Here is a short story I wrote a couple of years ago. I have been writing off and on for most of my life but I've had zero to no luck getting anything published and maybe after reading this you'll see why. Two posts ago I wrote something rather light hearted about sexy birds and then remembered this story, based loosely on an incident that happened when I had just finished working a shift in the psychiatric unit at Richmond Hospital. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story, or if not that it helps you get to sleep tonight.
And by the way, no Anglicans were harmed in the writing of this post
Ducks
At first she thought they were males mounting males in the water, and assumed that of course homosexuality is not an exclusively human phenomenon. The iridescent green heads bobbing and darting and biting other iridescent green heads reminded her fleetingly of the hummingbirds she had seen in the tropics, glittering airborne emeralds vying and battling for supremacy at the feeders. She saw the female emerge out of the water, once the three (or was it four?) males had spent themselves on her, and found her to be inordinately large, almost huge for a duck. She was also coloured differently from the other females who were uniformly streaked. This duck was brown with a bit of white on her. The males went after her again, one trying to push and bite the other off of her so he could mount her instead, then successfully subduing while nearly drowning her, and all of them quacking incessantly, maddeningly and even comically. She tried to imagine Daisy Duck being conjugated by Donald Duck and nearly burst out laughing as she wondered how would be the fallout had that ever been permitted on the Wonderful World of Disney. The duck orgy continued, unabated. The large female seemed not in the least bothered and appeared to be enjoying the attention, as though she was every bit in command of the situation. As though she had swum blithely in among them and seductively quacked “Hi boys!” while demurely wiggling her curly little tail.
“I don’t know why they’re going after that large female, she isn’t even one of them.” Denise was startled by the unexpected voice and saw a young man standing next to her on the left, a plastic bag of birdseed dangling like an obscene lantern from his right fist. He was about the same age as her, with surprisingly similar hair (dark brown, straight, lank and parted on the side) and similar green eyes. She felt her eyes widen, looked away, and silently walked away from him. She wanted to run but was determined to maintain her cool. They were out in the open, it was daytime and there were other people around. She did not believe herself to be at risk. When Denise returned to the psychiatric ward in the hospital that was next to the park with the duck pond she saw her mother seated at the table over a deck of cards. She was playing solitaire.
“Did you have a nice little break, dear?” she said not looking up at her daughter.
“It was fine until some creep started hitting on me.”
“Ah, alas, this can happen anywhere. Is it nice out there?”
“It’s quite beautiful actually, Mom, even if it’s a bit cloudy.” She was not going to say anything about the ducks, and she felt herself a bit embarrassed for giving so much of her time and attention to watching them copulate. She felt prurient, like a voyeur.
“And how are the ducks?”
“Oh… just ducky, I suppose.”
“They must be screwing like crazy right now, this being spring. Were any of the ducks screwing, Denise? They can be dreadful. They often gang rape the females. Not a pretty sight to behold.”
“This one looked as if she was enjoying it.” She felt her face redden at this act of self-betrayal.
“Trust me when I say this, dear. They never enjoy it. Game of Crazy Eights with your dear old Ma?”
“I’ll shuffle” Denise said. As she dealt out the cards she mentioned “That guy really creeped me out, the guy at the duck pond. “Like, he tried to get me into a conversation with him about ducks having sex. I shouldn’t have stayed that long but they were sort of, you know, fascinating.”
“Animals have a much healthier attitude towards sex than humans”, her mother said. “They just do it as nature dictates, get it out of their system and move on with eating and living their lives. None of this nonsense about courtship, flowers and candle-light dinners, they just do their little courtship dance and off they go.”
“Was Dad ever romantic?”
“Oh, all the time!” her mother said, laying down an eight of diamonds on the card pile. “Change it to Clubs.”
“Where do you think he is now?”
“Who only knows? I don’t think he’s dead. Can you believe it’s been thirty years since he left? You weren’t even walking then. Ah, Queen of Spades! You pick up five cards.”
“You’re kickin’ my ass, Ma.”
“Only as I should. You know I’m coming home tomorrow.”
“I cleaned the apartment from floor to ceiling today.”
“Did you get all your other work done, dear?”
“Not much happening this month in web-design, I’m afraid. But it’s okay. I had so much work piled up through Christmas and New Year’s that I can afford to take a break.”
“Why not go on a holiday?”
“That can wait.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“We could go somewhere together. How about Cuba?”
“I’ve never been to Hawaii. Let’s go to Hawaii.”
“We can talk more about it over the next few days, if you like. Here’s a two. You pick up two cards.”
The ducks were at it again. There were more flowers blooming and Denise couldn’t mistake that softness that begins to appear in the air in those two weeks leading to the spring equinox. This time it was one male and a regular streaked female, swimming circles round each other while rhythmically bobbing their heads. The male climbed on top of the compliant female, his green head shining like a large polished emerald. Denise decided against watching the full act and walked on, assuming that surely even ducks would appreciate a little bit of privacy. To her surprise and relief she had been enjoying this time off and already new work was beginning to come her way. Reaching into her jacket pocket she pulled out a blood orange which she began to peel. The crimson-orange rind came off easily, like the flayed skin of a martyr and she dumped it into a nearby garbage can. The dark red sections came apart easily, almost willingly as she popped each one into her mouth. She sat down on a bench to admire the early red tulips beginning to bloom in front of her. A large hawk flew from one tree above her to another, pursued by raucous crows.
She hadn’t seen him coming and she didn’t even notice when he sat down on the neighbouring bench, another plastic bag of birdseed in his hand. He didn’t seem to notice her as he scattered seed in front of the flowers for the ducks to come scrambling in a feeding frenzy. Seagulls and crows also landed nearby. He seemed, not pensive, but deep in thought, or meditation? It was hard to say, but he seemed every bit as not present as present. His profile she found sleek and graceful, and could recognize beneath his snug-fitting sweater and jeans the body of a dancer or an acrobat. “Didn’t you know that we’re not allowed to feed the wildlife?” she said suddenly.
