Just Listen for the Singing

The bluebird of happiness pays a visit to Starsky’s treehouse.

Written for the 2023 SHareCon Zine.

I love to soar above the city with the wind on my wings; tall structures as my landmarks by day, lights on metal posts to guide me at night, and wires stretched between poles as my resting place anytime I choose.

Some days, I’m not sure where I’ll end up. I might land on a rooftop and watch people bustling on the sidewalk below, or find a window ledge and simply observe their busy lives. When I get hungry, I find a home that has set out a birdfeeder full of seeds, insects, or berries in the backyard.

An old bird like me doesn’t have to spend time searching for food, building nests, or catching the early worm anymore. My chicks are all grown up with hatchlings of their own, so I have time to do what I please. My flock says I should retire to the countryside where there are more trees, and rest on my so-called nest of laurels. Maybe someday I will, but for now, I like the city’s bustle, excitement, and constant action. It allows me to indulge in my favorite hobby, which is people-watching.

I’ve observed humans long enough to grasp their routines, habits, and even their language. Every once in a while, if they let me, I like to bring people a little joy, too. Someone once called me a “bluebird of happiness.” I think they’ve even written songs about me.

One time, about five springtimes ago, I was watching an old man named Lijah who spent his days collecting bottles from garbage cans. Lijah had gray hair and wore a long, thin purple coat that doubled as a blanket at night. I know this because Lijah and his friend Charles would sleep next to the garbage cans and sometimes I would see Lijah take off his purple coat to share with Charles, draping it over the both of them for warmth.

One day, Lijah was talking about how the end of the world was coming, and how maybe he was already in Hell here on Earth.

I’m not sure what Hell is, but Lijah made it sound like a place where vultures swoop down on you even if you’re not dead. I agree with Lijah, I wouldn’t want to meet any vultures like that either.

He also said he wanted to find the nearest bridge and jump off of it. He said it softly under his breath, but I heard it.

I didn’t like hearing Lijah sound so sad, so I decided to sing a song to lift his spirits. I perched on the building next to the garbage, near enough so Lijah could hear me if he listened.

Lijah was sitting on the curb below me with his head in his hands, and even though he was still talking to himself, he noticed my singing. Then, he did the most wonderful thing. He gazed up at me and grinned, and began to hum along. For a while, we were making beautiful music together. The next thing I knew, he sprang up and returned to rummaging through the trash. It was as if he found new energy and had forgotten all about finding a bridge.

At that moment, a red car with a white stripe appeared. It was driven by a curly-haired man in a big sweater, with a blond man in the passenger seat. The blond man said something to Lijah, then reached out and handed him a piece of paper, commonly known by humans as money.

Lijah smiled and told them, “You didn’t have to do that.”

He was right; they didn’t have to do that. I guess a bluebird isn’t the only one who can bring a little happiness. Lijah was so excited that he ran down the street to tell his friend Charles that he would buy him a coffee.

I followed them to the coffee shop and sat on the window ledge outside. I heard the shop owner ask Lijah and Charles if they wanted a job sweeping up and taking out the garbage and things like that, and in return, they could both sleep in the storage room where there were a couple of warm beds.

Lijah and Charles accepted the job, and as they were leaving, Lijah saw me at the window and stopped. He crouched down, smiled, and said, “You must be my lucky charm. Keep singing little bird. The world needs the sweet sound of your voice.”

I flapped my wings, something I do when I receive a compliment.

Lijah and Charles never had to sleep another night next to the trash cans, and they were given a hot cup of coffee and breakfast every morning for free.

Whenever I stumble across someone like Lijah who seems sad or lost, I’ll make a point to stick around, but it’s up to the person to notice me. Often, I sit on a building or a windowsill for hours and humans walk by, oblivious to my existence, which is a shame because I can’t bring happiness if people don’t know it’s there for the taking.

