The Blue Jays Are Imported
“IMG 4898” by Sara Brown
“No, the blue jays are imported,” I hear myself saying to our neighbor Wes. “The warblers too. In fact, I really don’t know if any birds are native to the area.” Wes nods his head and says he’s considering getting some for his own backyard. I tell him that they typically fly away within a few days, but he seems undeterred.
Beth likes having the birds around, so we get them delivered every few weeks. They’re part of her backyard sanctuary, as she calls it. It really helped with the transition when we moved here a few years ago, and we’ve put a lot into it for her. Most recently, we’ve added the rickety fence and then the poison ivy patch in the back corner.
Poor Beth. She’s been going through something lately, a kind of slump, maybe even a funk—I’m not sure what it is. But as a result, she’s spending less time at home and more time at the non-profit where she works. So I’m more than happy to order the birds whenever she wants them. Plus, they’re the one addition to the yard I actually enjoy.
“Dad, I want a cold.” That’s what Charlotte says when I go back in the house.
“What do you want a cold for, sweetheart?”
“Greta’s dad said that when you guys used to get colds, it was so cozy and you laid around on the couch and ate soup and watched television all day.”
I tell her that we also didn't feel well but she doesn’t care, so we get her a cold. Then her brother wants one, so we order a cold for him too. Now they’re both sick.
“Dad, I feel terrible,” Charlotte says from the couch in the living room.
“See? I told you colds are no fun.”
“No dad, the feeling terrible is the most important part.”
I ask Denny how he feels and he says bad, and then tells me that means we’re getting our money’s worth.
In the lunch line at work the next day, I talk to Randy about the whole thing. “Tell me about it, Muchacho,” he says. “I just had to talk my own kid out of tuberculosis.” I ask him what he thinks it’s all about and he says that it’s just nostalgia, probably just a phase. I consider telling him that it can’t be nostalgia since the kids weren't even born yet when these illnesses were around, but instead I grab an orange and let it go.
Later that day, I get a message from Mr. McCleary’s assistant, Herman. Mr. McCleary would like to see me in his office. I message back to press Herman for more details but he pretends he doesn't see my message, which I find annoying. I walk over to ask him in person but there is someone else sitting at his desk.
“Where’s Herman?” I ask.
“Herman had a family emergency,” she tells me.
So now I feel like a real jerk for accusing him of ignoring me, even if it was just in my head. Before I can ask if she knows why Mr. McCleary wants to see me, he spots me through the glass door to his office and waves me in.
“Bill, you’ve really stepped up your game lately,” he says as soon as I’m through the door. “I’ve really noticed an improvement in your effort and also in your dedication.”
I ask him if there was ever an issue with either of those but he acts like he didn’t hear the question and makes his way around his desk where he plops down in his chair. “As you know, that round of promotions is right around the corner. And I’m really pulling for you.”
This is good because we could really use the money. I think a family vacation could be just what we need to help shake Beth shake out of her slump.
Later that night, I mention the conversation to Beth. I can tell she’s happy for me but still not very happy in general. I give her a big hug and tell her I’m here for her if she needs anything. She hands me her empty water glass and heads into the bathroom to take a shower.
***
It’s the weekend now and the ant guy is in the kitchen working behind the fridge. Beth is next door with the neighbors, and the kids are watching the ant installation process with fascination.
“Are they easy to take care of?” Charlotte asks.
“Just toss some crumbs on the floor now and then,” he says. “Under the appliances to keep the ants in the kitchen, or under the couch or bed or anywhere else you want them to go in the house.” I can tell the kids are amazed by how simple it is. I am. We had a dog once but that didn’t work out. Getting the ants for the kids felt like the least we could do. And Beth can show them off when we have company.
The following morning Denny has a fever from the cold we got him and couldn’t be happier. He even refuses the pain reliever I offer him. “Dad, that would defeat the whole purpose.”
I consider heading into the office but decide to work from home where I can keep an eye on him.
By Thursday the fever is gone, and Denny’s team has a basketball game, so we go as a family to root them on.
“Coach says he won’t put me in with a cold,” Denny tells us at halftime.
“I think that’s reasonable,” I say. “Probably should have thought about that before you asked for a cold. I think there’s probably even a valuable lesson in there.”
He wipes his runny nose with his arm and sulks back to the bench. I ask Beth what she thinks but she’s just staring at the screen of the tablet on her lap. I press her just to get some kind of reaction and she does a little head nod, but I can tell she hasn’t really heard me. So I start a conversation with Charlotte who is seated on the other side of Beth.
