One Bird's Choice Read Online Free PDF Page A

me.”
    “I think it has something to do with the amount of CO2 we exude.”
    “What about you, Iain? Do houseflies or mosquitoes seem to land on you more?” asks Dad.
    There’s something rejuvenating about an unpolluted view in a familiar setting. Lying there, my face turned to the left, I can see the room and its contents in a distinct and refreshing way. Looking under the couch that I normally look at pokes a tiny hole somewhere in my clogged thoughts. I spot a ball of cat fur, a few pieces of straw, and a tiny spider web jutting out on an angle from the wooden leg of a chair. From where they sit, my parents can see only my legs. If I look over my shoulder I can see their socks and slippers. But with their running discourse I don’t need to look to know they’re still there.
    “Oh, I think he’s asleep again” whispers Mom.
    “On the floor,” mumbles Dad. “But you haven’t even vacuumed yet.”
    “I better do that tomorrow; you know how much Iain likes to nap.”
    They turn their attention back to their tea, until Dad speaks. “What was that?” he asks, startled.
    “No, I didn’t say anything,” answers Mom. “I was just blowing my nose.”

Two
    One Bird’s Choice
    I T ' S TAKEN ME A FEW WEEKS , but I’ve finally unpacked most of my stuff. I’ve been feeling a slight malaise these last couple of days, a tinge of homesickness for Toronto, for the friends I left, the familiar pubs and cafés along Queen Street, the used-book stores and sushi restaurants, the urban parks, the markets, the shows, and the video store where I rented my movies. I’d grown quite fond of Toronto, a world-class city.
    Tonight’s no different from any other evening at Lilac Hill, the Paris of rural eastern Ontario. I’m hangin’ with Ma and Pa at the farm. Mom piles more food onto my plate while interrogating me about my sickly physique. The gleam in her eye tells me she’s set herself a personal goal of increasing my body weight by a minimum of ten pounds by the end of the summer. Meanwhile Dad is sharing fashion tips with me. He’s left a sweater on my bed to try on. “It still looks brand new,” he says. “I honestly think it’ll suit you.”
    Now that I’m back, Dad’s fallen into the habit of leaving me his unwanted old clothes instead of giving them away to Goodwill. Maybe he thinks I need new clothes but can’t afford any. My concern isn’t strictly our differing styles but, more to the point, our differing sizes. Even though I’m more than six feet tall, Dad’s taller and larger. He outweighs me by at least thirty or forty pounds. I’m swimming in most of his shirts and jackets.
    I clear my plate and make my way up to my room, flushed and sweaty from Mom’s colossal portions. I’m greeted by Dad’s discarded sweater lying across my pillow. It’s made of black wool and has two yellow stripes running down the front in the shape of a V. I pick it up. It’s heavy and smells of dust. I haven’t seen it on Dad for more than twenty years. I put it on arms first and let the body fall down over my head. The waist settles at just above my knees and the sleeves cover my hands. I stand in front of the full-length mirror examining my profile.
    Holding the bottom of the sweater away from my legs like a wedding gown, I walk over to the window. I can see Mom unclipping laundry from the line. She’s not alone. Lucius, their pet guinea fowl, is with her. They are locked in conversation. Every so often Mom stops, bends down, and with her hands on her knees whistles at him. This excites Lucius, who reacts by jumping up and down, flapping his wings, and dancing about, which only encourages Mom to whistle some more. At this rate it will take her another hour or two to get the laundry inside.
    I flop down on the bed in my new woollen nightie and glance around the room. The only adornment that’s been added since the millennium is my history degree from university. My parents brought it back after the graduation