******

The other day, I was flying around and came upon a building I mistook for a tree. When I took a closer look, I realized it wasn’t a tree, but rather a house with a tree growing through its deck. My first instinct was to rest on a branch and take a nap. Again, retirement is everything they said it would be.

When I landed, I could see the human inhabitant of the house through the window, so I decided to delay my nap and peek inside.

The person seemed familiar to me. He was a male human with curly brown hair, and from what I could tell, magnificent blue eyes. Because it’s my favorite color, I always notice people with blue eyes.

Then it hit me. It was the same human who was driving the red car with the white stripe that day when I was watching Lijah. He was worth another look.

Strangely, he wasn’t doing the types of things I normally observe humans doing when they’re not sleeping. The sun had already reached the top of the sky, and the man was sitting completely still on a sofa, wide awake, with a vacant expression in his eyes. It was like his brain was either full of too many thoughts or, perhaps, no thoughts at all.

I decided to call him “Mr. Sullen” and to return the next day to check on him. I liked how he helped Lijah back then, and I was enjoying the treehouse, so I figured why not?

*****

The next day, I saw Mr. Sullen through the window, but this time he was with another man. I immediately recognized the second man as the blond who handed Lijah money. This man also had blue eyes the color of the sky, which were impossible to miss.

They were sitting next to each other on the couch. The blond had his hand on Mr. Sullen’s knee, and he was talking to him real quietly. I was happy they left the window open so I could hear.

The blond was telling Mr. Sullen that he was sorry he was late that day. Then he said, “Don’t let Gunther win. You’re getting better and stronger every day.”

I don’t know who Gunther is, but the blond made him sound like one of those vultures Lijah was worried about here on Earth.

“Maybe it’s too late. Maybe Gunther has already won,” Mr. Sullen said, shaking his head.

The blond man moved his hand from Mr. Sullen’s knee and placed it on his shoulder, “Don’t say that. It’s not true. You are getting better; you have to start believing it.”

The human word believe has always stumped me for some reason. As a bird, we’re taught at a young age that things are either real or they aren’t. For example, you either have enough food or a place to sleep or you don’t. No amount of belief will fill your stomach or keep you warm. Humans can be strange.

Mr. Sullen didn’t seem to understand belief either, or anything else the blond man was saying. He jumped off the sofa and started waving his arms around. Good for him, I thought, because I didn’t think he had the energy to move so fast.

Good, that is, until he started shouting at the man he called Hutch.

“Hutch, I’m a useless invalid and you know it. What kind of partner am I ever going to be? You should go to Dobey. He understands the situation better than anybody. Explain that you want to find another partner, one that you deserve.”

I have no idea who Dobey is, but Mr. Sullen made him sound like someone who would fight off all the vultures on Earth for his friends if need be.

“It will get better, trust me. I’m never going to ask Dobey for a new partner, so you can forget it,” Hutch said as he stood up and grasped Mr. Sullen by the shoulders.

Mr. Sullen froze as he stared into Hutch’s eyes. For a moment, they were as quiet as cats in a field full of mice. Then Mr. Sullen turned away, brushed Hutch’s hands from his shoulders and sat back on the couch.

Hutch’s face fell, and he slumped down next to Mr. Sullen, covering his face with his hand as he tried to conceal his misty eyes.

Misty eyes can indicate several things in humans. They can mean a person is happy, sad, tired, in pain, allergic to the air, or any number of other things.

What I saw in Hutch’s eyes at that moment was fear. As a bird who has survived this long, I’ve experienced fear in the form of hawks, cats, bats, rifles, and a host of other things. I know it when I see it.

It was faint, but I could hear Hutch murmur, “Please, don’t shut me out.”

Mr. Sullen got up, and I could see the pain on his face. “I’m tired, Hutch. I’m going to bed.”

As the house grew silent, all I could make out was Hutch sitting by himself on the sofa, fear growing in his eyes as he stared at the closed door to the bedroom where Mr. Sullen had gone to be alone.

