Blue Jay

        I step outside onto the front porch, the cold air blasting my face as I
struggle to close the door behind myself.  Another gust, and then the air calms, 
the door closes.  The metal knob numbs my fingers as the latch finally catches.  
Down the steps, onto the lawn.  Frost crackles beneath my feet, laces the grass 
with white, my breath puffing outward in thin clouds blown free on the wind.  I 
see my brother's face appear in his bedroom window, his face tired yet betraying 
no sense of the joy of remaining home from school with the flu.  I want to 
summon him forth from his warm bed, beg him to walk with me today.  I hate 
walking to school alone in this bitter cold, when every step is painful.  
Conversation is the only way to break the monotony of walking Mifflin Street 
this time of year, even though your speech slurs and your nose runs in the 
freezing air atop the hill overlooking the river, where the wind howls, drifting 
snow up to people's awnings some years.  I don't motion to him but relax my arms 
at my sides.  I hear a yelping bark and know that Fritz is in the backyard, out 
to do his morning business, so I turn from my brother staring out the window and 
circle around the house, then squint in the awful rush of air as I step free of 
the house's wind shadow and the full force of that Arctic front the weatherman 
flapped about last night becomes so painfully real.  Tears form in my eyes, icy 
hot water gathering in the corners as I feel my way along the side of the house, 
each segment of sidewalk patched with ice frozen hard as rock.  I hear Fritz 
sniffing the air, open my left eye a bit, fight to focus through the blur, and 
then the wind dies down.  The sounds of the iron works are so crisp and clear 
this time of year.  There he is, behind the chain link fence, all forty pounds 
of overweight miniature schnauzer, tail cropped and wiggling quickly left and 
right, nose puffing smoke into the air, just like mine.  I stop at the gate, 
reach over, feel the warm fur between my fingers, want so badly to have the flu 
like my brother, even tonsillitis, hell I don't care what it is, just not out 
here walking to school alone on a ten degree day like today with wind strong 
enough to strip an umbrella inside out in two seconds flat.  I loosen my jaw to 
speak to Fritz, as he rears up to warm my hand with his breath, and then the 
wind rises again, and I turn away quickly, now realizing the only solution is to 
get to the bottom of Edison street, where the wind will only be half as strong.  
By then I'll be warmed up from walking, and ten minutes later, I'll be safe in 
school, my ears tingling and red, afflicted with that numb burning sensation 
that marks partially frostbitten flesh.  But I won't wear a hat, since, in my 
neighborhood, only wimps wear hats.  As I turn to leave, I feel the force of the 
wind against my back, my coat collar rattling, trouser cuffs extended opposite 
the wind's flow, toward the front yard, and I wonder if the wind will lift me up 
and carry me away.  I would become a human kite, freezing in the sky and hoping 
to land gently upon the frosted grass.  Then I'd have an excuse to go back home, 
slip into the pajamas still lying warm on my bed, curl up, and go to sleep for 
another three hours.  I open my eyes again.  I clear the tears with my fingers, 
as they seize up, the sweat gathered upon them from within my pockets freezing 
and reddening the skin on my palms and fingertips.  I look down, to the hollow 
space beneath the kitchen porch, a six inch concrete slab covering the 
wheelbarrow, rakes, shovels, and lawn bags that we haven't needed for 3 months 
now, since mid-November, when I ran the mulcher and gathered up the last big 
load of leaves from the oaks in the backyard.  Then I see him.  He's hiding 
beneath the porch, like any smart blue jay would do on such a cold day.  Bright 
blue feathers, banded with white and black near their tips, and he's lying on 
his side, motionless, eyes open, black, and glassy.  I suck in a cold breath, 
feel yesterday's tooth filling throbbing.  The bird is dead, his neck snapped by 
the rat trap which sprang upon him overnight, or perhaps this morning after he 
awoke safe in the hollow of some tree in the woods and decided to go out in 
search of food.  The blue jay lies there, feathers ruffling gently in the wind, 
both claws curled in upon themselves, his beak smeared with Koogles Banana 
peanut butter, the flavor that catches so many of the thinning gray rats that 
seek shelter from the winter in the basements of warm homes like mine.  That jay 
got his beak into the fatty, gooey mess.  The peanut butter could've kept him 
alive for another day or two, and perhaps he thought himself grand, triumphant, 
upon discovering this sweet cache, where no other birds could see him.  Heck, he 
even had a sheltered area, beneath the porch, in which to hoard his treasure.  I 
kneel down, forgetting the winter, reach out and stroke his feathers, his body 
stiff as wood, beak partway open and showing some pink from inside.  I'm afraid 
to move the bird -- he looks like he might suddenly come back to life.  I can't 
disturb his quiet dignity, as he lies upon the hard winter ground.  I feel tears 
in my eyes, and I ask God to forgive us, for setting this trap, since rat traps 
are so much bigger, so much more powerful and efficient at killing than mouse 
traps.  The jay didn't stand a chance.  I cross myself, stand, walk around the 
house, work at the doorknob until it finally springs open.  I trudge into the 
house, my jaw stiff with cold, nose running down past my chin.  Mom is coming 
toward me, a look of urgent concern on her face.  I tell her what I saw.  I cry 
for half an hour, so sorry that such a beautiful animal died in place of the 
steel toothed rats, the ones who chew through cinder block to escape the cold.  
Mom takes off my coat and puts me to bed, closing the door quietly behind me.  I 
hear my brother coughing, his lungs rattling with sickness.  I'm warm beneath 
the covers, and I hate my comfort, hate myself for not thinking that a bird 
might get caught in that trap.  Instead, it sprang deadly about the neck of that 
jay.  I'll never forget that bird.