When I was younger I used to catch birds for my father. I would perch myself among the pigeons that lurked on top of our highrise and then I would gain their acquaintance. Starting with small talk, I would coax the grey birds into a conversation. We would converse about the weather or the menial labor of office work; However, birds quickly get sidetracked and divulge into deeper more personal conversation points.

We would discuss each other's families, our hopes and aspirations, and our deep-seated emotional scars brought about by our poor upbringing from our parents. I usually fell silent when the pigeons began these topics, I always have hated opening myself to others. When the little birds had fallen into deep conversation, I would get up off the ledge and sneak behind the birds. Their guard down, I would quickly bag the birds and return home, their muffled screaming from inside the burlap sack echoing off the walls in the alleyways.

I did this every 2 days for many years until my father and I had created our small empire based upon the fragile backs of these little birds. My father's spine had long such contorted into such a shape that he was incapable of helping me bag the birds, so I became accustomed to hours alone spent overlooking the drab cityscape. My only company my soon to be captives. The only time I ever had human interaction was at ground level, and even then the screams from my sack led many to avoid me when I approached populous areas.
I do remember having a human companion once. I stumbled upon him on the rooftop in mid-March, his white scrawny legs dangled off the facade like polyester rope from a tree fort. His mere presence had scared off the pigeons that normally perched here, for he was not nearly as calming as myself. He had an aura about him that I could feel from observing the back of his skull, but I could not decide if it was either fear or desperation.

I lurked behind him for some time, for he was unbeknownst to my presence. I spent a fair amount of time trying to deduce his reasoning for being here on the roof. After some deliberation I decided that he must be here in order to study the clouds, I later found out this conclusion was wrong, but for some time I was sure of my conclusion.

I finally chose to reveal myself, I had to so carefully in order to be sure I would not accidentally startle him off the ledge. I had done this before many times with my little birdies.

“The weather is always warmer up here, don't you agree?” I asked quietly. I watched him jump back a little, before inching closer to the side of the building.

“I’ve never been here before, so I guess I wouldn't know.” He said this confidently. This caught me off guard, as I did not expect this pale scrawny before me to have such a powerful demeanor.

“That's a fair point.” We then waited in silence for some time. I understood he wished to be alone, but I was tired of being alone for the day and decided reluctant company was better than no company at all.

After a moment I put my hand on his shoulder. He flinched as I did this. I removed my hand and muttered to myself hoping he would hear it, “The clouds are rather pretty from up here.”

He breathed in for what seemed like an eternity, I felt as if I would grow old and die waiting for his response. Finally, he commented: “I disagree, the color white has always disturbed me. It reminds me of dogs canine teeth. I’ve always been afraid of those.”

I nodded in agreement and he continued. “My father always said be careful around the dog, but I never listened. When the dog bit it stung. It left a scar.” He raised his arm and pulled up the long green sleeve of his shirt to reveal his bony arm. He pointed to a spot on his wrist, but there was no visible mark.

I faked surprise and offered my sympathies that the dog would do that, but he had already entered a different conversation.

“I can't listen to the song All you need is love without imagining a man hanging himself.”

“I do not listen to metal music,” I replied.

“The Rolling Stones are not metal, I have no idea what gave you that assumption.” He turned towards me for a second, we examined each other's faces. We turned away in mutual disgust.

Evening soon came upon the city as we continued our conversation and as I continued to shirk my duties of catching the birds that my father and I rely upon. However, our loud dialogue had frightened off all the birds and I was beginning to get worried that I would be coming home empty-handed.

As I sat in my anxiousness, my new acquaintance continued: “My father has only had one motto his whole life, “Please don't leave the lights on in the kitchen, it uses electricity. What do you think I am, made of money? I wish you were never born you, ungrateful child. You were born to spite me.” He says he wants it on his gravestone, but I doubt they could fit that on the stone. Maybe we will get him two stones so he can fix it.”

It was at this point in my worried state about my lack of birds that I noticed I did not know my friend's name. I decided to ask him.

“What is your name?” I asked in a hurried breathless fashion.

“My name is Clancey, what's yours?”