******

I returned for a few more days, and the same things happened. Hutch would stop by, bring Mr. Sullen food or medicine, offer to take him for a drive or a stroll, or chat about his day.

One time, Mr. Sullen fell asleep with his head in Hutch’s lap. He slept for a long time, but Hutch didn’t appear bothered at all. He gently stroked his hair as he slept, and didn’t move until Mr. Sullen finally woke up and said he was hungry. Hutch went to the kitchen to make some food, and I saw Mr. Sullen’s eyes follow Hutch’s every move like he was afraid he would vanish into thin air.

Another time, Mr. Sullen agreed to go for a stroll with Hutch, but when they returned, he appeared to be in a lot of pain, and I could tell he didn’t want to let Hutch know. That was too bad because I was sure Hutch would have done whatever it took to ease the pain if he only knew about it.

One of the worst days was when Mr. Sullen got aggravated and started waving his arms and yelling, “Why do you spend every night over here anyways? Shouldn’t you be out on a date with whatsername? You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know.”

Hutch got aggravated, too, and began to pace the floor, making a few laps around the sofa, his arms at his sides while he silently snapped his fingers.

“There is no whatsername,” Hutch wasn’t yelling, but his voice was agitated. “I don’t feel sorry for you, I like being here. I want to be here.” Hutch stopped pacing, his voice softened and he added, “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

That seemed to irritate Mr. Sullen even more because he said, “I need to be alone,” and he stormed out of the room and slammed the bedroom door, leaving Hutch sitting alone on the couch, the lingering fear visible in his eyes.

Mr. Sullen’s eyes had fear in them, too. A less experienced bird might mistake it for anger, but I knew better.

Something else was visible in both pairs of blue eyes, something hidden beneath the surface but obvious to a seasoned people watcher like me. Both were brimming with love. What I couldn’t figure out, despite all my years of observing human behavior, was why these two men were so desperately trying to hide it.

*****

One day, I arrived to see Mr. Sullen alone on his couch, and the dread I saw in those stunning blue eyes broke my heart.

I decided enough was enough. The window was open, and Mr. Sullen needed a song.

I sang one of my favorite songs, the same one that lifted Lijah’s spirits a few years earlier. It didn’t take long until Mr. Sullen noticed and turned toward me. He didn’t seem amused, but he didn’t seem angry either. He stared at me for a while, then rose and walked over to the window.

“Hey, little fella, how long have you been there?” he asked as he leaned across the kitchen counter to get a better look at me.

I am mistaken for a ‘fella’ a lot by humans who don’t understand that my male mate, who years ago passed away from natural causes, was much bluer on the back and head than me, while my blue tint is mainly on my tail and wings.

“You have the deepest blue feathers I’ve ever seen, especially on your wings. They remind me of Hutch’s eyes,” Mr. Sullen said softly.

I sang a few more notes, and he moved forward, smiling and appearing to like my song.

He began moving his hips to the music, a sign he was starting to unwind, so he didn’t notice when Hutch opened the front door and entered the house. Mr. Sullen stopped swaying, looked at Hutch, and shut the window in the middle of my song. He’s lucky I have a thick coat of feathers and am not easily ruffled, because otherwise I would have found that insulting. He left the kitchen, murmured something to Hutch about feeling tired, and retreated to the bedroom.

*****

The next day, Mr. Sullen was sitting by himself on a bench on the deck, directly under my tree. I landed on a branch above him.

“Hey little fella, you’re back,” he said.

This was progress. He noticed me right away, so I decided to start with a brief whistle to acknowledge I heard him.

He smiled and said, “I’m fine, thanks for asking. How long have you understood English?”

He thinks he’s being funny, but little did he know that I have understood both English and Spanish for years. I simply pay attention to speech patterns and body language and can decipher what is being said. It’s not that hard, people.

I whistled again to acknowledge the question.

