Getting Out of the House
Stop talking at me. Stop talking at me. You know I can’t change anything, and you’re not really interested in my opinions anyway.
He keeps talking at me as though I wasn’t rolling my eyes.
“I want to take the research job. Yeah, it would be such a good thing to have on my C.V. and I’d be good at it too. I could totally live on a fishing trawler for four months, I bet I wouldn’t even get seasick, after the first week. They say everyone gets sick the first week, but then you adjust. The thing is, Claudia, I’d have to leave you here. There’s no way you could go on a boat, and I don’t think I could do that, you know? We’ve got a good thing. I know you’re happy here. And I couldn’t leave you with just anyone, that wouldn’t be fair.”
Whatever. I know he’s going to take the job. Why won’t he just quit going over and over it, and take the damn job? He needs to get out of the house more.
He’s seriously getting to me. I think I’d have left already, if it was possible. I want to bite him.
It’s not that I’m not grateful – Kevin’s a good guy for taking me in. He doesn’t yell at me even when I screech at him. My cage is about the best cage I’ve seen, and he keeps the newspaper fresh. He’s very thoughtful. He’s nice enough. He’s just a colossal bore, and he keeps going on about himself. We both need to get out of the house more, before I flip out and do something I’ll regret.
I need to tell him this, but I’ve learned from experience that he doesn’t listen. He’s incapable of listening.
When he’s at work, or sleeping, though, it’s worse. I have nothing to do but watch daytime TV and listen through the thin ceiling to the upstairs neighbours scream at each other. Sometimes Kevin bangs on the ceiling with a broom and they stop for a while, but he only does that after midnight when he can’t sleep. He tells me he feels bad about banging on the ceiling because maybe they argue to let off steam that would otherwise lead to physical violence.
He can be thoughtful, for all that he’s boring.
He’s walking around again, waving his hands like the motivational speakers he watches sometimes on TV. He likes that Personal Power – Tony Robbins – The Secret – Take Charge of Your Potential stuff.
“Oh god, Claudia, why do I never meet women? At least if I take the job on the trawler, I’ll have an excuse for being alone. Well, no, some of the crew could be women. But I bet they’d avoid me, too. At least with you, I know where I stand. I mean it’s not the same, obviously – but (sniff) you’re my best friend! That’s why it would be so hard to leave you here.”
He’s never going to get a date if all he does is pace around the apartment, going on and on and on about what he might do. It probably doesn’t help that his best friend is a middle-aged parrot with her own issues.
It was Kevin who gave me my name. Before, I was just the bird, that parrot over there, shutupyastupidbloodything. Before that, I was on sale. I was hatched in a pet shop. Cockatoos are rare and expensive pets, and I ended up being some rich kid’s Christmas present. My memory’s a bit hazy that far back, but I think I probably bit someone, which led to my being bundled off to the SPCA. I was eventually donated to a hotel.
Suffice to say, I ended up wishing the SPCA had gassed me like they did the less exotic pets. The hotel gig was a parrot nightmare, a parrot Guantanamo Bay. After the fourth time I escaped my two-square-metre cage – the time I bit the receptionist, flew up to the light fixture and shat on a family of customers – the oily little manager (after catching me in an old butterfly net he found in the lost property) padlocked my door. I soon learned that I couldn’t get out of that, and I resigned myself to being a jailbird. I must have lived there for a decade, climbing around and around the wire walls, hissing at kids, attacking the occasional idiots who’d poke their fingers through. Is it any wonder I’ve got a few social problems? Polly doesn’t want a cracker, you git. Polly wants your blood. You just keep poking those fingers through my cage, you’ll learn.
Kevin leaves the TV on for me during the day; I watch Dr. Phil and Oprah. I imagine some of those people who used to harass me dragged on to the Dr. Phil show.
Phil: “Whut yew need ta’ re-uh-lise,” (jabs finger at them) “is that y’all are only hurtin’ yer selves when you torment this bird. Didn’t yer parents bring you up to be respectful t’animals? You oughta be ashamed.”
Live Studio Audience: (applauds)
Snot-nosed kid: “Hey, I just wanted to make it talk, and it bit my finger! Really hard!”
Live Studio Audience: “Booo!”
It was about six months ago that Kevin busted me out of there. He’d been working for a cleaning company that were contracted to the hotel, and he’d show up four nights a week to do the lobby, which included changing my newspaper, and he’d always talk to me but didn’t try and make me talk or anything. A couple of times, I heard him arguing with the manager in the distance.
One afternoon, I overheard the manager yelling at someone on the phone. Something about insubordination and pressing assault charges and if they didn’t fire that cleaner they could forget their contract. He slammed the receiver down and glared at me.