I panicked for a second, I did not expect this retort from Clancey. It had been a long while since anyone had asked for my name. “My name is George.” I finally muttered out. My name is actually Ben, I don't know why I lied to Clancey. I'm not the lying type.

“I wish I could see your memories, George. It would make conversations so much easier to already know what I need to know about you.”

“Wouldn't that ruin getting to know someone?”

“No.” He seemed adamant on this point so I decided to not push him further. My anxiety was peaking anyway and I cared not for further conversation. I felt as if I needed to find birds for my father, I didn't want to disappoint him again.  

“Did I ever tell you why I was up here George?” He had not told me. “I'm up here because I wanted to see if I could fly, but now that I'm up here I think I would rather be a comet. Yes, I want to be a comet. Falling with unstoppable momentum, burning up in a dazzling fashion as I approach the ground.” He looked over the side of the building.

“I think you would be a beautiful comet Clancey,” I said this proudly, for I did believe he would be.

“Thanks, George. I needed that.” With that, he slid off the side of the high rise and began his noble free fall towards the pavement.

He didn't burst into flames though, I guess he wasn't high up enough for that. He sort of just tumbled, his arms and legs spread in a star shape, maybe that was enough of a fiery entrance for him. I was disappointed though, I thought he would have been a fine comet. I couldn't help but think that he should have stuck with trying to fly, he could have been a good bird, even with those frail limbs of his.

I spent some time looking down at the ground alone, the cops came and went and the remains of Clancy were gathered up. I sat still anxious about my lack of birds, the sirens saw to that the birds would not be joining me tonight. I began my walk home, each step increased my nervousness. I could feel my teeth individually rattling in their roots. My empty burlap sack dragged weightlessly beside my feet, and I would trip over it every few seconds or so. Strangely the people on the street did not avoid me today; I attributed this to the absence of the birds normal screeching.

As I approached the apartment, I could smell the rancid meat flowing from underneath the door. I placed the key in the lock gingerly, quickly and carefully entering to be sure nothing got out into the hallway. I stood in the middle of the dusty room, the windows blacked out with newspaper clippings. On either side of me stood the pigeons, hundreds of them. The ones who were living cried when they saw my presence, they crawled over their dead trying to take flight, but in the confusion would hit upon another and fall to the ground. The room was dank and musty, the ground carpeted with straw and carcasses. I tried to flip the switch on the lamp, but no light comes out. My father will be upset about this as well.

“I am home,” I said aloud to myself. I was right.
From the other room, I heard the sounds of pigeons clawing at the wallpaper. Dad must be in there I thought. I entered, sure that my father would give me an ear full about how I let him down once again. I decided that I should be upfront with him though, not beating around the bush, instead, I will be fully honest.

“Dad? You in here?” He offered no response. The room was full of pigeons and pigeon dung, it reeked in here. I approached the blacked out window and opened it a smidge to let fresh air into the room. The slight beam of light that seeped in got caught on the glass shards that littered the floorboards. They looked like diamonds in the night sky.

In the darkness, I saw my father's silhouetted figure. He sat in his armchair, a pigeon crawling through the long sleeves of his nightshirt.

I decided to perform my upfront approach. “Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't get any pigeons today. I won't let it happen again.” He offered no response. I could hear my skin peeling in anticipation, I felt it roll off my finger bones in waves.

“It's just that I got distracted, I met this man-” I stopped for a second, I would not throw Clancy under the bus for my disobedience. My father offered no response.

I resumed again: “No, actually it wasn't his fault I got distracted. I am sorry, tomorrow i'll catch twice as many. For both of us.” It felt good to defend Clancy like that, I thought he would do the same for me. I couldn't have my father hate Clancy without ever meeting him.

I began to walk out of the room, a feeling of relief flooded over me. As I walked pigeons flew inches out of the way, barely avoiding my steps. I turned around for a moment though to observe my father, pigeons crawling over him together as if they were a singular entity.

“Dad, I think you would be a beautiful comet too.” My father offered no response.  With this I turned away and left the room, shuffling through the pigeons in the dark until I found the little corner in which I sleep. I drifted off into my dreams to the sound of beating wings and panicked crowing.