“That long huh? I’m honored that the most intelligent bird in the world is choosing to perch in my deck,” he said, chuckling.

I flapped my wings at the compliment.

“So, Mister Bluebird, you must wonder why a grown man is on his deck in the middle of the day doing nothing but waiting for his partner to show up and take care of him, shop, cook, drive him around…”

I didn’t whistle or flap my wings at that remark. I furiously shook my body, hoping to send a message that he was being ridiculous.

Mr. Sullen seemed to understand.

“Hutch says I’m being ridiculous, and deep down I know he’s right. I don’t know why I get so angry with him all the time. Any advice?”

I wasn’t sure if he was expecting me to answer, but I whistled anyway.

“Lighten up on him? Some days he is a real pain in the you-know-what. He thinks I can’t do anything for myself,” he said, sounding annoyed.

I whistled three times, long and shrill. I tried to sound like a train that was approaching a railway crossing and warning traffic to stop, stop, stop.

“If you think Hutch is going to stop, you’re whistling Dixie.”

He wasn’t getting it. I whistled again, this time an octave higher.

“Ok, ok, it’s not that he believes I can’t do anything for myself, but he’s a real mother hen and it gets to me. No offense to any mother hens in your circle of friends.”

I clucked. His jokes were bad, but things were improving.

“You’re right. I don’t exactly help by telling him what I can and can’t do, or even asking for the things I need. We used to read each other’s minds, but these days, I’ve put up a shield between us.”

I whistled again.

“I get mad at my situation and take out all my frustrations on him. He doesn’t deserve that.”

I performed my best train whistle ever. The train was on the right track.

“It’s not his fault. In truth, I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

This train was picking up speed.

“Little fella, can I tell you something?”

I fluttered my wings. I’ll let him call me fella a little while longer.

“Hutch has been sleeping over most nights. He stays on the couch in the living room. Sometimes I hear him snoring and his nose makes a whistle sort of like you make when you’re excited,” he said with a grin.

I don’t know how to feel about that. No one has ever compared my singing to a man’s snoring before.

“The truth is, I don’t mind his snoring. I like it when he sleeps over, just to be nearby. It makes me feel secure and safe…and loved. Hutch always makes me feel like the most important person in the world.”

I flapped in agreement. I knew I saw love on Hutch’s face every time he visited.

Mr. Sullen’s face lit up as he spoke about Hutch. It was the look of happiness I knew very well.

“I love him, you know?”

I offered a tweet of delight. The train was rolling at full speed.

“Let me tell you something that might surprise you.” He shifted his eyes up at me. “When I say love, I mean I’m in love with him. I want to get out of my bed, go to the couch, kiss him on the lips, then tell him to get off that stupid sofa and join me in the bedroom.“

I turned around in a circle on the branch. It was my happy dance.

“I find myself fantasizing about him; his long legs, his soft hair, his full lips, his perfect butt. I want to take him to bed and taste every part of him. I don’t know exactly how long I’ve felt this way, maybe forever. It’s like a switch went off inside my head and told me life is too short to deny it anymore.”

Hooray! I let out my best whistle ever. The train had arrived at the station.

“Listen to me, talking about being in love and wanting to ravage my partner’s body. I hope I’m not offending your sense of decency,” he said with a chuckle.

I was growing fond of this man’s sense of humor, but seriously, he didn’t need to feel embarrassed by the birds and the bees on my account. I did, after all, help write the book.

Mr. Sullen sighed and ran his hand over his face. I was starting to understand his facial expressions too. He looked like one of the most big-hearted, caring, and loving humans I’ve ever seen. Maybe he wasn’t so sullen after all.

“My anger has been so misplaced. I’m not angry at Hutch. I’m angry at myself for being too chicken to admit how much I love him. No offense to any chickens in your circle of friends.”

Sheesh. By the way, it’s a myth that every species of bird and poultry in the world knows each other.

