The Bird Man, that’s what they called him. He was always with the birds, so much so he started to resemble them after a while. Curved neck and shoulders, hands curled like talons, and a long black duster billowing like wings on windy days. His age was unknown, but he was old and had been for many, many years. People passed by him every time they cut through the park, curving around the pond on the way to school, work, the store.

​

He was always surrounded by the crows, sparrows, blue jays, cardinals, and finches of the park. Then there was the swan, only one, with pristine white feathers. It was a pet to the Bird Man; he would sit on a bench by the very edge of the water and stare at the swan from dawn to dusk.

​

Did he have a home, this Bird Man?

​

The children say he lived in a nest at the top of the tallest tree in the forest abutting the park. He’d lined it with feathers, broken kites, lost blankets, pop cans, plastic bags; anything left behind by park-goers and passersby.

​

There was a dare once among the students of the town elementary school located three blocks north of the city park. It was a chilly day in late November when days were short and the children’s options of afternoon activities even shorter. The dare was issued to the scrawniest of the motley crew that traversed through the park on their way to and from school. The boy was approximately nine years of age with tufts of spiky, white-blonde hair poking out from under a red, hand-knit hat. His stunted height, as well as his slight form, made him the target of many schoolyard cruelties.

​

“Dare you to climb to the top of the Bird Man’s nest, bet you won’t!” sneered the leader of the pack of restless children. He was known to be a bully when bored. He had eyes of a stormy gray and a captivating stare. His victims would become caught in his gaze, unable to escape when he chose to fling stinging words of spite and malice.

​

After this challenge was issued, the children pushed and shoved the recipient of the dare off the park path and into the woods until they were all gathered under the supposed nest. They kept egging on the runt of the litter.

​

“Scaredy Cat!” “Wimp!” “My baby sister’s braver than you!”

​

The taunts were hurled with childish venom. And then came the worst insult of all:

​

“I Double-Dog-Dare you, MAMA’S BOY!” This from the bully with the steely eyes and sharp tongue.

​

The boy froze, caught off-guard by the stab of pain elicited by this latest barb.

​

He didn’t have a mother; she’d left when he was too little to realize he should have memorized the sound of her voice or the features of her face. He had a grandmother, a kind old woman with soft hands and a softer heart. She needed someone to love, and he needed to be loved by someone. She doted on the little boy when he came home with scraped knees, puffy eyes, and a runny nose. There were always biscuits waiting for him, drizzled with honey and served with a glass of milk after school. She made him warm winter mittens, scarves, and hats. They were all the other had: the widow and the abandoned boy.

​

After the last remark, the boy’s face scrunched up in a determined squint, and he hastily scrambled for the lower-hanging branches of the tallest tree. The other children cheered at the success of their goading. They watched as the boy ascended the thin branches like a ladder.

​

He climbed without looking down, sure he would lose his courage if he did. The branches passed in a blur until he swiftly reached the top, and he was disappointed to find there was no nest. The cool breeze made the tree sway, and the boy clung to his perch as he finally looked down at the hoard of children on the ground.

​

“There’s nothing up here!” the boy shouted.

​

“What?” “What did he say?” “Nothing? Impossible!” “Liar!”

​

The chorus of voices below was lost in the wind. The boy was starting to feel the cold bindings of fear wrap around his limbs. His fingers tingled with numbness, and his vision tunneled toward the ground.

A loud CRACK! echoed through the trees, and the boy let out a short scream. The ground was rushing up to meet him, but the boy certainly was not eager to meet the ground. Tears blocked the view of his sudden descent, and terror eclipsed all other sensations. He hardly felt the landing.

​

The children below also screamed and fled in fright. The gray-eyed bully was the

last to scramble away from the scene, leaving behind the broken boy.

​

*

​

The noise from the forest attracted the attention of both the Bird Man and the swan. The swan solemnly lifted its head as it turned to look at the Bird Man. The old man then stiffly rose from the bench and shuffled toward the trees. It didn’t take him long to reach the tallest tree and the boy who lay bent, cradled among the needles and twigs. He was softly whimpering; his eyes squeezed shut and leaking tears. The Bird Man quietly twittered and cooed to the boy as he bent and scooped up the boy’s slight frame, being ever so careful. There was a smear of blood left behind at the base of the tree.

​

The old man’s gentle, swishing gait brought him and his burden out of the darkening woods toward the edge of the pond where the swan waited. The Bird Man slid the boy into the water.

​

The cold was an almost greater shock to the boy’s system than the fall. His eyes flew open and stared vacantly at the once-white sky, and his jaw moved, silently chattering.

​

“Can you help him?” The scratchy squawk of the Bird Man to the swan.

​

The water, tinged red, swirled around the busted body of the boy.

​

Before the Bird Man, the boy began to change. Bones cracked further, and feathers fell,

creating ripples on the surface of the pond. As night approached, wings rustled.

​

*

​

A few days later, the Bird Man sat on his bench, but he wasn’t alone. An old woman with tufts of shock white hair sticking out of a blue hand-knit hat sat next to him. She had a basket next to her and would occasionally pull out a biscuit, crumble it and throw the pieces in the pond and to the ground for the birds. Together, she and the Bird Man would watch the swan with the pristine white feathers as it swam. There was a second bird, too, new to the pond: a smaller, younger swan, this one with feathers tipped blood red. The man and the woman sat silently as the pair of swans glided through the water from dawn to dusk.