Black Feathers and Blonde Hair

               The sudden rustle of the corn stalks startled me; I retreated into the shadows out of sight. “He’s got his work cut out for him, Bobby. The damn crows have been out of control this year,” the farmer sighed. “I was just thinking the same thing, pops. Momma fixed him up good though. Hell, I’d hire him!” The mens laughter bellowed through the crops. Nearby, I noticed my sisters crouched silently, hiding just as I did. Their heavy stomps passed me, crushing weeds and brush with each step as they conversed. First, the farmer in light brown boots with the pants tucked inside. Followed by his son, Bobby, wearing his usual boots with leather laces. And behind him, a pair of beat-up black boots I hadn’t seen before. I didn’t realize they had hired someone else; he’d been so quiet up to this point. First day jitters possibly?

               Once the trio had passed, I crept out into the path they had beaten through the corn. From behind, the mysterious man was tall, his back muscular and broad. Certainly, the build of a hard worker. His blond hair was just below shoulder length, swaying softly with each step. The farmer and Bobby both had dark features, for the most part, so did everyone on the farm. Where is this man from, he’s new to town maybe, probably far from home and lonely?

“Don’t get ahead of your self Marceline, I can already see your little mind flying off into the sunset,” Jodie snickered, shooting her eyes to Selene who was still hiding off the path. “Leave her be, Jodie. She’s always been our little hopeless romantic, after all.” I smiled at Selene, appreciating her sweet nature in contrast to Jodie’s constant teasing. With a hop, I flew just above the tall stalks where my wings could stretch, “come with me, I just want to see him from the front”. The girls giggled, eager to follow my lead.

We rode the breeze, allowing it to lift us higher above the field. Each of us peered our eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of the mans golden locks amongst the yellow of the corn. The sun glistened against the black of my feathers, exposing their iridescence as I flapped my wings excitedly. Eventually we discovered Bobby, hammering away at a wooden platform in the middle of a small clearing. He held nails between his lips, pulling from his supply and smacking them into the platform. Occasionally he’d shake the platform to measure its sturdiness before applying another few nails into the wood. He paid no attention to us as we flew right over him.

“Look, the workshop!” Jodie called, veering left to a large wooden shelter at the other end of the field. The farmers’ old pickup truck was parked at the opening of its open door. Inside, we heard the mechanical screech of the table saw. Looking down through a missing slat on the roof, the three of us watched as the farmer carefully cut a long wooden board, nearly in half. Nearby, the man sat on an upside-down bucket, watching the farmer work intently. He wore faded blue jeans and a long sleeve shirt, his hands were large, concealed in dirty work gloves. I could only see the lower portion of his face beneath his hat, it was chiseled and clean shaven, his rosy lips slightly parted.

Taking the boards he just cut, the farmer laid them out on a worktable amongst various tools and unfinished projects. Placing the longer board vertically and the smaller one horizontally across it, the 4 of us (the man, my sisters, and I) watched as the farmer nailed them in place forming a cross.

After some time working on the cross, the farmer placed it on the ground and the handsome man’s feet and the two of them observed his work silently. Deciding it was sufficient, the farmer helped the man from his seat and assisted him in laying down across the boards, extending his arms to measure the length. My sisters and I exchanged confused looks, unsure what the purpose of this was. Without warning, the farmer began to drive large nails through the man’s hands, into the boards. We flinched in shock, turning our heads away from the horror as the vicious sound of the hammer rang through the hole in the roof.

“Marci, lets go.” Jodie pleaded, turning from the sight below. I looked back to see the farmer securing the second hand, leaving the beautiful stranger unable to fight him off. Finally, I could see the rest of his face, his expression was frozen in the agony of the unwarranted assault. “We have to help him!” I cried desperately, unable to pull my eyes from the scene unfolding in the farmer’s workshop. Like a mad man, the farmer slammed nails into his limbs and body, further paralyzing the man against the wood. “Help him? Marci, he’s dead. We need to get out of here!” My sisters took to the skies, violently flapping their wings in retreat, leaving me behind on the roof.

The building fell silent. My heart raced as I built up the courage to peek over the hole where a roof panel had once been. Kneeling over the injured man, the farmer was tightening wires around his neck, arms and torso as if the man were still capable of escaping his tragic fate. I whimpered softly, unable to understand what could have justified such an act. The farmer was not a sweet man, always yelling at his dogs and talking sternly to his workers. But this was a side of him I didn’t know he was capable of. He had no reaction to the slain body on the dirt floor, stepping over him with zero regard.