“Any big plans for the weekend, honey?”
She tells me that she and her friend Greta are planning a hunger strike. I ask her what they are striking and she says “eating.” It turns out they just want to feel what being hungry is like. I look to Beth to see if maybe this has caught her attention, but it hasn’t.
“Well just a reminder Charlotte, we’re having BBQ on Saturday.” BBQ is Charlotte’s favorite. But she says that missing it will make the hunger strike that much more meaningful. I’m about to ask a follow-up question, but now she’s watching whatever is on the tablet on Beth’s lap. They both cringe at whatever it is, then laugh in unison. Laughing is good.
That night, I’m cleaning up after dinner when Charlotte comes back into the kitchen. “I’ve thought it over, and I’ll talk to Greta about postponing the hunger strike until another weekend. You know, because of the BBQ.”
On Friday, I come home for lunch and the ants are everywhere. I look for Beth but Charlotte yells from the living room telling me that she’s at the neighbors’ again. When I ask about the ants, Charlotte says she’s been putting crumbs in the couch cushions.
“But honey, I thought we agreed that they’d stay in the kitchen.”
“I called an audible,” she tells me, and then hurries off to answer the ringing telephone. I’m attempting to gather up the ants and crumbs when Charlotte walks back in.
“That was Greta,” she says. “Good news. She’s good with moving the hunger strike to the weekend after next.”
“Just remember, we have your mother’s birthday party that weekend.”
She thinks it over for a moment. “I guess we’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Then I change the subject back to the ants and let her know I’m calling another audible to move the ants back. She’s okay with it and she joins me collecting as many ants as we can to return them to the kitchen. By the time we finish and I eat lunch and get back to the office, it’s almost three hours later. I’m really hoping Mr. McCleary didn’t notice.
That same night Charlotte strolls into my home office and says she wants poison sumac. I put down my work. “Why poison sumac?” She tells me she heard that the rash is intense. “We have that poison ivy in the backyard that we got for your mother. Isn’t that close enough?” But she wants the poison sumac so that she can show off the rash to her classmates. I tell her I’ll look into it.
A week later we’re organizing the garage when Denny says “Dad, I want tuberculosis.”
I sigh and say, “Buddy, that’s a little more serious than a cold.”
“I know like six kids at school who have had it and they’re fine.”
“Well, have you done any research on it? What if it really spirals out of control? Have you thought about that?”
“Dad, worst case we can always just order the cure, right?” I guess he’s right, but still.
I ask him if there’s anything else he wants, like maybe some new clothes, but he really just wants the tuberculosis, so I tell him I’ll discuss it with his mother.
“Why not just order him the tuberculosis?” Beth asks without looking up from the vegetables that she’s chopping. I tell her that voluntarily getting all these illnesses defeats the purpose of having cured them in the first place. Plus, I tell her I’m concerned that nothing is ever enough for the kids. They always want more. They just had colds, I remind her. But she doesn’t seem worried, and I don’t want to put any extra stress on her during the thing she’s going through, so I go order him the tuberculosis.
***
It’s Monday and I’m at my desk at work thinking about Beth. Things haven’t gotten any worse with her since the whole slump thing started, but they’re not any better, which makes it worse in a way. I feel myself shift from slightly concerned to genuinely concerned and I wonder how long a slump can technically last before it turns into a problem, or worse yet, a situation.
In the lunch line with Randy later that day, I mention it to him. “I’m worried that it might be about our marriage. What if she’s not into it anymore? I’m not the young virile animal I once was.”
“Muchacho, don’t overthink it. It’s just a phase,” he says. Randy seems like a pretty happy guy, so I trust him. Once we’re at our table and have dug into our food, he drops a bomb on me.
“I heard they’re giving out one less promotion this year.”
It could just be a rumor, but the fact that it’s coming from Randy means something. Randy is the kind of guy who always knows that kind of thing.
“But don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll get it.”
“I’m not so sure.” But then Mr. McCleary passes our table and gives me a friendly nod, so who knows.
The next afternoon I get a call from Principal Davis. She’s calling me at work so I ask if there’s an emergency, but she tells me she called home first and Beth gave her my number.
“With all the school Denny and Charlotte have missed from their illnesses, I’m worried about them falling behind.”
