BIRDSEED by Lily Sharp (Short story

BIRDSEED by LILY SHARP

Winter in New York City used to be the happiest time of the year for Wren. But now, after her grandfather had passed away, something had changed— winter had lost its magic. The falling snow no longer shimmered in the late afternoon light the way it used to. The makeshift jazz band that played in the square across the street had lost its spunk, and was drowned out by the car horns and sirens that keep Wren awake at night. The little diner around the corner where she and her grandpa used to get waes and burnt coee has closed and has been replaced with an overpriced boutique she will never visit. The city itself seemed to have lost some of its brightness after her grandfather’s passing— a brightness Wren didn’t know if she would ever be able to find again. But still, Wren was finding ways to make life more tolerable. Taking it day by day. Wren finally rolled out of bed after her alarm screamed for the fifth time that morning. She poured herself a sludgy cup of room temperature coee left over from yesterday's pot and trudged through her morning routine. At half past seven, Wren pulled a scarf around her neck and stepped out her door into the cold city. The streets were quiet at this time of day and Wren basked in the silent delight, savoring her last moments of peace before she got to work. It was a Saturday, usually the busiest day at The Last Chapter, the bookstore she worked at. It had been months since her grandfather’s passing, but Wren still saw him in everything. In the starlings in Central Park making scrappy nests on the heads of statues. She saw him among the tourists, snapping film photos with every street sign and skyscraper they saw. Even in the clouds that drifted past her apartment window, oering solace and comfort, but just out of reach. Today, Wren decided to cut through one of the parks on her way to work; she had time to spare and thought she might appreciate a calming breath of nature to get her ready for the

day. About halfway around the park’s gravel walkway, she paused and approached a small fountain frozen over and glazed with ice crystals in the shapes of tiny snowflakes. When her grandpa was still here, he used to remind Wren every time it snowed that each and every snowflake was unique— just like her. She smiled then, and decided to sit for a moment, breathing in the freshness of the blisteringly cold air. Wren looked around the park: there was a toddler teetering o the path towards a muddy patch of half melted snow, parents in tow; she watched an older woman buying a newspaper from the vendor across the street; a couple embracing by the far end of the park, whispering words of armation and savoring one another’s warmth. Finally, her eyes settled on an old man directly across from her on one of the many wooden benches lining the pathways. He was wearing a plaid scarf, one that reminded Wren of something her mother gifted her grandfather for Christmas a few years prior. For a moment, Wren could not pry her eyes away from this old man; he seemed so familiar, so comforting. The man reached into the pocket of his oversized coat and pulled out a small paper bag. He let out a soft whistle and shook the bag gently. Wren watched as a flock of birds appeared as if from thin air and began to flutter around the man, who had begun sprinkling seeds from his paper bag in uneven circles around his bench. Once again, Wren found she could not stop watching the man; something about the chaos of the birds, with their frenzied flapping and fluttering, in contrast to the man’s undisturbed presence fascinated her. After many distracted moments, Wren realized herself, checked her watch, and rushed o to work. She was already late and still had nearly five blocks to walk to the bookstore. The whole morning, Wren was distracted and preoccupied; robotically placing books on shelves and ringing up customers.

“Wren, do you want to take your lunch break early? You seem distracted, ” her coworker, Annalise, asked.

“What?” Wren was startled back into reality.

“No, sorry, I’m fine. Just tired. ” She responded. But Wren was not just tired. She could not stop thinking about the man, and where she must have met him before. Why did he seem so familiar? Perhaps he was a regular in the bookstore. Or maybe he lived in her apartment building and she had seen him in passing. She shook the thought out of her head; no use troubling herself with such a trivial

matter.

The following morning, Wren found herself walking through the park again. She approached the fountain, no longer frozen over, and took her seat on the concrete edge. The man was already spreading his seeds with a contented smile on his face. Wren cocked her head and studied him more closely. Today, he was wearing a beige cap that was slightly too big and tilted toward the left side of his face. Wren was suddenly confronted with a memory: her grandfather adorning a similar cap, teaching her how to catch crabs at the end of the dock at her grandparent’s house.

