Birdie

 It's been a while since I have posted to this blog, but the itch is getting worse. The itch to share a story. I entered this little tale in a contest last month, but unfortunately, it didn't win. Tell me what you think.

BIRDIE

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. That opening had haunted her all afternoon, overshadowing the pleasure of reading the book. Now she stood and squared her shoulders, ignoring the shiver of dread that shook her, and stepped into the hallway  beyond.

            “Watch where you’re going Birdie!” Fat Sally almost knocked her down. Birdie ducked her head and scuttled out of the way. Murmuring “Sorry” as the large woman hurried past her and down the hallway. They called her Birdie here, but her grandmother had named her Little Bird Woman when she first got her monthly flow. None of her family had called her anything else.

            Her rubber soled shoes squeaked, as she walked down the highly waxed concrete floors, further irritating her peace of mind, the “Birdie” comment stirring those feelings first. Her grandmother, Far Seeing Woman, would chide her for letting the world disturb her harmony, for distracting her thoughts of the book that she had been reading. Far Seeing Woman often corrected her behavior. She wasn’t called Far Seeing Woman for no good reason. Often, out of the blue, she spoke sharply to Little Bird Woman, pre-empting some bad act. Little Bird Woman was sometimes confused by Grandmother’s  foresight. At other times she was grateful for the help.

            No one here knew why she was named Little Bird Woman. Grandmother said it was because the little birds of the forest loved her. They flew about her whenever she walked in the woodlands of her homeland. They would land on her hands or her shoulders and look at her, twisting and cocking their head so that they could look her in the eye. The birds would chirp quietly as if they were sharing some daily gossip with Little Bird Woman. And maybe they were. She fed the little birds of the forest crumbs from the bread that her mother made from the seeds and grains that she gathered. Sometimes Little Bird Woman would find a special sweet green that she would tear into small pieces and share with her friends.

            These memories calmed the irritation that the squeaking shoes and Fat Sally’s cheeky disrespect. Although the shoes continued to squeak as she continued down the hallway to her room.

            Little Bird Woman walked slowly and deliberately. She knew that the faster she walked, the sooner her daily freedom would end. Every six steps would bring her to a doorway, openings to a room. Sometimes a woman would call out to her in greeting, saying “Hey, Birdie…having a good day?” Or if she passed groups of women, they would nod or speak or make rude gestures trying to provoke her, either to laughter or to anger. Little Bird Woman had little of one and plenty of the other.

            “Squeak, squeak, squeak…” her shoes counted that nasty cadence, each squeak bringing her closer to her room and captivity. Tension quickly built in her as the figure of Yellow Haired Mary came into focus. She was standing by the door of Little Bird Woman’s room. 

            “In you go, Birdie. It’s that time.” Yellow Haired Mary called, pointing towards the waiting door. Little Bird Woman growled softly as she entered her room. She turned so that she was facing the door and backed slowly until her back touched the far wall. Giving Mary one more angry look, she turned and faced the barred window. A pair of beautiful rosy finches awaited her, perched on the windowsill. Little Bird Woman smiled as the steel door clanged shut behind her.