I tell her that I get it, and we’re just trying to be good parents and let the kids have rich and fulfilling experiences. But I can tell by the shuffling of papers on her end that she’s probably not listening and thinks Beth and I are giant pushovers. She’s not wrong. So I tell her Charlotte is already back to school, and just as soon as Denny recovers from the tuberculosis, he’ll be back, too, and they won’t miss any more for the rest of the year.
We have a family meeting that night to talk about how all the wanting and the missed school has gotten out of control. Plus, the illness trend is not sustainable with me needing to really put my head down at work for that promotion.
“But you guys got sick all the time when you were growing up,” Denny says.
I explain to him that it was not by choice, but neither of the kids understand why that matters. I bring up the topic of summer school and they are much more amenable to a discussion after that. Ultimately, we agree to hold off on any new illnesses until the end of the school year, and then we’ll evaluate them on a case by case basis.
Beth’s birthday is right around the corner so we have a party planned for this upcoming weekend. It’s supposed to be a surprise but she knows all about it. The party will be in the backyard and she wants mosquitos and high humidity. I tried to talk her out of the mosquitos but she says Donna Tardio had them at her sixtieth and everyone apparently got all bit up and talked about it for days. So we order the mosquitos along with the humidity. I don’t tell Beth but I also get some citronella candles and bug spray just in case.
Beth asks if I think it would be okay if she invites some of the patients from the nonprofit, and I tell her I think it’s a great idea. The truth is I really don’t know how great of an idea it is. But I do know that it’s important to give her whatever support I can right now. I’ve really been hoping that she gets better on her own, but it’s been two months now. As much as I’m tempted to come right out and ask her about it, I also don’t want to put any extra pressure on her. Especially not so close to her birthday. So I decide that I’ll bring it up after that.
On my way to the car Tuesday morning, I see Wes out front. “Hey neighbor!” he calls over. He’s looking for his blue jays. He went ahead with the order, and they arrived, but he’s not sure where they flew off to so quickly. I think I saw some extra blue jays in my backyard, but I don’t mention it.
“So you ready for the big party?” he asks.
“I sure am.”
“Any advice on a birthday gift for Beth?”
I tell him it’s totally unnecessary and not really that kind of party, but he insists, so I suggest something related to birds, or maybe a gift certificate to a spa. Then I change the subject and tell him that I’ve noticed Beth has been spending an awful lot of time at his house lately.
“Well, it’s a blessing to have neighbors you enjoy spending time with,” he says. And then he hurries away. Wes is nice enough, but he can be weird sometimes.
That afternoon at work, Mr. McCleary’s assistant Herman is back and messages me to let me know that Mr. Clearly would like to talk. I head over and before I can tell Herman I hope everything is okay with his family, Mr. McCleary greets me from the doorway of his office and walks me in.
As soon as I’m seated he says, “You’ve been missing a lot of time lately, Bill.” He looks concerned. He’s surprised by this, he says, and wonders if the conversation we had last week about my workplace improvements has gone to my head. I tell him it hasn’t and explain about the sick kids but assure him it was just a phase and we’ve discussed it as a family and it’s all under control and now I’m back on track. Then I keep talking and tell him that I know there’s going to be one less promotion this year so I know how important it is that I put my best foot forward.
Judging by the face he makes, it doesn’t seem like I’m supposed to know about the one less promotion thing. So I thank him and hurry back to my desk and work straight through my lunch break. I minimize my bathroom breaks for the rest of the day to avoid running into him anywhere else in the office. I don’t want him to see me doing anything but working.
There’s a big storm on Thursday night while Denny’s girlfriend Kayla is over for dinner. The storm wasn’t planned, which is concerning. I start to worry about the backyard for the party because of it, so I try to distract myself by making small talk with Kayla.
“So how’s the school year going for you?”
“Good” she says, and then she goes back to giggling with Denny about some inside joke they’ve had going for the whole meal. I ask Beth what’s new with the non-profit and she says “Nothing, really,” and takes a big bite of food. So I turn my attention to Charlotte, who is always happy to talk to me. She tells me that she’s been learning about turtles in school. She says they were known to carry diseases that can transmit to people. I’m expecting her to ask if it’s still possible to get one, but instead she moves on to describing the color and consistency of the gum she stepped in earlier. Bless her soul.