“Do you think I should tell him?” Mr. Sullen’s tone indicated he was asking the most crucial question of his life.

I did another happy dance to express my complete support.

“I think so too,” he agreed, a huge smile spreading on his face. “Thanks for the song, little fella. Come back and visit anytime.”

Mr. Sullen went inside his house and I heard him dial the telephone. “Hey, it’s me. Are you coming over tomorrow for lunch? Great, see you then.”

Mr. Sullen put down the phone and couldn’t stop grinning. I ought to figure out his real name soon. The name Mr. Sullen no longer suits him at all.

*****

I returned the next day and saw my curly-haired human working in the kitchen. He was stirring something in a pot on the stove, and he was even whistling. The window was open so I joined in.

He banged the spoon against the pot, a dazzling smile on his face. “Hey, little fella. Glad you could make it.”

I whistled again and perched on the sill. Birds like me don’t have a well-developed sense of smell, but I had a feeling whatever he was cooking smelled delicious.

“It’s Hutch’s day off and he’s coming over for lunch. Little does he know that I’m cooking. Nothing special, soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, but at least it’s a start.”

I heard a knock at the door and saw Hutch enter. “What’s all this, Starsky?”

Starsky. Much better than Mr. Sullen.

Starsky smiled at Hutch. “You hungry? I thought I’d make your lunch for a change.”

It was the middle of the day, but Hutch’s smile was bright enough to light up a room. He walked over to the pot and peered inside. “Wow. Thanks, it smells delicious.”

I knew it.

Starsky served up the soup and sandwiches, and they sat at the table to eat, not saying much, but no one was waving their arms and getting mad either.

For a while, there was only the sound of the slurping of soup, until Starsky spoke.

“I’m sorry, Hutch.”

“What for?” Hutch asked, lifting his eyes from the bowl, a spoonful of soup hovering at his mouth.

“For being such a pain these past few weeks. I’ve been frustrated with my recovery, but that’s no excuse for shutting you out. I know you’re doing everything you can for me, and in time, I’ll get better. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Hutch stared at Starsky, looking stunned, still holding the spoon in the air. He slowly lowered it to the bowl and said, “You don’t have to apologize to me, not ever. I’m here for you no matter what.”

“I know. I’ve always known that. I was too overwhelmed by it all to see it.”

“You’re going through a lot, it’s understandable. You would do the same for me,” Hutch said with overflowing affection in his eyes.

I couldn’t help but let out a tweet.

Starsky tilted his head at me and laughed. “That’s my new friend Mister Bluebird over there. He’s been cheering me up with his songs, but he’s a little shy and won’t come inside.”

Hutch glanced at me and smiled. He rose from the table, brought his dishes to the sink, and stood in front of the windowsill.

“I think it’s a female, Starsk.”

I flapped my wings at Hutch. Pretty smart, this blond one.

“Really? How do you know?”

“If it was male, it would be a much brighter blue, for one thing. This one has a pale orange color on the breast and blue tints on the wings and tail. Hey there, girl,” Hutch said sweetly.

I fluttered again. Yes, birds can swoon.

Starsky joined Hutch at the window and said, “Sorry little fella. I’ll call you sweetheart from now on.”

Double swoon. I could handle that.

“You’re going to call a bird sweetheart? Isn’t that a bit over the top, even for you?”

“What’s the matter, are you jealous?” Starsky inched closer to Hutch. “Would you rather I call you sweetheart instead?”

Now we were getting somewhere. I didn’t mind one bit if Starsky called us both sweetheart.

Hutch seemed surprised by Starsky’s question, so I held my breath in silence. I hoped Hutch wouldn’t be the one to wave his arms and storm out of the room this time.

He didn’t. Hutch cleared his throat and replied, “I wouldn’t object.”