I perched there at the opening, watching over the man as he laid motionless. The farmer left to help Bobby in the field for a while, abandoning his victim in the dark structure. The sun was almost completely behind the mountains now, casting gloomy shadows throughout the property. As much as I didn’t want to, I accepted it was time to join the rest of the others at our home atop the old windmill. Shedding a single tear as I bid a silent farewell, I pushed off the roof and started home.

Inside the wooden windmill, everyone was already settling in for the night. My sisters eagerly greeted me, concerned that I had stayed out so late on my own. I couldn’t contain my grief, finally able to collapse into a pile of feathers after holding myself together for so many hours. “Marci, you poor thing.” Selene whispered, nuzzling her head against my neck. I wept quietly to my sisters, letting sleep overtake me, praying the body would be gone in the morning so I could forget his angelic face.

The next morning Clyde, an early riser from the flock, burst into the opening of our nest inside the windmill. “The farmer strung up a body in the field!” he cried. Everyone awoke with a jolt, concerned with overlapping chatter. “A body?”, “Whose body?”, “He’s sick, a monster!”, “Is it dead?”, “Oh my god!” We all rose to our feet, flying out into the dewy morning air to investigate Clyde’s claim. My heart sunk, bracing for the traumatizing display just outside.

And there he was, from the knees up above the corn stalks, the beautiful stranger dead for everyone to see. Afraid of getting too close, most of the flock only flew as close as the edge of the corn before turning back, repulsed and afraid. The mans head hung forward in his upright position on the cross. I realized he was perched on top of the podium Bobby had built yesterday in preparation. A part of me was disappointed that Bobby was in on the murder too. He was not nearly as mean as his father. Foolishly, I had even hoped that he would be the one to rectify the cruelty that had taken place.

 On the back porch of the farmhouse, I saw the farmer in his usual chair drinking coffee. He appeared to have a smirk of delight painted on his evil face, amused by our fear. Thoughts of flying at him and clawing at his face, even pecking his eyes out, filled my mind. I wanted to bring the stranger some justice even though I knew he’d be unaware of my efforts. Satisfied, the farmer walked off towards a pen full of animals to begin his morning chores, as if he hadn’t been responsible for taking a life the day before.

The nights grew colder, and the days were shorter from then on. Most of us did our best to avoid going into the field, uneasy with the handsome man’s watchful eyes. A few of the more rebellious boys from the flock would dare each other to perch on his shoulders or hat, sending me into a spiral anytime I’d catch them in the act. I know the others were gossiping about me, finding my attachment to him to be unusual. The sun beat on his clothes, fading their colors after just a few weeks. After the first major storm of the fall season, he began to wilt, losing the tone shape of his arms and chest. I lived with guilt each day that I was too cowardly to approach him and pay my respects up close. I was consumed with shame at having witnessed his demise and choosing to do nothing to stop it. I didn’t care what the others thought of me or how desensitized they became to the corpse posted atop the corn.

The winter came bringing blistering winds, blowing the now matted blond locks of the corpse. I knew he couldn’t feel the icy bite of the breeze anymore, but he had to be cold and missing the orange light of summer. With little interest in doing much of anything I used to enjoy, I spent most of my time sitting in the opening of the windmill, watching over him. I’d sit for hours thinking about who he was. Curious about where he came from, if he had a family that missed him, if we would have become friends as the summer went on. Or something more. I mourned the possibilities and the potential I’d never get to experience with him.

On an especially cold night, a few weeks after the field had been picked and cleared, I awoke from a bad sleep, concerned about the man. Without the corn surrounding him, he had even less coverage from the elements. I peered out of the entryway and saw him in his usual place, alone in the middle of the bare field. Pacing back and forth, I fought with myself, struggling to come to terms with my feelings for a man I never knew. Before I could change my mind, I jumped from the opening into the night air, unprepared for just how cold it was beyond the windshield our shelter provided.

I landed at the man’s boots on the platform, too shy to get any closer initially. I expected to be overcome by the stench of his rotting flesh after so many months and was surprised to discover that he smelled earthy and damp. It reminded me of the smell of the farm just before it rains in the summer. His slumped head, which normally avoided my gaze, was looking straight down at me now. I met his cold eyes, joining him in a silence that said a thousand words. He had become so familiar from my usual spot at the windmill, this was like meeting someone for the first time. Finally, close enough to really observe him, I noticed a patch on his tattered button up shirt that read “Robert” in embroidered letters.

