Jeanie Writes Genre

See Part 1 and notes here.



"So if I try to show you off to people, I suppose you'll just make like that frog and stare at me in silence?"


Amy sat on the edge of a stone planter in the garden in front of her office building. It wasn't as nice as her usual spot--there was no calming fountain, for one thing, and no shade trees to protect her fair skin or her eyes from the sun's harsh glare--but it was still quiet enough this time of day to get in a good hour of reading. At least it had been until the raven showed up. "There you are!" he'd said as he dropped down onto the bush behind her. "Did you forget our appointment? Hope you at least remembered the cucumber."


She had. She'd told herself as she made the sandwich that she simply had a craving for cucumber. That's all. But she'd felt a pang of regret as she settled in the company courtyard. The memory of yesterday had taken on a hazy, dreamlike surreality, and she knew it couldn't be real. But a small, secret part of her wanted it to be real. When the raven appeared, that part of her had breathed a small, secret sigh of relief.


Now, as he swallowed another bite, he shook his tiny head. The sun shone brightly on the spot where he perched, lighting up his feathers with a bluish sheen. "First you call me a crow, then I'm the devil. Now you're comparing me to a frog. Bloody hell."


"No, I just mean, you know, that frog." Amy made jazz hands as she sang, "'Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal....'" The raven blinked at her. Amy looked at her jazz hands and primly folded them in her lap, feeling like an idiot.


The raven gobbled down a slice of cucumber. "Won't be your bloody meal ticket, if that's what you mean." His beak was still full.


Amy smiled, rueful and amused. "Oh, so it's all right for me to be yours?"


The bird had the good grace to look a bit sheepish--if birds could look sheepish. This one certainly came close, at any rate. He swallowed. "Well it's not like I eat that much, is it?"


"Mmm," she said non-committally. It occurred to her, as it had every few minutes since the raven landed, to check and make sure no one was watching them. The coast looked pretty clear. She shook her head at herself. "I don't know why I keep sitting here talking to you. This is really freaky, you know."


"What's freaky?"


"You're freaky. You know, contrary to the evidence, birds don't talk. At least not conversationally. I shouldn't be encouraging it."


The raven scoffed. "That's awfully narrow-minded and speciesist, you ask me."


"Says the racist raven. Tell me again how much you love the pigeons and the crows."


He shook his feathers in a huff. "Well then, you got all the answers, I'll just be keeping my beak shut." With that he tore off another bite and ate in silence.


Amy half turned away from him and opened her book, grateful for the quiet. This was what she should have done in the first place: ignore him until he goes away. Even if he was all in her head. Hell, especially if he was all in her head.


After reading the same sentence over at least five times, she couldn't take it anymore. She needed to hear the raven speak, to prove to her senses that it wasn't a delusion, that she wasn't losing her mind. She shut her book and turned back to him. "Say something profound."


"Squawk," quoth the raven.


Amy rolled her eyes. "Don't be like that. Look, I'm sorry I called you freaky. Now say something. Please?"


The raven picked a mite out of his feathers.


"Fine," said Amy, pretending to go back to her book. "Whatever. It's just as I thought. You can't really talk. I imagined the whole thing." She glanced sideways at him, but so far her reverse psychology had no effect. "Anyway, in the stories, talking ravens are usually ominous and profound. So far you've been neither. If you said something profound, I might believe in you."


She heard an exasperated sigh come from the bird. Then he opened his beak and squawked, "Nevermore."


Amy glared at him. "That's imaginative."


"Oh, sod off," said the raven, bringing a smile to Amy's lips despite his insolent tone. "Do I look like some philosopher or bleeding poet? You want profundity, go read a book."


"I was reading one, until you got here," she reminded him.


"Well there you go, then."


Amy considered the little guy for a moment. It was nearing the end of her lunch hour, and she wondered if she'd ever see him again. Birds were migratory, after all. He might be ready to move on. She wondered if she should invite him to meet her again tomorrow, even though she knew it would be best if she never saw him again. He was simply too controversial. She enjoyed her mundane life, reveled in her status quo. When she wanted something out of the ordinary, she had simply to crack open a book. She didn't need the complications a talking bird would bring. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but what came out instead was, "Would you like to come home with me?"


"Got any cats?"


She blinked. "Um, no."


"You sure? You look like someone who'd have cats."


"What's that supposed to mean?"


"Nothing. Right then, so let's get this straight: I won't be kept in no cage. You keep the window open, and I come and go as I please. Got it?"


"Sure, no problem. I'll take the rest of the day off and show you the way. God knows I've got plenty of vacation and sick time saved up." As she spoke her heart began to race at the prospect of breaking her routine. She felt both excited and anxious. The logic center of her brain went into full protest mode, and the I in her INFP-ness railed against the interruption of her habits. But that small, secret part of her finally spoke up for itself. It had been craving change, had been hungry for adventure and romance and anything out of the ordinary, for the things she'd come to believe that she would only ever read about. That part of her rejoiced.


She gathered her things and stood up to go. Then she looked down at the raven, realizing something. "I don't even know your name."


