Two Different Species

I can still see him there pacing on that long dirt road in Taos, New Mexico.

I had twisted my head from my seat to get one last look at him out the rear

window of our Land Rover.  I was out of breath, because I was being

chased by a beautiful, domesticated male peacock, as I was getting into

our SUV after a weekend with my husband.  George, the resident peacock,

had fallen in love with me.

I had met George at the American Artist Gallery House, a quaint B&B,

which was adorned with colorful Southwestern art from area artists.

George, however, was the most vibrant piece of art on the property.

His personality reminds me of the giant, flightless, quirky bird, Kevin in the

animated movie, Up and he squawked like her, too, throwing his head back

at all costs to get attention.  Just like Kevin, George would stretch his long

neck around the corner of the breakfast bungalow, snatching food from

unsuspecting guests.  And if you were a female, George would fan out his

tail feathers in all their glory and rustle them, as if he were shivering. It was

his way of saying, “See how big it is?”

The feathers on the crown of his head, called the crest, were the most

endearing feature of George.  From a distance, his crest resembled blue

tufts of wheat blowing in the wind.

George was charming and flirtatious. And I fell for him!  When I wasn’t out

enjoying my husband’s company, I was searching out George and enjoying his.

George strolled with me around the property and took on the role of

protector, as I was 7-months pregnant with our first child.

Over the weekend, we had grown attached which is why it made it all the

more difficult to say goodbye on the last day of our trip. George sauntered back and

forth with me as I waddled from our bungalow to our car with bags. Then, he lingered

by our Land Rover as Jason and I loaded our luggage into the car.

I would tell him how handsome he was.

When the time had finally come to leave, I stroked his silky body one last

time, whispering in his ear,

“I love you, George!  You have been such a good boy!”

I made my way to the front passenger door.  As I opened it, George

was on the heels of my feet, desperately attempting to jump in the seat with

me and blocking my ability to close the door.

So I looked at Jason who was witnessing my predicament and said,

“What should I do?”

Jason leaned over the console and said over the running engine,

“Honey, just let me slowly start driving and you jog alongside the car and

try to jump in.”

Now, just so that you don’t have any ill feelings toward my husband, asking a

near-term pregnant woman to hurdle into a moving vehicle - I was an avid

runner at the time, even at 7 months pregnant.

So Jason put his foot on the pedal and propelled the Rover forward with the

passenger door wide open. I began my sprint holding my protruding belly,

while simultaneously swatting behind me with my right hand to discourage

George from following me.

The challenge in all this was even more complicated by the fact when you

hurdle, you typically lead with your right leg over the hurdle, whereas to

leap into the passenger side of a moving car, you have to lead with your left

leg.

So there I was awkwardly hobbling - leading with my left leg, jogging,

holding my belly and swatting with my right.  Lead left, jog, hold belly, swat

right was the pattern I followed, when I finally discovered the ceiling handle

on the Rover, grabbed it and I hurdled myself into the moving vehicle.

George, with his stunted little legs, was unable to keep up and I had

successfully closed the door without a peacock in tow.  But I turned around

in my seat and just stared at George out the back window, as he paced

squawking, dazed and confused.

I was crushed to see him there, looking lost and forlorn, on that dirt

road, being left behind and I had no way to tell to him why I had to leave.   

For years, as I have shared my encounter with George to others, I would

get a  lump in my throat and tears would swell up in my eyes and I wasn’t

able to put my finger on it, until I heard this man’s voice for the first time

after 30 years say to me, “I can still see you in my rearview mirror standing

in the rain on the city sidewalk as I was driving away….”

George was a bridge pointing me back to my own heartache, as I, too, had

been left behind 30 years ago standing on a sidewalk, wiping tears from my

cheeks, as a man I cared about drove away, leaving Chicago for Los

Angeles in the hopes of a writing career.

I, too, was dazed and confused.  A sense of emptiness pervaded my spirit

that muggy evening, as the reality of parting became real and permanent.

However, I had never allowed myself to fully deal with the loss.

As I do with most painful episodes in my life, I picked myself up, dusted

myself off and moved onto the next thing - a typical Midwestern

response.  Because you know, the cows still need to be milked in spite of

life’s circumstances.

And yes, I physically moved on, but I had avoided the sadness from this

departure and George, in a way, has been pointing me towards it, but I was

unable to see it until I heard this man say “I can still see you in my rearview

mirror … standing in the rain!”

I was George!  Tears swelling up in my eyes all these years when I

imagined George was my subconscious screaming to me,

“Susan, you have some grief to unclog!” 

Life has a funny way of trying to get our attention, even using quirky,

persistent birds to address unresolved areas of our lives and it simply keeps

circling back until we do.

I am finally unfolding the pain that I had tucked away all these years from

this break-up.  This fella and I had an unsustainable relationship. There

was no malice, no arguments - just two people with different values.  I was

the girl next door who would eventually marry a wonderful and adoring

husband and have two remarkable daughters and he would remain the

perpetual bachelor who needed to be free and untethered.  In many ways,

two different species, just like George and me, who had a sweet connection

for a brief moment.

Serendipitously, this man was given the opportunity to provide salve to my

broken heart and tell me that he never meant to hurt me. I, however, am

uncertain if I will be able to do the same for George.

In the meantime, I will simply release from my heart and whisper in the

wind, hoping George will receive my message in his spirit with his

wavering, tufty blue antennae….

“Thank you, George, you beautiful, majestic bird!  Thank you for caring so

sweetly me. I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you!”