“Isthewatercold?”Sheasked. ItwaslateAugustand, althoughitwasstillsummer, the weatherhadtakenaturnandithadbeenchillyforthepastfewdays. “Let’sfindout”herepliedashedippedhisfingertipsintothesaltywaterandsplashed herface. Hesmiledhiscrookedsmileandruedherhair. Shebeamedbackathim. Wren

cherishedeverymomentspentathergrandparentshouseonthecoast. Thecool, saltybreeze; theslightwhooshingsoundasthewakefromapassingboatlappedattheshore;therich smellofherGrandmother’sfurniture— auniqueblendthatremindedherofanantiquestore mixedwithcitruscleaner.

“Now, youpullupthislinehere, ”hergrandfathercontinued, explainingthecomplicated crabcontraption. “Andthenwedumpthecrabsinhere, ”hesaid. Heemptiedthreebeautifulblueish-greencrabsintothecooler. “Andthrowthetrapbackinthewater. Easyasthat. ”Heremovedhissaltybrown glovesandwipedhishandsonhisoveralls. Hetookohisbeigecapandsetitdownonthe railofthebench. “Now, whatdoyousayweheadinsideandaskyourGrandmaforsome lemonade?”heasked. Shegrinnedinresponseandnoddedherheadadamantly.

Wren blinked herself back to reality. What was she doing? Letting herself fantasize about the past would only make her miss her grandfather more. She stood quickly, startling some of the birds from around the old man and causing a flurry of gray and black feathers. Flustered, Wren made her hasty exit, hoping the man wouldn’t look at her as she passed, and she ran the rest of the way to the bookstore. Wren had the following day o from work, and decided to take the morning to herself and visit some of her favorite places around the city. She rose early with the sounds of the birds chirping outside and lazily made her way to the coee shop around the corner. The sun shone brightly today, warming Wren’s insides and making her feel happier than she had in the months since her grandfather’s funeral. A grin spread across her face as she placed her headphones over her ears and directed herself toward the park. Wren already knew the man would be there. She had seen him every day the past week and he never failed to show up at 10am on the dot to feed the birds their breakfast, always leaving at eleven to begin his journey home. Today, the sun feeding her ambition, Wren walked up to the man and sat herself down on the bench adjacent to him, separated only by a sparse tree and the flutter of the birds at the man’s feet. The old man turned to Wren, giving her a polite little wave and a

toothy smile that made his eyes squint into little lines behind his glasses. She was suddenly struck with another, equally painful memory of her grandfather.

TheywereinWren’schildhoodroomatherparent’shouseinupstateNewYork. Wren’s grandfathersatbesideherinthebedreadingfromaGrimm’sfairytalebookinhisdeep, calmingvoice. Wrenshudderednexttohimasthethunderstormcontinuedtoroaroutsideher window. Shehadwokeninthemiddleofthenightwithtearsinhereyesasthestormshook herroom, threateningtoswallowherwhole. Hergrandfatherfoundhermomentslater, wrappingherupinablanket, andreadingoutloudtodrownoutthesoundsofthestorm. Anotherburstoflightingcrackedthroughthemidnightbluesky, sendingajoltofterror throughWren. “Don’tcrymydarling” , hergrandpasaid, pullinghercloser. “Thesunwillshineagain, havenodoubt. ”hesaidwithhissignatureeartoeargrinthatmadeWrenfeelsuddenly comfortedandprotected. “Thesunwillshineagain, mydarling… ”herepeatedasWrenfinally

driftedotosleepagain.

