I Am Expecting to Be Noticed
The initial bird was not an issue because it was quiet. Then the eggs hatched.
The bird sounds were becoming more and more difficult to ignore. The apartment-building I live in is old enough now for there to be the occasional loose fitting on the outer walls, and one of these fittings had slipped, creating a hole large enough for a bird to use. A bird did use it and now there’s a nest behind the bookshelf in the guest bedroom.
The initial bird was not an issue because it was quiet. When the eggs hatched was when I realized I had a problem. When this building had been built in the late 19th century the rooms had ornate shelves built into the walls. Because of this I couldn’t just pull the bookshelf away from the wall in order to potentially free the birds or move the nest so that I wouldn’t need to hear the chirps throughout the day.
I can afford to live in an apartment building that is old enough to be considered quaint but which also has certain quirks. My friends from the suburbs rave about where I live. I like being noticed by my friends and neighbors. When I wheel my trash can out on Thursday evenings I always make sure that the can is neatly pushed up against the curb. When I order my coffee every morning, I establish eye contact with the coffee shop employees. I smile at them at all the right times. After stirring in my sugar, I fold the empty paper packets crisply and then I throw them in the appropriate recycling container. I expect the baristas have noticed this. I wouldn’t be surprised if when I enter the coffeeshop that each one of them might silently hope that they are given the chance to wait on me that day. They might even mention it to one another… like it’s a playful game. I text people on important days, to praise them for this or that. I notice them. They notice me. How I relish life’s symmetries!
The chirping always began around dawn. Because I sleep with a fan on in the background, for white noise, I didn’t notice the chirping until I woke up and turned off the fan. Then I would hear them—tiny splinters of noise—whenever I sat down with my coffee or settled myself at my desk. Suddenly I would be thinking about this unseen and disagreeable nest. I imagined the birds shaking their feathers over my clothes and my food.
Finally, I called my neighbor because I know that he does a lot of handiwork around his apartment. He has seven children, and in half an hour he knocked on my door with his two youngest kids standing behind him. He also had a tool box. He said that whenever he does any work he tries to make sure that some of his kids are around to watch, because any life experience is worth watching.
My neighbor took out a skill saw. He plugged it into an electrical outlet and then stood on a chair so that he could get a better view of the upper sections of the shelves. He tapped on the wood a few times, sort of like he was checking a melon for ripeness. He flicked the power switch on his saw and began to cut a slice of wood out of the upper shelf.
In about a minute had had an opening large enough so that he could peer behind the shelf unit. He was using a small flashlight. He said, yes, he could see the nest. He grabbed a hammer, reached through the hole in the shelf, and crushed the baby birds. When he pulled the hammer out it was covered with blood and feathers. This fascinated his kids. He then grabbed an old t-shirt and stuffed up the hole he had cut.
He told me to call him if the mother bird came back to build another nest. I didn’t suppose she would. ▩