“Your friend’s not coming back, bird. I gave him his marching orders, oh yes. And your turn’s next – first thing tomorrow, we’re going for a little drive down to the river.”
He stalked off, and I waited to see what would happen. That night, Kevin didn’t show up at the usual time, and I figured he must have been fired. Much later, though, I heard a key turn in the back door lock and someone came in, but didn’t turn any lights on. I kept still on my perch. Footsteps approached the lobby, then a beam of torchlight slid around the desk and into the lobby and onto my cage. I pretended to be asleep. Through a half-open eye I saw Kevin walk over.
“Hi, bird,” he whispered. “So, I don’t know if you heard about it, but I got the sack. I told the manager it was a disgrace how he was keeping you, and told him he’d better get you a bigger cage and feed you better and get you looked at by a vet, and he told me to go to hell. So I got him by the collar and told him what I thought of him, and well, I guess my boss wanted to protect his own arse, because next thing I knew, I was fired. Good thing I’d already copied the key, huh?”
He jiggled the keyring in his chubby hand and grinned.
“I’ve come to get you out of here. This is no sort of life for you. I’m taking you back to my place – you’ll like it there. It’s a bit more peaceful and you’ll have more room.”
I stopped pretending to be asleep; I stood up on my perch and flapped my wings a bit. Kevin laughed.
“I can see you like my plan. Now, I guess that arrogant little bastard didn’t even give you a name, eh? Well, you’ve gotta have a name. How about – yeah, I’ll call you Claudia. Claudia the Second.”
I wondered briefly who Claudia the First had been, but then he was opening my cage door and stuffing me into a big bucket and fitting the lid on. There were some holes cut in the lid so I could breathe, and a towel in the bottom that kept me from getting knocked about too much, so I guessed he’d planned things pretty well. From the bucket, I heard him close the cage and walk back through the lobby and lock the back door again. I dozed off; I woke up a bit later and we were on a bus, I think, though I couldn’t see to be sure. Then Kevin was walking again, and going up some stairs and unlocking another door and he took the lid off the bucket in a tiny apartment that was about as crappy and run-down as the hotel, but there was a nice, spacious cage in the main room, with fresh newspaper and clean water and a decent perch and even a couple of dry branches in there.
So, that’s where I’ve been living for the last six months of my life, and like I said, it’s clean and peaceful and I watch TV all day and listen to Kevin talk about his plans and frustrations all evening. It’s a boring life, true, but infinitely better than what I had. And even if I did want to break out and try being a free agent, Kevin’s very conscientious about keeping me here. He always locks me in before he goes out, though when he’s home I can hop around the apartment and perch anywhere I want.
Tonight, Kevin’s going on about this research job out on the ocean. He doesn’t talk about the past much, always the future, but from what he’s told me, I gather he got a degree in marine biology or something, years ago, but never did much with it. Well, he works in a supermarket now. Lately he’s been talking more and more about wanting a change of scenery, but it always comes back to me somehow. How he can’t bear to leave me with the SPCA and doesn’t know anyone he can trust to take care of me. As if I couldn’t make it without him! Since I’ve been here, all my feathers have grown back and I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been. I could make a go of it in the wild, I think – and if I could get outside, there’s no way anyone would catch me.
“Sometimes, Claudia, it’s a real drag having a pet. No offense, you’re great and all – it’s just hard having all this responsibility. But I wouldn’t give it up. I wouldn’t give you up. No, I’ll look after you. Geez, would you listen to those neighbours! Fighting again!”
The sound of another screaming match comes filtering down from upstairs. They’re really going at it, those neighbours. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it’s not anything pleasant. I can hear plates smashing. Kevin turns the TV up to drown out the din.
A few minutes later though, the yelling stops. A door slams somewhere. Then there are running footsteps, and then someone knocks on our door.
“Who do you think that is, Claudia? Maybe it’s one of the neighbours, but I don’t know what they’d want.”
He goes over and opens the door, which I can’t see from my cage.
“Can I help you?”
Woman at the door: “Hi. Hi, I’m Sharon. I – live upstairs. Um, you prob’ly heard us just now”
“Kevin Finney. Come in, come in. Are you okay? What’s the problem?
“Sorry, I – um – I just – could I use your phone? I need a taxi. We, I, had a fight with my partner – you prob’ly heard us, sorry, and my phone’s out of money and I need to get a taxi…”
“Yeah, of course. Your partner, he’s not, like, coming after you or anything? Do I need to pretend you’re not here, not answer the door if he comes?”
“Nah, he won’t come looking for me. Not tonight. He’s off his face. He’s probably coma-ed out by now.”
“Right. Well, here’s the phone. Can I get you a cup of tea or something while you wait for the taxi?”