Starsky couldn’t contain his smile, his joy unmistakable to this seasoned bluebird. He put his hands on Hutch’s shoulders and moved forward until their noses were practically touching. “Ok, sweetheart. If you don’t mind that, would you mind if I do this?”

Starsky extended his lips, similar to what I would do with my beak, back when I desired a peck from my vibrant blue mate.

Hutch didn’t seem to mind one bit. He leaned in and met Starsky’s lips until they formed a beautiful bilabial connection, something humans call a kiss.

I heard moaning, smacking, and licking sounds for several more moments. I could have flown to the forest and back five times and gathered enough twigs to build a nest for how long the kiss lasted.

“How about I call you the love of my life?” Starsky whispered as he drew back and ran his hands over Hutch’s hair.

Hutch nodded. “I like the sound of that.”

Starsky bent his head and mumbled something into Hutch’s chest that I couldn’t hear. It must have been funny because Hutch laughed and replied, “No, I was the one who was a chicken. I tried to hold it in for so long, I was afraid I would blurt it out at the least appropriate time, like when I picked you up from physiotherapy and you were running on the treadmill, all strong and sexy in your cut-off jeans. What do you think your therapist would have thought if I had shouted “nice ass detective,” for everyone to hear?”

“You think I looked strong?” Starsky asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I just confessed to staring at your ass when you didn’t know it, and all you’re worried about is if I think you look strong? Let me assure you that not only do you look strong, but you look like a man who is getting better every day and also happens to have a spectacular ass.”

“Who says I didn’t know you were looking?” Starsky joked, his smile more vibrant than the feathers of all the male bluebirds combined.

Hutch laughed. “I’m never going to hide how much I love looking at you again.” He ran his fingers through Starsky’s curly hair and said, “I hope you’re ready for a lot of unrestricted ogling from now on.”

“Right back at ya, blintz,” Starsky said with a smile.

I’m not sure what a blintz is, but Starsky made it sound like something he never wanted to live without. If Lijah thought there could be a hell on Earth, Starsky’s sparkling eyes convinced me there could be a heaven on Earth, too.

“I love you, Hutch. When I said I didn’t want you here all the time, I was lying. I want to be with you every night if you want to.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, there is nowhere else I would rather be than with you. I love you too, Starsky.”

Starsky took Hutch’s hand and led him to the bedroom, closing the door behind them. I could hear laughter and kissing, and the sounds of exuberant lovemaking that went far beyond the fundamentals of the birds and the bees, and for the first time in a long time, made an old girl like me blush.

I whistled one more time before I flew away, but I’m quite sure they didn’t hear me.

*****

When I arrived the next day, they were snuggled together on the bench under the tree, their legs covered by a blanket. Hutch wrapped his arm around Starsky and was making small circles on his arm, while Starsky leaned against Hutch, his curls nestled against his shoulder.

I rested on the branch, not wanting to disturb them, but Starsky spotted me right away.

“Hey sweetheart, you’re here,” Starsky said.

“I think she likes you, buddy,” Hutch added.

Hutch is right. I do like Starsky. I like them both.

I flew over and perched between them, one foot on Hutch’s shoulder and the other foot on Starsky’s. They turned their heads to look at me at the same time and I could tell they were being careful not to scare me away.

I paused to enjoy both sets of blue eyes focused solely on me, then fluttered my wings and flew away, hearing them laugh as I soared above them.

I gazed down, my bird’s-eye view providing a private vista. They had their arms around each other and their lips were connected in a long, passionate kiss. I circled above them for a while and sang another song, eventually deciding to leave them alone. They deserved a little privacy, and besides, my job was done. I’ll drop in again another day, just to say hello. I do like them both, and I do like that treehouse.

One day, I’ll tell my grandchicks the story of Starsky and Hutch, so the next generation of bluebirds understands what true love and happiness look like.

As for me, retiring to the countryside can wait a little longer. I’ll stay in the city for now, and if anyone ever wants to find me, all they have to do is listen for the singing.