Coming home late from a bar had become a Christmas Eve Tradition – of sorts – for Henry. With his own family scattered to the four winds and his immediate circle of friends gone to their apparently unscattered families, these last few Christmas Eves all ended this fuzzy happy walk home from town. Sometimes it was snow and cold wet sparkles – tight though the air was clear and crisp as the first bite of fresh hot hard-shell taco.
Swaggering his way up the main drag amidst the lights and few others wandering homes
It was tradition, and like all traditions was tinged with the melancholy and joy of the past years.
The fact of the matter was that he enjoyed this time by himself. He had his hobbies after all.
Henry built ornate birdfeeders in his basement workshop. Not the usual one-perch one-hole houses, but triple-decker and quintuple-decker structures that boggled the eye with unique angles and circular staircases. He sold them at local craft stores and made to order over the internet. Between that and his day job as a muffin man in the local pastry shop he kept himself very busy.
He did enjoy the company of his friends though, He looked forward to his Friday night poker game and his Tuesday night dinner pot-luck with the his other friends. On Saturdays he and the boys from the muffin shop would cruise the local scene and check out bands.
But this was now… Christmas Eve. It was just him.
Henry swayed toward the huge Douglas Fir that stood majestic and festooned with twinkling colored lights at the top of the main drag. He was singing a drunken version of White Christmas… not the Bing Crosby Version, but the Billy Idol version that he had heard on a punk Christmas album. He was singing along with Billy in his head, voicing the choppy guitar parts and playing air guitar, approaching the huge tree.
Suddenly he stopped. “What the hey!?” he said to himself.
The tree was marauded with lights, all furiously atwinkle, like usual, but it seemed to be moving- no wait- now it was still- but the lights were covered- shielded for a second- and now it- it seems to be- fluttering?
It’s not often a tree flutters… leaves flutter… but trees?
The next time you see a tree fluttering you’ll know how Henry felt.
He closed his eyes and shook his head to try and clear it, but when he opened his eyes the tree was still fluttering. “How drunk am I?” he asked himself.
He was answering himself in his head- not that drunk!- when the tree started fluttering faster and faster and then it rose off the ground and flew away- but wait- it was still right there… not fluttering anymore.
“This,” Henry said to himself, “is not my traditional walk home.”
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure half ducked in the doorway of a closed storefront. He was bent over sort of wrestling with himself… as if he was caught in his sweater. Henry walked over to him and saw that he was indeed caught in himself… he was caught in some type of… apparatus that was attached to his head. “Can I help you?” Henry said.
The man jumped up a bit in the air. He had not known anyone was nearby. “Who are you?” he demanded, still half bent over struggling with the thing on his head.
“I’m just Henry.”
“Just Henry?”
“Yup.”
“Well… help me get this thing off my head Henry… it’s stuck.”
“Umm… okay… now hold still a second.”
With some finesse and determination, the headpiece (which is what the thing was… ornate with lights and straps) was taken off off the gentlemen’s head. Henry held it while the man got his apparatus-free bearings, then handed it over to him.
The man put it down and held out his hand. “Gibson.” He said. “Gibson T. Narnell.”
Henry shook his hand. “Happy to make your acquaintance Gibson. Did you see the tree fluttering?”
“Well… as a matter of fact I did… I did see the tree fluttering… he he… yes..”
“Well what was that? I mean… I’ve, according to Tradition, have had a few beverages of the alcoholic nature, and my senses, are somewhat impaired… but still.. that tree was fluttering!”
“Yes… it was Henry… and I thought I was the only one who could see it!”
“Well I saw it too! “
Gibson just smiled. Henry just looked at him. He wanted an answer, He wanted also to perhaps go home to bed and forget the whole thing.
But then he saw the apparatus in Gibson’s hand. “Does it have anything to do with that thing in your hand?”
“My my… your a smart one, as impaired as you are… you put two and two together didn’t you… and you came up with what?”
‘Four?”
“Exactly!”
“Okay… so what is four?”
“Four is the sum of all the parts of two and two!”
“Gibson… you seem like a nice person… but your hurting my head with your quixotic vocal meanderings.”
“Okay Henry… I’ll let you in on a little secret… it wasn’t the tree fluttering at all… but many… many… birds!”
“Huh?”
“It was birds Henry… this apparatus can control the flight of birds!”
“Really?!?!”
“Yes… really… you see Henry, I am an inventor, and I’ve been working on this invention for the past two years of my life.”
“How does it work?”
“I… can’t explain it without charts and graphs and a lengthy diatribe into the nature of the psyche of winged creatures… so lets just say… it works!”
“Was this your first test?”
“As a matter of fact no.”
“Oh.”
“But this was the first test that worked!”
“Oh… that’s good… good for you. Congrats.”
“Yes… I wanted to wait until the morning light, but I couldn’t wait.”
“I could see how one could be excited about something like this.”
“Oh yes… excited to say the least… birds have long been under appreciated for there sheer power in our culture… why… there are just so many of them all the time!”
