I drank more than half of a bottle last night. I’d worked all day. The drive home was an hour and a half. For dinner I stopped for a burger and fries. Then, I drank tequila, shot after shot.
It was 230 in the morning when I woke up on the couch. The radio was still playing and my heart punched against the inside of my chest. I turned off the radio and the lights. I took off my shoes and went back to sleep on the couch.
I was supposed to be at work by 7 am the next morning. It was the end of my second week at a new job. I didn’t wake up until 9am. I got up and opened all the doors and windows. I was still drunk as I walked out into my backyard to call my boss. The bright and beautiful sun and sky punished my eyes and head. The lawn was freshly mowed. An ant was climbing on my foot when my boss scolded me on the phone, telling me to get my ass to work. I told her I was on my way and hung up the phone.
In the middle of the short cut grass, I noticed something move. I walked over to find a small blue bird. I knelt to him and put my open hands near him. The little bird hopped three tiny hops into the cup of my hands. I stood and lifted him to my chest.
I said, “Hello tiny little thing.” And he chirped and stretched out his wings and then brought them back into himself. I didn’t shower, shave or even brush my teeth before I picked up the car keys from the counter and drove the little bird to the vet, late for work or not.
I asked the vet what I should do for the bird. They sold me a cage with smooth thin branches wedged between the bars for the bird to perch. They sold me seed and suggested a blanket to cover the cage at night or when the weather turns cold.
Back home, the little blue bird sang in the kitchen as I put on my socks and shoes after my shower. I still had to go to work.
I sat in traffic to get to work. I sat in traffic to get home again. From outside the backdoor I could hear my new room mate call out as he heard the jingle of my keys unlocking the door.
I opened the cage door and the little blue bird sat in his open doorway. He watched me pour a drink and sang.
I could tell that he was happy that I was home. I could tell that he’d rather be there in my kitchen than lost in my backyard.
It’s finally Friday and I will drink the other half of this bottle. But at least I won’t be alone. My little blue bird friend will be with me. And maybe I was wrong about God not being out there after all.