But even the raptor demonstration was forgotten when she heard a sweet, familiar voice calling her name.
Even with her vision obscured, she could see Rosemary was wearing the fluttery dress she’d worn on the first day they’d met.Corinthia waved her “wing” enthusiastically as Rosemary approached.
“My very own Corinthia-bird!”Rosemary exclaimed.
Corinthia smiled until her face hurt even though no one could see.
George offered to use his own phone to take the picture, since Rosemary had none and Corinthia had left hers safely inside the library.
They moved into position, side by side in front of the Refuge backdrop.Rosemary’s arm went around Corinthia’s blue-feathered waist, and Corinthia’s wing went over Rosemary’s blue silk-clad shoulders.This, Corinthia thought, was even better than a prom photo.
“Say ‘scrub jays’!”George prompted.
“Scrub jays!”they said.
When the moment was captured, George gave them a thumbs-up.
“Can I meet you after the raptor demonstration?”Corinthia asked Rosemary.
“Of course!”Rosemary said.“Where shall we meet?”
“How about Drew’s D-Lites?”
“Sounds delicious,” Rosemary agreed.Corinthia couldn’t see, but she heard the distinct sound of an air kiss somewhere near the outside of her bird face.“Bye, Corinthia-bird!”
Corinthia felt slightly dizzied, and couldn’t attribute it to the costume alone.
Many more people came for photos.Corinthia posed, and waved her wings at passers-by, until it was time to retire for a real break.She swapped her tank and shorts for her regular clothes, and left the sweaty things hanging up to air while she went off to the raptor demonstration.
When Corinthia emerged from the Shadow Ridge Library and crossed the parking lot, through the Wildlife Festival, she did not see Rosemary or Stevie.Drew, she assumed, was dishing out hot dogs and cold drinks at her truck.So it would be a solo trip, which suited Corinthia fine.Rosemary could not go that far from the Refuge; not yet, anyway.Maybe next year.
A road separated the library and environmental center complex from Shadow Ridge High School.Corinthia paused carefully by the side of the road, looked both ways, then hurried across.
Through the gate was a vast green field.A permanent pavilion off to the side of the field held a small crowd.Corinthia made her way through the visitors to the perches for the visiting raptors.
There was a red-shouldered hawk, an owl, and a bald eagle on display.Rope barriers had been put up to keep curious children (and foolish adults) from getting too close.The birds, Corinthia noticed, had wickedly sharp beaks.
She had been very excited, but the more she looked at the birds, the more her excitement gained an edge, sharp like a paper cutter in the library office.
She had heard an owl in the Refuge before, at night.In her own neighborhood, she had seen and heard several hawks.Once she had even spotted a bald eagle flying overhead toward its nest in a nearby phone tower.
The knowledge that these birds of prey made themselves at home nearby gave Corinthia a strange sensation in her gut.She did not recognize the feeling for what it was, yet.Only that she didn’t particularly like it.
Nevertheless she tried to enjoy the brief talk given by the bird experts who helped rehabilitate birds and educate the public.In addition to sharp beaks, the birds had keen eyesight, excellent hearing, and sharp talons that were strong enough to crush bones.Corinthia found herself with a dry mouth and yet an uncontrollable urge to swallow.She wished she had brought a bottle of the neon sports drink.
These raptors were everywhere, the speaker was saying, and they maintained the balance of nature by hunting bugs, snakes, rabbits, fish, and even other birds.
Other birds.
Everything froze, or so it seemed to Corinthia.The speaker may have continued speaking, the birds might have been shifting from side to side on their perches, their yellow eyes bright and staring; the people may have continued to murmur and mill about, but to Corinthia it was all a tableau accompanied by the sound of her heartbeat in her own ears.
Rosemary.
She had spent days humoring the story that Rosemary was a bird, never once letting herself believe—not really—that thestorycould also betrue.
She had even congratulated herself on being so accepting and open-minded when, in fact, what she had actually done was glide right over the possibility; to never truly imagine that it might actually be real.
Butwhat if?