“Sure, that’d be good. Cheers.”
“How do you have it?”
“Milk and one. Thanks.”
Now that they’ve walked into the lounge, I can see who Kevin’s talking to. Sharon’s a bit shorter than Kevin, kind of tough-looking; I’m not the best at guessing humans’ ages, but I’d say she’s a few years older than him, maybe in her mid-thirties. She has darker skin and short, bleached hair. She has a large carry-bag which she puts down on the floor near the table with the phone on it. Kevin goes over to the kitchen to put the jug on, and Sharon looks up a taxi company in the phone book and calls herself a taxi. Shortly, Kevin comes back with two mugs of tea and hands one to Sharon.
“Ta. My taxi won’t be far away.” She takes a sip and, looking around, sees me perched on top of my cage.
“Hey, you’ve got a parrot,” she says.
“Yeah, that’s Claudia. She’s a sulphur-crested cockatoo. I found her in a hotel lobby – she’d been there for years in this tiny little cage, and they didn’t even really want here there – she was just like a piece of the furniture to them. They treated her like crap. She’d lost half her feathers from stress, and she’ll always be a bit funny ’round people.”
“She looks like a battler.”
“Yep, she’s been through a lot. But you’re safe now, aren’t you, Claudia?”
I bob my head up and down and raise my crest to keep him happy.
“Hey, she knows her name.”
“They’re smart, parrots. I bet she understands more than we think.”
Sharon finishes her tea.
“You know, you look really familiar, man, but I’m sure I’ve never met you. How long have you been living here?”
“Oh, about a year or so. I guess you’ve seen me around, though I don’t get out much. So - if it’s not too personal, where are you headed?”
“I don’t know, not really. My partner needs some time to cool his head. He’ll fix up his ideas once it sinks in that I might be gone for good. He always does. I’ll go stay with my sister, if she’ll have me.”
I hear the taxi driver toot his horn to announce his arrival.
“That’s me,” says Sharon. “I better go. Thanks for the tea, and letting me use your phone.” She picks up her bag and turns to go out the door.
“It’s so weird, I could have sworn I recognised you from somewhere”, she says.
“Hey, listen, Sharon,” says Kevin, “I’ve got a spare room. You could always stay with me.”
“No…no, it’s fine. I need a change of scenery.” She puts the strap of the bag over her shoulder. Kevin moves between her and the door. He looks her in the eye, all serious.
“Does he hit you, Sharon?”
The question hangs there uncomfortably. Sharon fidgets with the bag and tries to step around Kevin, but he keeps blocking her exit.
“Hey, look, man, you wanna know? He does try and knock me around, all right? And I give as good as I get. He’s never got the better of me yet. I can look after myself.”
“But there’s no excuse for him hitting you,” says Kevin. “That’s not right. You need someone who can keep you safe.”
Sharon suddenly gets this look as though a memory’s been triggered. She backs away from Kevin, holding her hands up in front of her.
“Oh my God! Oh shit! I know who you are! You – it was on the news for weeks! That girl that killed herself, and her family were saying it was because of her boyfriend, who was like, controlling her life and wouldn’t let her do anything without his permission and used to lock her in the house when he went out! You’re him! Oh, I know you got name suppression and all that, but the tabloids got some photos and it got out…there was no conviction, nothing they could pin on you, but it was pretty bloody obvious how you’d twisted her, played with her head, just because you had some sick need to be in control – Just my luck, eh? I seem to attract psychos!”
“Psychos! Listen, Sharon, it’s not like that! You’re right, I am that guy, but it was NOT like that. Her parents had it in for me. Her friends too, they didn’t understand…”
Below, the taxi driver sounds the horn again impatiently.
“Whatever. I’m not hanging ’round to find out.” Sharon walks around him to get to the door and He grabs her arm, but she swings around and catches him a good smack on the jaw, and he crumples.
“I’m getting out of here, you freak! You’re worse than that bloody drunk upstairs. I’ll get the cops on your arse if you try anything else!” She stomps out the door and down the steps.
Kevin stays down for a few seconds, then gets heavily to his feet. I’ve never seen him so angry. He doesn’t look at me; for once, he doesn’t say anything, just walks over to the window, rubbing the side of his face. He opens the window and sticks his head out, but Sharon is long gone.
It’s a couple of hours later that we get another knock at the door. All this time, Kevin has been sitting at the table, fuming. I’ve kept quiet and out of sight on top of my cage. The knocking on the door is heavy and insistent – whoever’s there isn’t going away. Kevin slowly gets up, red-faced, fists clenching and unclenching; slowly walks over and opens the door.
“Can I help you?” he says.
The voice that replies is male; deep, a bit slurred.