"Pfft. Names. Why do you humans got to slap ruddy labels on everything? The rest of us got no use for them."


"Well I've got to call you something. I can't just keep calling you 'the raven.'"


"Don't see why not. Not like you've got any other ravens in your life to keep track of."


"Fine," she said. "But it's a mouthful. How about I just call you Ray for short?"


"Ray? Now who's the imaginative one? Hope you didn't exert too many brain cells coming up with that one."


"You'd like something better?"


The bird waved a dismissive wing. "S'all the same to me."


"All right, then." Amy smiled. "Let's go home, Ray."


In a flurry of feathers and wings and without another word, Ray took to the air, circling high overhead. Amy tried to keep her eyes on him as she began the ten block walk to her apartment, still fearful that if she lost sight of him she'd never see him again. As a result she walked straight into a box, knocking it to the ground and causing it to spill all over the sidewalk. She stared down at it in surprise and then, with dawning horror, lifted her gaze to the man who'd been holding the box. "I am so, so sorry," she said, looking away again, one glance having been enough to take in his anger. She dropped to a crouch and began loading the box back up. "I'm an idiot," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "My mother should have named me Grace."


"Do I know you?"


Amy forced her gaze back up and recognized the man as the smoker from the fountain. She suppressed a groan and shook her head. "I don't think so. We've probably just seen each other around." She scooped his things back into his box. He had pictures and coffee mugs, framed certificates, sticky notepads and calendars, stress balls and a Slinky--the kind of things you pack up when you've been asked to clean out your desk. Understanding caused her to pause, and he knelt across from her, clearing his throat.


"Here. I've got it."


"I, um...." said Amy, at a loss. This was why she didn't talk to strangers. She was just so terrible at it. She looked up at the sky, as if Ray might be able to offer some help. But she couldn't see him anywhere, and in a surge of panic she stood up.


"Forget it," said the smoker, also standing and hefting his box. "I know this is awkward. I wouldn't want my getting laid off to ruin your day."


"What?" She looked back at him, momentarily forgetting the raven. "No, I... I just... God, I suck at this sort of thing."


"Yeah. Me too." He stared her down, and she lowered her gaze to his chest, where there dangled an empty ID lanyard that sported the Willis Brothers, Inc. logo. She'd only ever seen him at the fountain and had no idea that he worked for her company. She kept her eyes on the lanyard. He was a handsome man, all blond, blue-eyed and Teutonic, and he had a nice guy look about him despite his current crankiness. She couldn't take the scrutiny of attractive people, especially men. Especially men who might have witnessed her beginning to lose her mind. "You were at the fountain yesterday," he said.


Crap. "Um, yeah," she said. "I usually take my lunch there."


"What was it you were saying to me?"


"Nothing." She said it too quickly, a sure sign of guilt. She grasped for a credible lie. "Oh, you must have heard me on the phone. I had one of those ear-piece thingies. I don't use it often because I'm afraid it makes me look like a raving lunatic." She smiled what she hoped was a knowing smile.


"Right," he said, but his narrowed eyes looked unconvinced. "In any case, I was pretty rude about it. I'm sorry. I was in a pretty bad mood. I'd just found out about... you know." He indicated his box.


Amy waved a dismissive hand. "No problem. It's... yeah. I'm really sorry."


He shrugged. "Forget it. I was getting burned out in that job anyway. That auditor probably did me a favor."


"Auditor?"


"Yeah. Some internal auditor wrote a report that said my whole department was redundant. The axe dropped on all of us. I'm just the first one to get cut."


"Oh," said Amy. Then, "Oh, God."


"Don't worry. I'm sure your job's safe."


She shook her head. "I'm so, so sorry about this."


He shrugged again. "Hey, not like it's your fault or anything." Amy could only offer a nervous laugh in reply. They stood in awkward silence for an eternity. Finally he shifted his box and said, "Well, I'd best get going before they decide to send security to see me off the property."


"I'm sorry," she said again.


"You keep saying that."


"Because I am."


He gave her another sly look, and she thought he must see through her. She braced herself, waiting to be told what a horrible person she was. But all he said was, "Well, that's awfully nice of you." He furrowed his brow a moment, as if thinking of something else to tell her, but then he simply said, "See you around," and started on his way.


Amy watched him go, feeling slightly nauseated. There were ten people in his department. She knew this because she was the one who wrote the report. Ten people would be losing their jobs because of her. She felt like scum. Looking up at the sky, she still saw no sign of the raven. Of course she didn't. He'd been a delusion all along, and she'd just been shocked back to reality. Reality wasn't magical talking birds carrying excitement into her dreary life. Reality was hardworking people getting unfairly laid off because of people who spent all of their time crunching numbers and watching the bottom line. People who were out of touch with the humanity behind the cogs in the machine. People like her.


She briefly considered going back to work, to try and fix this somehow. But she knew it was too late. It would take months for an amendment to her report to get through the channels and have a chance at changing upper management minds. With reality bearing down on her like the world upon Atlas's shoulders, she decided to go home. She needed to lie down for a while.

©2007-2008 by JM Bauhaus

Labels: Ray, short fiction, unfinished