Wren was shaken from her sudden daydream by the flutter of the birds as the man stood and began to walk out of the park, his cane dragging a steady line through the dirt path. Wren’s happiness at once faded away. It felt as if every lovely memory that popped into her mind was immediately stolen away from her as she was cruelly reminded of reality. Her grandfather was not here anymore and there was nothing Wren could do to bring him back. Wren hugged her knees to her chest on the park bench as the gray clouds started to roll in. The sun was gone and the rain was coming. She hadn’t even brought an umbrella. For the next week Wren could barely pull herself out of bed to walk to work, much less to go out of her way to visit the man in the park. After that one sunny day, the city seemed to suddenly be reminded that it was still winter and it had been below freezing with on and o snow every day since. In a normal winter— one not obstructed by Wren’s mourning— the snow

would bring her immense joy. She would venture outside bundled in her favorite hat and gloves and watch the children sledding in Central Park. But this week, the cold felt as though it penetrated Wren’s soul, no matter how many layers she wore. She doubted the old man would even be in the park with such cold weather. But, regardless of the city’s blistering temperatures, something about this particular day motivated Wren to look for the man anyway. Perhaps it was that the shops around Wren’s apartment had begun hanging twinkling lights, and the sound of jolly carols rang out across every street as it got closer and closer to the winter holidays. This semblance of normalcy reminded Wren that maybe there was joy to be had in these dark times, even if her grandfather could not enjoy them with her. Wren bundled up in her thickest jacket and made her way to the bodega across the street to grab a hot coee. She walked to the park with a newfound determination— whether motivated by the fiercely cold weather or her desire to see the man, Wren wasn’t sure. She was determined to introduce herself today. She needed to know more about the man to explain why she felt so connected to him. Wren walked directly over to the man, this time sitting on the same bench as him but on the far opposite end so as not to startle him. Wren

hesitated then, unsure what her next move was supposed to be. Thisisstupid, she thought.

He’sjustanaveragemanfeedingthebirds. Heremindsyouofyourgrandfatherandthat's

whyyouwanttobeclosetohim. She scolded herself for not coming to this sad realization

sooner. Just as she was about to stand up and walk away, she caught sight of a glimmer of yellow tinted light coming from the center of the park square. Wren’s heart swelled as she realized they had finally put the Christmas tree up. They used to have a tree lighting ceremony every year, for which Wren would invite her grandpa into the city to see. It appears Wren missed it while she was sulking alone in her apartment this winter.

“Theselightsalwaysremindmeofthegalaxy. ”Hergrandfathersaidafterthetree

lightinglastyear.

“Thewaytheyglimmer, yousee. Itremindsmeofaportalintoanotherworld inwhicheverylivingthingglowsgoldandluminescent. Suchabeautifulthing. Don’tyou agree, myWren?” Shenoddedwithabrightsmile. Hergrandfatherspokeasifeverysentencebelongedtoa poembyRobertFrostorEmilyDickinson. ThatwasoneofthemanythingsWrenhadadmired mostabouthim. Wrenfelttearswellingtohereyesatthesightofthetreealongwithher grandfather’sbeautifulwords. Sherestedherheadonhisshoulder— hisfrail, delicate shoulder, weakenedbythechemotherapyhehadenduredoverthepastfourmonths. Wren shudderedatthethoughtoflosinghergrandpa. Sheknewitwasimminent, butshesimply couldn’tbearthethought.

Wren wiped the tears from her eyes and stood quickly, nearly tripping over the man's feet in her haste. He sat up straighter and stared at her for a moment, then held out his brown paper bag and shook it slightly. She took the bag from him, hesitantly, then began helping him spread the seeds around the bench. Wren looked at him then— a long, in-depth look that she had not yet permitted herself. The resemblance to her grandfather was uncanny. The subtle, soft curve of his jaw, his gentle blue eyes, and his tufty blondish white hair made Wren feel as if she was looking at a hologram of her deceased grandpa. She was startled, but reminded herself to check back into reality. This man was not her grandfather, and she needed to get over this fantasy before she hurt herself even more. “My name’s Wren. ” She said suddenly, unsure of what prompted her to do such a thing. She waited a moment for the man to respond, but all she received was a polite nod and a gentle smile. “What’s your name?” She asked. The man still did not answer, but he removed his hand from the bag and placed it on the bench next to him. He repositioned himself so that his