On Friday I have to take a half day to be home when the mosquitos are delivered. The party is not until Saturday afternoon, but apparently they need 24 hours to “habituate” before they’re ready to resume normal mosquito behavior. It’s terrible timing, but I told Beth I’d take care of it. The mosquito guy arrives at two o’clock, while Beth is at Pilates. He has a steel container with him, no larger than a shoebox. I lead him through the house and tell him I’m surprised at how small it is. He asks if I’ve ever seen a mosquito. I tell him I have not, at least not in person. I can tell he’s a little annoyed because I’d asked him to take off his boots at the front door. It turned out that they laced up way higher than I first realized, making it a chore to take them off and then put them back on when we reach the door to the backyard. I make a mental note that when he comes back Sunday to do whatever he needs to do with the mosquitos, we’ll just go through the gate.
He’s strategically placing the mosquitos around our backyard when I have to run back inside because the delivery driver has arrived with the cure for Denny’s tuberculosis. Part of the deal was that he had to be better by Beth’s party, so I’ll help him do the injection after dinner tonight. When I get back, the guy is finishing up.
“So what will you do with the mosquitos when we’re done with them?” I ask. He tells me they’ll come back and spray and that will kill them. I ask if I should be worried about the spray and our health, but he explains that these mosquitos were bred with a sensitivity to a special non-toxic aerosol compound.
Later that evening, I make up an excuse to run out. Beth probably thinks it’s to pick up some last minute thing for the party, or maybe she doesn't think anything at all, but the truth is I like to go for drives by myself once in a while. Quiet time is important. While I drive that night I think about Beth and how much I miss her. And I wonder if she misses herself too. When we first started dating she had the idea to break into the old drive-in theater and use the headlights of our car to project our own shadows onto the screen. We stayed for two hours, acting out scenes from our favorite movies. We were both larger than life that night. But she had always been. I hope that she hasn’t given it all away to the kids and me and left none for herself.
When I get home, everyone is asleep. I catch up on some work to make up for the half day I took and decide to head to bed. But as I fill my glass with water, I am startled to look up and see a bluejay sitting there on the other side of the window. Is it looking in at me? Or maybe it’s just looking at itself and the yard behind it in the reflection, wondering where it is and how it got so far away from where it’s supposed to be. Maybe it doesn’t care one way or the other, and is just happy to be breathing the clean air here.
Saturday comes and Beth’s birthday is a huge success. We spend the day getting the house ready for the party and putting finishing touches on the backyard. The tables and chairs are delivered at three o’clock, along with the broken trampoline we ordered for decoration. I also sprung for the poison sumac Charlotte wanted, so the team installs that in the back of the yard alongside the poison ivy. The humidity has been set and it’s already balmy just like Beth wanted.
At four o’clock, the guests begin to arrive. Since Beth already knows about the party, we forego the surprise part and she’s there to greet everyone with me as they arrive. “Surprise!” she jokingly says to each one. Wes and his wife Sumira are first to arrive, along with their kids. The kids run off to play in the poison ivy and sumac patch while I fix cocktails for the four of us. Beth opens the gift they brought, a pair of binoculars for the birds, and she seems genuinely pleased.
By six o’clock, everyone has arrived and the party’s in full swing. A few of Beth’s patients from the non-profit are there and are fitting in just great. Some of the ants have even made a guest appearance around the snack table, to the delight of all the partygoers. I stand up from my seat and clink my glass to get everyone’s attention and I give my speech. I talk about what the world looked like when Beth and I were young and foolish and newly in love. I tell the story about the drive-in theater. Then I talk about how different the world is—and we are—now. I finish by saying that the one thing that has stayed exactly the same is my incredibly deep love and appreciation for Beth. Everyone claps and Beth hugs and kisses me for the first time in I don’t know how long.
An hour later, I’m in the kitchen cooling off and reapplying mosquito repellant to my neck when Beth’s coworker Bonnie, from the non-profit, finds me. “The party is just great, Bill. Is that broken trampoline yours, or did you rent it?” I tell her we rented it and she says it’s a nice touch. Then she says that the speech was really sweet, and she could tell how moved Beth was. I tell her that’s so nice to hear. Then I ask if she has noticed anything off about Beth’s mood lately, or if Beth has said anything to her about me or our marriage. She tells me she hasn’t heard or noticed anything, but she’s sure that whatever it is will work itself out
On my way back out to the party I pass Charlotte and the other kids.
“Dad, I have a splinter.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It’s bad! What is wrong with you?” She and the other kids all laugh at me, just another clueless parent.
“Well what about the whole thing with wanting the cold and all that stuff?”
The kids burst out laughing again. “Does this seem like a cold, Dad?” She walks away shaking her head.
