Karen Laws: HOW PIGEONS WALK • Cleaver Magazine

Flash by Karen Laws
HOW PIGEONS WALK

At the lake I remained alert, my gaze alighting upon every gray head. I watched anyone with a moderately stiff gait. I contemplated a grassy slope where people were sunbathing and thought, This is the quiet side of the lake, he’d like it here. There’s a chance… but you did not appear. Not this time. You were always popping up in my dreams when you were alive. Now I try to dream of you and fail. You show yourself as a ghost enjoying parks and other public places, during the day. I’ve told no one about these sightings. Who would believe me?

From the lake I drove to the organic ice cream shop where we used to go. A group of three young women got there just before me, but I cut in front of them. Bay laurel, your favorite flavor, was not on today’s menu. I surveyed the pale contents of the pans and asked the girl behind the counter for garam masala and cherry on a black sesame cone. With my cone in hand, I walked over to the plaza outside Safeway. I’m grateful to the neighbors who put in years of effort negotiating with Safeway to make this plaza a reality. I sat on a bench where I could watch shoppers going in and out through automatic doors. It soothed me to see doors open for no other reason than that someone had evinced a desire to go inside.

We used to fight over how to raise the kids. After the kids were grown, we fought because I got crabbier with every passing year. Which I would never have admitted while you were alive. Which I couldn’t see with you blocking the light. On the plaza I imagined us sitting together hand in hand. Because it was a perfect day for an ice cream cone, warm but not warm enough to cause drips, I had not yet licked down to cherry when some nearby pigeons intruded on my consciousness. My gaze was drawn to a pair, presumably male and female, walking in single file. It took me a while to recall the word for how pigeons walk, maybe because the male didn’t seem to strut. He stayed about fifteen inches behind the female. Steady pace, flat-footed, spread-toed slaps. Tap-tap-tap. Like pebbles dropped singly. Both birds’ heads bobbed forward and back, but the male’s head bobbed more. I saw myself in the male pigeon, and to be honest, I liked what I saw.

This was how I’d been walking all morning in search of you, my darling.

Short fiction by Karen Laws has appeared recently in Wigleaf, X-R-A-Y, and Ghost Parachute. Karen’s short stories may also be found in The Georgia Review and Zyzzyva, among other literary journals. She lives in Berkeley and first had a Philly cheesesteak in Oakland, California. Her novel in progress is set in the near future.