“Robert,” I whispered, locking eyes with him once more. The moonlight cast shadows on his face, giving him a somewhat haunted expression, but still I wanted to get closer. I hopped up, flapping my wings a few times, before landing on his arm. I tried to rest most of my weight on the board itself, rather than putting more stress on the nails that kept him upright. I observed the view of the farm that Robert had at this angel, feeling a little comfort in the thought that he could probably see me sitting in the opening of the windmill as I guarded him. It made me feel less alone, like we were both longing together in some way.

“Oh Robert, why did this happen to you. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him.” I softly wept, wedging my small frame between his shoulder and the lean of his limp head. I felt his forgiveness in the warmth of his embrace, protecting me from some of the icy night air. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again, I promise.” We sat out in the field all night, I spoke of all the things I’d wanted to tell him in the months of keeping my distance. I made sure to remind myself periodically of the grim reality that Robert couldn’t hear me or respond. Nonetheless, I continued filling the silence. Watching the sunrise glow on the horizon, I dreaded the end of our time together. I feared what my sisters would think as they were already worried about the state I’ve been in since the incident.

“I have to go now Robert; I’ll be at my usual spot on the windmill keeping an eye on you just in case.” I nervously measured the stretch of land between our two posts, sad to be apart again. “I’ll be back tonight, no matter what, ok?” Robert did not respond, as expected. Embracing the side of his head, I inhaled the scent of his blonde locks, already looking forward to returning to his side. Taking flight, I looked back at Robert, feeling as if I were abandoning him again. I needed to eat and sleep some before tonight, the cold took allot out of me and I wanted to be rested for our meeting.

Joining the others, I found warmth between my sisters, attempting not to disturb them as I nestled in. Welcoming the relief of sleep, I replayed the nights events in my head as I drifted off. My dreams were girlish and giddy, as they had been before the farmer stole my naïve view of the world. From time to time, I’d wake up and lazily allow myself to settle back in for just a little more sleep. The more of the day I slept away, the sooner the night would come.

In the late afternoon, I awoke to the sound of dogs barking and hammering that echoed through the farm. Sleepily I shuffled to the opening of the windmill to investigate, bewildered to discover Robert was gone from his spot. Bobby and the farmer worked on his podium, in the middle of the clearing. “Robert!” I called without any expectation of an answer. I pushed off the windmill, soaring over the farmer and his son, snapping my head in all directions as I searched for Robert. “Robert!” I called again. My eyes became blurry with tears and my voice trembled as I called his name over the farm, snapping my neck in all directions.

Noticing the door of the workshop was wide open, I flew in, unafraid of the consequences. Landing on the cluttered work bench, I scanned the room hurriedly. I hadn’t been back to this place since I saw the farmer kill my sweet Robert. It smelled of dust and sawdust, reminding me of that day. “Robert, are you in here? It’s me, Marceline.” The place was deserted. Helpless and disappointed, I turned to move onto the next place in my search.

 As I approached the door on the way out, I noticed a pile of clothes tossed on the dirty floor beside the entrance, covered in hay and straw. I crept up to it cautiously, in denial of what I already knew. All of Robert’s belongings, his boots, jeans, shirt, hat and gloves, were balled up and discarded. A part of me knew I was never going to see him again, the farmer had finally made his point and probably just got bored of looking at him. I pecked at his shirt, putting the tip of my beak through one of the nail holes in the sleeve. Only a hint of his scent remained on the clothes, but I did my best to enjoy what was left, imprinting it on my memory in hopes of remembering it forever.

I knew I could never be happy on the farm after everything that’d happened since the summer. My heart would always have a wound, and my mind could never be present when it’d much rather be with Robert. The mystery of his disappearance was in some ways more upsetting than the assault. Both were mysterious in nature but only one was ongoing. I feared the farmer had buried him in some place he would never be found or even fed him to the pigs to ensure there was nothing left. I would never know. The guilt of once again letting Robert down ached in my empty stomach, I couldn’t face the price of my failures at his expense.

Behind me, I heard someone approaching, crunching on the gravel with each step. The farmer entered the door, pulling a rag from his back pocket and swatting in my direction “Shoo! Get out of here, you!” he shouted. In one swift motion, I snatched one of Roberts gloves by the pinky and darted above his head and out the door. Never looking back, I flew as far as my wings could carry me, then I’d stop to rest for the night, snuggling my last piece of Robert. In the morning, I’d collect my prized possession and continue my journey to anywhere but home.