrapping tight around mine, and I use every bit of strength I have to pull him up onto the rock where I am.

  We stand on the broken dam ledge, one of Sparrow’s arms across my shoulders and gripping damp rock on the other side of me. For this moment I don’t mind that he’s touching me or that his chest is pressed against my back or that he’s so close I can feel his heart beating and his rapid breaths. I am just thankful that I didn’t watch as Sparrow was pulled into the water by those things.

  “Are you okay?” I ask when I catch my breath.

  “I don’t know,” he replies, his voice vacant.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  We climb up to the top of the dam to freedom, to safety. I could care less that I am coated in a thick sheen of sweat and dirty water as I realize that I’m one step closer to home, to Jim.

  …

  We walk down a two lane highway with signs pointing to Lansdowne, Gananoque, and Seeley’s Bay. We follow the sign pointing to Kingston, Sparrow clutching his torn coat tight to his body. He makes a strange sound deep in his throat. I stop, reaching my hand out to stop him too.

  “Sparrow?” I ask.

  He blinks at me.

  “Are you okay?”

  He makes the sound again, and for a second I think he might be crying deep inside his chest, although no tears fall from his eyes. I know he’s crazy, but he has his moments, and we saved each other back there on that dam. But remembering the look on his face when those feathers washed downstream, I think it cracked him a bit more, and watching him kind of broke my heart a little.

  “Can I touch you?” I ask him.

  He nods, biting his lip.

  I step forward, hesitant at first. We have had an understanding: no touching…well, unless we’re saving the other’s life. I open my arms and reaching up on my toes, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pressing my face to his bony clavicle. It takes a minute before I feel his arms wrap around my back. I squeeze him tighter and rub my hands across his shoulders, trying to soothe him. He shudders a little and presses his face into my neck.

  We stand like this for a long time, two crazies in the road, hugging and crying. But we made it this far together, and after all that’s happened we are so close. I’m almost home. I’m almost to Jim.

  Sparrow seems to collect himself in the moments that I’m thinking. “You promise,” he starts, his voice cracking. He cle
ars his throat. “You promise you’ll help me find more feathers?”

  “I promise,” I tell him. Then I remember that we just spent days searching for those damn feathers and now I’m hours away from Jim. My heart sinks a little for Sparrow because I think I just lied to him.

  …

  We resume our walk down the long stretch of highway. Every few minutes a car passes us heading in either direction. We stop at a bus stop, a real bus stop. Sparrow points to a piece of paper hanging on the window.

  Wait here for Safe House Shuttle, it says in bold ink.

  We sit and wait and before long I see a city bus driving down the road. The bus pulls to a stop in front of us. The door opens and an old lady leans out.

  “Which one you headed to?” she asks.

  “Kingston,” I tell her.

  “This is your ride then.” She leans back in her seat and adjusts her seatbelt. “Hop on kids.”

  Sparrow and I both stand.

  “Ladies first,” he whispers, moving to the side so I can get on the bus ahead of him.

  I roll my eyes. “Still not a lady.”

  We take an awkward walk down the bus aisle. I stop in the middle and move to sit down, pressing myself against the window.

  “Sit with me?” I ask Sparrow-no, I beg him.

  He sits next to me, hovering on the edge of the seat so our shoulders don’t touch.

  “Next stop, Kingston Safe House,” the bus driver says over the loudspeaker.

  “This is weird,” I say to Sparrow. “We are the only ones on this bus.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Sparrow says as he drums his fingers on his knees. “You will have your Jim back soon.”

  “And then who will you have?”

  He shrugs.

  “Will you go to the Safe House with me?” I ask him.