A few minutes later, during a quiet moment between songs, I overhear Charlotte complaining to her brother about the splinter. She doesn’t care about the pain, just that it’s hard to see and show off to everyone else. He’s telling her to use a pen to draw a black line to make the sliver more pronounced, but she says that would be disingenuous. Is that the correct use of the word? I really don’t know, but I’m impressed, regardless.
The party goes until the last guests leave around ten o’clock. Even though we have people coming in the morning to clean, I get started on it while Beth and the kids get ready for bed. By the time I get back inside and upstairs, Beth is asleep.
On Sunday the mosquito guy comes back and gasses all the mosquitos, and the party rental company retrieves the tables and chairs and trampoline. They try to take the poison sumac, but I tell them that we’d like to keep it, to Charlotte’s delight. Beth steps out onto the back porch with a cup of tea in hand and smiles as she watches me coordinate the last of the cleanup. It’s probably the happiest I’ve seen her in months. When everyone’s gone, I join her on the porch and she puts her arm around my waist. I miss these good moments, and I’d like to tell her that, but I worry that any acknowledgement of her mood will cause it to disperse. So I decide not to ruin it for her.
I catch glimpses of her now and then as she breezes through the day with a lightness I forgot she had. And then once the kids are in bed and she sits down to read, I join her in the living room and ask if we can have a conversation.
It turns out she’s been having an affair, as her gift to me for our 20th anniversary.
“With Wes,” she tells me.
“Wow, I did not see that coming,” I say, and it’s true. For a moment I don’t know how to react, but then I see a glimmer of the Beth I’ve missed so much in her eyes. “Honey, that is such an incredibly thoughtful gift. Especially since it’s clearly been taking a toll on you. But it’s totally unnecessary. I’m happy with our life just how it is.”
“Really?”
“Really. Things are great.”
Somehow she seems like the one who has been caught off guard here, so I just keep talking and tell her how worried I’ve been about her and how much I’ve missed her, and I tell her that I’m so relieved that it hasn’t been because something is wrong with our marriage, and how happy I am that it’s just the opposite. She tears up and so do I and we hug for a long time.
“Wes is a weird kisser,” she suddenly says, and we both laugh.
“I bet.”
***
Before work the next day, I stop by Wes’s to thank him and his wife for their help with the anniversary gift. They tell me they were happy to help, but I sense a little disappointment from both of them that it’s over. I thank them again and tell them I’m happy to return the favor if they ever need it, and they genuinely seem like they may take me up on it at some point. Wes may be a bit weird but he and Sumira are good friends, so I’m happy to do what I can.
We’re eating dinner that night and I realize I haven’t thought about the promotion in a couple days. The truth is, as much as I’d love to get it, it’s okay if I don’t get it too. Beth is doing so much better already and I’m so grateful for that. I look over at her and watch her as she struggles to hold her chopsticks correctly. It makes me smile. Then I look over at each of the kids. I’m sure they’ll continue to want their illnesses and who knows what else. Denny is already asking to have a tooth pulled for his next birthday. And I get it. The whole thing about needing the bad to appreciate all the good. But who knows if that’s what Denny is even thinking. It doesn’t matter either way. It’s okay. Everything is okay. Beth and I are doing a great job I think. I love our life.
Later, I’m catching up on work while everyone else is in bed when suddenly I hear a loud thud against the window by my desk. I look up but there’s nothing to see, so I step out onto the front porch to investigate. There, lying in the dark of the grass, is a blue jay on its back, wings angled all wrong. I scoop it up with my hands. Its eyes dart around while its chest fills and empties with each breath, otherwise motionless.
I walk down to the sidewalk to get a better look and the streetlights recognize me immediately, adjusting to my preferences. In my hands the bird has stopped breathing and its eyes are closed. I look up and down the street and there’s no one else there, just me and the dead blue jay. I wonder if it’s the same one that was sitting in my window the other night, watching me work. They all look pretty similar to me though, so it would be impossible to say.
I walk back toward the house and return the blue jay to the spot in the grass where I found it. I should place an order for some more tomorrow, I think.
About the Author
Originally from Syracuse, NY, Peter Alsante is a writer living in the Catskills with his wife Cara and dog Arlo. "The Blue Jays Are Imported" is his first published short story.
About the artist
Sara Grant masterfully captures the essence of human emotion through vibrant color pencil creations. Working from her studio, she invites global audiences into profound explorations of life's intricacies. Sara's dedication to her craft remains steadfast as she continues to craft evocative pieces, driven by her unwavering passion for artistry and connection.