body was facing hers, and looked at her with a warm smile. Wren took this as her cue to continue, and she rambled on about her life; she talked about her hectic job at the bookstore, her apartment that had become cluttered and unorganized, the lights on the Christmas tree, even her coee that tasted a little more bitter than usual this morning. Wren wasn’t sure why she continued to talk and talk to the man, who only nodded along and smiled occasionally. Perhaps she had been so desperate to talk to someone— anyone— about all the things that had been troubling her in these last few months. Suddenly embarrassed by her long-winded monologue, Wren flushed pink and started to gather her stu. “I’m sorry, ” She muttered. “I really should be going, I’m late to work. ” It was true, she had signed up for the afternoon shift which started in only ten minutes. The man regarded her with a proud smile. “I’ll be here, always. ” He said ominously in a hollow breath, as if the sound wasn’t coming from his body. Wren was startled to stillness for a moment, stuttering on her words. “Thank you- I mean, um, bye” . She said hastily and stood from the bench. “It was very nice to talk to you” . She said, even though she was fully aware the conversation was one-sided. Wren smiled broadly at the man one last time then hurried o in the opposite direction toward The Last Chapter. She could not prevent the grin that spread across her face as she pushed open the door to the bookstore. Wren was so entranced in her magical, happy bubble that she didn’t even hear her coworker calling her name. “Hey Wren. Wren? Earth to Wren?” Annalise said as she waved her hands in front of her

face.

“Hey! Sorry. ” Wren responded with a grin. Annalise had also just arrived for her shift, they would be working the afternoon together.

“I saw you in the park this morning, ” Said Annalise.

“I went down to your side of town to grab a coee and cut through the park on my way to the store. ” “Oh, really?” Responded Wren, already busy at work wheeling a cart down the fiction aisle to begin restocking shelves. “Were you on the phone or something?” Annalise asked. Wren paused where she was, reaching to shelf some book about the history of New York City. “What do you mean?” Wren asked inquisitively. Annalise must have seen someone else. “I just mean it looked like you were talking to yourself or something. That’s why I didn’t say hello— I assumed you were on the phone” . Annalise shrugged. She looked confused, but not as confused as Wren felt. After a pause, Wren let out a short laugh. She must be mistaken. “No, no. That must have been someone else you saw. I was talking to… ” She trailed o. She didn’t know who she was talking to, he never gave her his name. “I was talking” She said

again, quieter this time. Reality came crashing down on Wren in a painful avalanche. No, no,

no, she thought. Annalisesawsomeoneelse. Iwastalkingtothemanthismorning, soshe

mustbemistaken. Wren rubbed her eyes, trying to shake her lack of sleep which had only just

hit her. God, I’mdelusional, she thought. Suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and panic,

Wren said “I’m not feeling too well, I think I need to get some fresh air. ” Before Annalise could respond, Wren was rushing out the door and sprinting down the block toward the park. The cold air caused her eyes to water, blurring her vision as she ran toward the fountain in the center of the square. She stopped there, leaning on the concrete ledge for support as she tried to catch her breath. Wren looked at the bench across the way: it

was empty. Whereishe?She thought. Hehastobehere. Wren checked her watch; it was

quarter to eleven. The man should still be here— he never strayed from his schedule. But he

was nowhere to be found. She rubbed the tiredness out of her face, she could not allow her

eyes to deceive her anymore. Wren sank to the ground with a hollow heart and watched as the birds chirped and pecked at the ground, undisturbed by her presence. Two birds, one black and one white, were positioned on the seat of the bench shoulder to shoulder as if holding hands. They chirped their beautiful songs and fluttered their wings producing a purr-like sound as they lifted away from the bench in unison. Wren felt a tear begin to stream down her cheek; there was no one to feed the birds now, for the old man would never return.