Bird

By the time Kevin received the letter, it was covered in red ink and stamps, each set a failed attempt to provide adequate postage. After $3.73 had finally been pasted, hastily slanted, the letter had made its way from Brazil to Boston.

Without opening the hunter green envelope, Kevin moved toward the garbage bin in the kitchen. His hand hovered over the open mouth just a moment before dropping the letter in.

Carlo sat at the kitchen table, his back to the garbage can, but he could see Kevin’s hesitant reflection in the window.

“A bit early for that, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Don’t use that word—early,” Kevin said. “The early bird gets the worm, see?”

“You can’t be serious. And I suppose I can’t use hand either?”

Kevin now stood behind his partner’s chair, his fingers ensnaring themselves in Carlo’s thick curls.

“Why not?” he asked.

“A bird in hand—?”

“Oh, definitely not,” he said. “Definitely not.”

Carlo sipped his coffee, and Kevin sat down in the chair opposite him, blocking his view of the window. He stared from across the table at the coffee mug, featuring a hand-painted peacock and the words FLAUNT IT in garish block letters.

“Oh no, not my mug, too,” said Carlo. He put it down with a thud that knocked some of the coffee out of the mug and onto the table.

“And the matching dishtowels.”

“You never even see those.”

Kevin admittedly never did see those dishtowels. He had always hated the flamboyance of the sequins that accented each peacock feather. What was the use in a sequined dish towel, he had asked Carlo.

“They’re even worse than the mug. BE BOLD? Really?”

“They were a gift.”

Carlo retrieved some paper towels from the counter and on his way back to the table reached into the garbage bin and pulled out the letter. He dried up the coffee spill and placed the letter, postage side up, on the table before him.

“At least open it,” he said.

Kevin made no move toward the letter. Carlo slipped his pointed finger under the envelope flap and slowly tugged it open. He lay the opened envelope flat on the table, again postage side up.

“No,” said Kevin.

Carlo took another sip of his coffee, set the mug down, and opened the letter. Inside was a photograph.

“It’s got better hair than you,” he said.

Kevin’s body wanted to laugh but he settled the matter by coughing instead, lest the transgression be seen as a softening to the idea.

“Better claws, too.”

“I don’t have claws,” said Kevin, snatching the picture from Carlo.

The picture showed a gorgeous white cockatoo, his yellow tipped head fluffed up with pride.

“Seventy-five years, they live,” he said.

“They had him for what, thirty of those years?” Carlo asked. “Wow, this bird could outlive you, too.”

“This bird will outlive me. It’ll be the death of me,” Kevin said, but he was already digging his laptop out of its briefcase, already wondering how much tickets to Brazil must cost this time of year.