“Maybe ya can. My girlfriend walked out on me before an’ din’t say where she was goin’. But I heard her yellin’ at someone, an’ you’re the only one on this floor ‘cos the other unit’s empty across the hall. And I’m – I was a bit pissed, all right, an’ I went to sleep, but then I woke up and I thought hey, wasn’t Sharon yellin’ at someone before, so I come down to check she hasn’t caused you any trouble, mate, and see if you knew where she went.”
“Trouble,” says Kevin. “Ha, ha. Trouble. She bloody well smacked me in the jaw because I told her she should leave you, you drunk piece of shit. Oh, I know you hit her. Pathetic. And she didn’t want my help. Called me a psycho. Far as I’m concerned, the two of you deserve each other. Get the hell out of my doorway.”
“Hey, hey, hey! Eeeeasy, mate! Don’t gotta go sayin’ shit about me when you don’t know – “
He stumbles in the doorway and I see him there, a big guy with tattooed arms and filthy jeans and, weirdly, sunglasses on top of his shaved head. Kevin follows him in.
“Oi! Where do you think you’re going, you dumb bastard! The door’s this way!”
I can’t stop watching this scene unfold; it’s unreal. I’ve never seen this side of Kevin before.
“Listen buddy, I don’t like what you said about me an’ my lady,” the neighbour says.”‘f I wasn’t so pissed, maybe I’d smash you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” says Kevin. Somehow, something’s got into him and he won’t let up. He can’t stop goading the guy.
“Come on, you think you can push me ’round like you push your girlfriend ’round? Big man?” He pushes the neighbour, who goes red and swings his fist. He’s a big guy, bigger even than Kevin, but he’s not in any state to fight. His swing goes wide and he loses his balance and crashes over onto the kitchen chair that Kevin was sitting on before. The chair smashes under him, and he struggles to get himself out of the wreckage while Kevin stands above him, laughing.
“Ooh, yeah, that really showed me!” He kicks him in the stomach. “Get up! Come on!
While he’s going on like this, I decide I’d better get ready to make my exit. I climb down onto the floor and hop over to the couch, which gives me easy access to the open window. Don’t think I didn’t notice that Kevin left the window open earlier. For the last two hours, that square of starry black has been calling to me. Up ’til now, I’d been undecided about whether to make a break for it, but – well, I’d be a fool not to take off now.
The only thing is, I’ve never flown properly before. Sure, I’ve flapped around the room a bit, but I’m hardly in shape. If I jump out the window, who’s to say I won’t end up a sorry, feathered heap two stories down?
Anyway, I kind of want to see how this whole thing unfolds.
How it unfolds is that while Kevin stands there guffawing and kicking him, the neighbour has been biding his time. The effects of the alcohol seem to have worn off a bit as he suddenly sits up and grabs both of Kevin’s legs behind the knees, bringing Kevin crashing down on his back. They roll about for a bit, grappling and trading punches and then somehow they’re on their feet again and Kevin has a bit of broken chair leg in his hand, and as the neighbour gets ready to punch him again, Kevin hefts the piece of wood and brings it down, crack against the side of the man’s head. And the neighbour drops, just like on the telly.
I can’t tell if the guy is alive or dead.
Kevin’s standing over the neighbour’s motionless body, with the chair leg in his hand, breathing heavily. He looks up at me, looking suddenly aware of where he is. He puts the piece of wood down carefully on the table.
“Well, that’s done it, Claudia. I can’t stay here now. I’ll have to run. And there’s no way I can take you with me….But I can’t leave you here on your own to starve, that wouldn’t be right. And I don’t know anyone I could leave you with. Even if I did, they’d want to know where I was going, and why, and that’s no good. And, of course, you might talk. though that’d be a first. I’m sorry, Claudia, but there’s only one thing for it.”
He picks up the chair leg again. He holds his left arm out to me and hides the weapon behind his back. He steps carefully around the small pool of blood forming slowly on the floor around the man’s head, and slowly, slowly walks towards my window.
“Claudia…hey, shh, don’t be scared. It’s just me. It’s just Kevin. This is for your own good…you’d thank me, if you could understand…”
As he lifts up the chair leg I jump, fanning my wings out, letting my instincts take over, and I’m falling, falling and then I catch an updraft and I’m flying. I flap, feeling my wings bend the air around them, moving up and through it until the apartment shrinks away far below and my watching life is over.
I don’t want to remember tonight, or the apartment, or that look of concern on Kevin’s face, any more than I want to remember the years in the hotel. I’ve had enough of being talked to, I think. I’m done with cages and newspaper. I set my sights on the patch of darkness where the city lights die out. I’m not Claudia any more, I’m not that bird over there, I’m not anyone.
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