From Dragonfly: The Pigeon

I guess it's my week of pigeon stories, because I have another one to tell. Two days ago, I was looking out my window and saw a pigeon on the small landing just outside the glass. It's eyes were closed and it seemed to be sleeping. I'd never been this close to examining a pigeon before, so I was looking at all the different colored feathers, the whiteness that was his eyelids, and the way his beak was shaped and colored. When I started to look at his legs, I realized he only had one leg. I looked all through it's body, perhaps it's leg was folded up like a flamingo, but it wasn't. This was truly a one-legged pigeon. I decided at that moment to name the pigeon "Carswell," because we have so many one-limbed individuals here. The pigeon certainly belongs among these people.

I told others about the pigeon, even showed my roommates. They said that they'd seen it hopping around with all the other pigeons on the yard. I wondered how it fared for its share of food or if it was treated like an outsider - "survival of the fittest," as you might say. But this bird looked quite healthy. It opened its eyes to me quite a few times, just stared at me as I was staring at him. What was he thinking of me? Did the pony tail on my head remind him of feathers? Did my eyeglasses seem odd? I don't know what goes on in the brain of a pigeon, but it tilted it's head, while looking at me, and then puffed up it's body, closed it's eyes, and went back to sleep. It was safe, on the other side of the glass and bars. Later, it flew away, its ability to fly not appearing affected by its failure to have a second leg. He was soaring.

If I ever see Carswell on the yard, I may just find a crumb to provide to him. I do not think he's the bird that flew directly into my face; something tells me that Carswell may be able to make up in flight, what he lacks in ability to walk. That's the way animals are - if we lose our ability to see, our hearing gets more distinct.

I suppose a bird with one leg, especially a pigeon, is not the most exciting thing. Anything different, here, is interesting and rare. Every time I enter a new office, or meet a new staff member, I am curious. I look all around, taking in their office decor and choice of what they bring to work. I study their demeanor and their clothing and how they carry themselves. Are they a secure person, or do I sense some vulnerability? Why do they choose to work in this environment? Are they here to help or just receive a paycheck? For many, the answer is probably both... they probably thought they could help when they first started, but in time were warn down by the craziness of everything, always having to be aware of everything and everyone, and got tired of trying too hard. They can't want people to change more than the people want to change. Too many bad apples, perhaps.

I guess I experienced a bit of that myself, based on my first two room assignments. I was in rooms where fights broke out all the time. People constantly hollered at one another and blamed each other for everything. I didn't know it could be any different. But, my room now, is totally different. I chose not to fight the second floor room, because I really like my room and especially my roommates. Three of four of us are the exact same age, born in the same year. I'm the slight oldest. The forth is quite a bit younger, so we guide her at times. The three of us are all getting out in less than 4 months (one just 3 weeks), so we are trying to just bide our time, not doing anything that would catch the eye of staff, in order to not get in trouble. We go to sleep at a reasonable time, and wake up early. We talk about the news in the paper, life on the outside, men, women, sex, books, magazine articles, and gossip. I was told they were "warned" about me - told not to "tell" me too much, because I was not to be trusted. I think they see that the gossip is made-up B.S. and we are all friendly and share. It took over 6 months, but I really like my room, my view, and my roommates. I'm even catching on to a little bit of Spanish.

I suppose in some ways, I am that pigeon. I'm a little slower when I walk (well, a lot slower), and I'm weaker than most the others around me. In the outside world, I will have to always fight against the word felon. I will just have to work more for my goals. Carswell and I may have to try a little harder to get what we want, but our perseverance will help us soar.