“I dare say that’s true Gibson. I make birdhouses… ornate birdhouses… and sometimes I don’t sell one for months.”
“You make birdhouses!”
“Yes!”
“Well isn’t this fortuitous. Yes yes indeed… perhaps you are the one person who could truly appreciate the grandeur of such an invention such as mine.”
“Um… it’s sort of cold… do you want to come over to my house… I live just up the street and you can try to explain this device of yours to me in further detail.”
“Do you have any wine at your house?”
“As a matter of fact I do!”
“Let’s go then!”
Gibson and Henry walked the two blocks to Henry’s house, opened a bottle of wine and talked for hours. Henry showed Gibson his workshop and his birdhouses and Gibson explained the concept behind the technology of the ‘bird directing apparatus’ to Henry.
Which Henry sort of understood… soft of…
What Henry did understand was this. If you put the thing on your head you could control the flight of any bird within your sight.
Eventually tiredness crept into their bones and Henry offered Gibson the couch to sleep on. Henry went upstairs and dreamt of birds…. of fantastic wide spread packs of birds… flying to and fro.
In the morning Henry came down stairs and started coffee, then went into the living room to wake up Gibson… but Gibson wasn’t there. Henry went back to the coffee machine to wait for its percolation and noticed something outside the kitchen window. His backyard was full of birds… and there… there was Gibson with the device on his head.
He put on his boots and went outside.
“Morning Gibson.”
“Morning Henry.”
“What are you doing with the birds?”
“Nothing right now… I wanted to see if they will just sit… which, as you can see… they are! What would you like me to do with them?”
“Um…. Make them fly up and spell out the words ‘Henry is cool’!”
“Gibson laughed and amidst his cackling the birds flew up… thousands of them… they rose and circled gracefully in the air… at first they went from the right to the left ,and then they circled back from left to right… and they spelled out ‘Henry is fool’.
“Hey… I said ‘cool… not fool!”
And Gibson just laughed.
The two, after a hearty breakfast at a nearby diner, drove west to a clear meadow out in the farm country. All day long they gathered birds and flew them in patterns and shapes… diamond paisley mandalas… stripes and circles and squares and wavy lines… they spelled out funny winged words and dive bombed the birds close to the ground, scaring squirrels. They tested the limitations of the device and they both came to the conclusion that there were no limits. This device controlled birds.. their flight… their non-flights… all their actions… with just mere thoughts.
At the end of the day Gibson had some birds in a form of a Christmas tree, some in the form of presents around the tree… and for the grand finale he did a Santa sleigh complete with reindeer flying in from the west.
And then they hopped in the car and Henry drove Gibson home. They both knew that if this device ever fell into the wrong hands it could be used for evil purposes, and that was no good. So they vowed to keep it a secret and vowed never to see each other again.
On Christmas night, Henry fell into yet another sleep where beautiful patterns of birds filled the sky.
—
On New years Eve, Henry had to work late, but made it home just in time to change his clothes and make it to a coworkers party for midnight. He was walking out the door as Gibson was walking up onto his porch.
“Gibson! Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year to you too Henry! I have a little present for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes… really… it’s another device… I have it in my car… go around to the backyard and wait for me!”
“But what about the midnight? There’s a party… and the fireworks!”
“My present has something to do with that… yes yes… and you should dress warmer… dress and warm as you can!”
“Okay.” Henry went back inside and changed into his ski suit, put on his hat and scarf and mittens, and went out to the backyard. Gibson was waiting for him with the device on his head and another device near his feet. There were already hundreds if not thousands of birds in the backyard, all fluttering their black silvery wings sitting in the branches held out in the chill night sky.
“So…” Henry said, “What do I do?”
“Here… put this on… it’s a harness!”
Gibson handed Henry a harness/seat/suit that was attached by a thick rope to a very very long stick that was horizontal to him laying on the ground.
“Am I… going to fly Gibson?”
Yes!”
“Is this safe?”
“According to my calculations, you’ll be just fine.”
So Henry strapped into the harness, lifted the long stick in the center and hold it long ways balanced over his head. He looked over and Gibson and kinda shrugged… I guess I’m ready he aid with a raise of his eyebrow and a shrug of his shoulder.
With a nod, Gibson maneuvered hundreds… and then even more birds so they held onto the stick with their claws. “Are you sure this is safe?” Henry asked again.”
“Your the test pilot Henry. You should feel honored!”
I just feel…. ahhhhhhhh!!!!”
With a roar of wings Henry took off into the air and floated up over his house… he swooped left, and then right, and then out over the waterfront where the fireworks had just begun. He was flown, not too close, but in a circle around them… by far the best vantage point he had ever had for the fireworks… and when they were over he was flown back to his house and landed in his backyard. “Gibson… that was so great! Gibson?”
But Gibson wasn’t there… all that was there were a thousand birds who suddenly rose up into the air and flew in a circle… you could barely see them, black as they were against the night sky… but they spelled out, in blacksilver lettering… ‘Happy New Year Henry!’
“And a Happy New Year to all!” Henry said back to the night sky… “A Happy New Year to all…”