Without looking at her he replied, “This isn’t wildlife. They’d might as well be our pets.”
“Well, I’m sure what you’re giving them is way better for them than breadcrumbs and Cheeto’s.”
“Anyone who feeds that crap to birds should be arrested.” As the ducks and other birds fought over wheat, flax and sunflower seeds, he glanced towards her and said, “How are the ducks today?”
“I don’t come here to look at ducks,” Denise replied primly.
“Of course not,” he said. “How’s your mom?”
“My mother is fine. Why do you ask? Have you met her before?”
“She and I have chatted amicably on the ward from time to time.”
“How do you know she’s my mom?”
“I saw you visiting when she was hospitalized last year. “Her name’s Emily, right?”
“How come I never saw you?”
“You probably did but didn’t recognize me at the time. I wasn’t, let’s say, quite looking my best.”
He scattered more seed for the birds and Denise sat with her fingers locked together. She felt as though she might need a cigarette, but had quit smoking when she finished high school, and didn’t feel prepared to take up the habit again.
“What’s your name?” she asked him.
“Dylan. And you would be Denise.”
“I guess my mom told you.”
“She is very proud of you, your mom.”
“Thanks. That’s a nice thing to say. Anyway, I should be going now.”
“She still in there?”
“No, she was released last week. I’m just here killing time.”
“And watching the ducks?”
“Yeah, the ducks too, I guess.”
“I come here every day,” Dylan said. “And I haven’t seen them do that again.”
“Do what?” she asked stupidly.
“You know, what they did to that female.”
“I haven’t seen her today.”
“Me neither. Not since the great gang-bang.”
Denise struggled to find some way of changing the subject. She did not know this Dylan well enough to want to comfortably embark with him on a conversation about avian sex, and particularly not about ducks.”
“I wonder if they ended up killing her,” she asked.
“I wonder too.” He tightened the neck of the plastic bag of birdseed and stuffed it into his small backpack. Dylan paused at the edge of the bench as though not knowing what to do or say next. By his apparent discomfort Denise could tell that he too wanted to change the subject.
“How is she, by the way?”
“My mom? She’s better now. It was a short stay this time.”
“Was she voluntary this time? None of my business, I know, and you don’t have to answer.”
“This time, yes. She could feel it coming on this time and told me to get help.”
“There are better places to recover in, you know.”
“If we only knew where to find them.”
Dylan let himself lean back on the bench, then straightened up again.
“That place is horrible. The nurses are bitches, most of them anyway and the psychiatrists are all assholes. How could anyone get well in that kind of environment!”
“It worked for you, didn’t it?”
“I just did as I was told. That’s the only way you get out of there. They think that compliance equals recovery. They think that as soon as you’re not manifesting symptoms you’re recovered and everything is all hunky-dory. How about your mom? Does she agree?”
“She just does as she’s told and that gets her home faster.”
“But do you think she’s recovered.”
“Are you?”
“Recovered from what?”
“What? Weren’t you ill?”
“No sicker than you or your mama.”
“I haven’t got a mental illness.”
“Precisely that is what I mean.”
“You don’t have a mental illness?”
“And neither does Emily, your mother. We’re just upset with life, that’s all, so we take on symptoms and that’s how we cope and society can’t stand us, they don’t know what to do with us so they label us as sick, keep us perpetually stoned on medications and give us shock treatments and once we are all compliant and productive citizens and not showing any symptoms we are pronounced recovered, and not once does anyone consider that the whole system is sick and that’s what makes us sick. They don’t get it. They never will.”
“Mom told me something similar yesterday.”
“Emily is lucky to have you, you know. And you’re lucky to have her.”
“I am, you know. She’s real special, my mom. Did you know she’s a concert pianist?”
“We heard her play on the ward. She is sublime.”
“Dylan, I have to go now.”
As she got up he said, “By the way, did you know that ducks are the only birds that have a penis? The males, I mean,” he said smirking.
“Now I really have to go,” she said.
“Say hi to your mom for me.”
“I will.”
“See you back here by the duck-pond sometime?”
“Maybe, but I’m not making promises.”
When Denise got away she really wanted a cigarette. Without thinking she almost ran to the mall and found herself at the tobacconist. All the beautifully coloured and cellophane wrapped packages of death shone tauntingly before her eyes. The old man who worked there approached her and just as he opened his mouth to say, “Good afternoon, may I help you?” Denise bolted and almost ran out of the mall, nearly knocking over two small children and a little old lady on the way out. Standing on the pavement outside she breathed deeply for a while then let herself lean on the wall as though her spine had ceased to function. A rather sweet looking elderly Chinese couple walked by and she almost said hi to them. The woman caught her shy smile and responded with a ghost of a pleased smile of her own. Denise thought her jade pendant earrings were beautiful and almost asked her where she bought them. She thought of returning inside the mall to apologize to the tobacconist, realized she was being an idiot, and squared her shoulders as she resolved to return home to her convalescing Mom and all the work that awaited her on her laptop. Then, without thinking much about it she realized she would be walking again through the park on her way home. She wondered about Dylan, if he would be still there, seated at the same bench, feeding again the ducks, watching them copulate as he waited to see whom else he could annoy. She wanted also to find out why they looked alike, like siblings, or even twins? Her mother had never alluded anything. Perhaps there had been nothing to allude. But she still wanted to know, even if it was to experience the relief of discovering that there never was anything really to discover. He wasn’t there, anywhere. She tried to resist an urge to wait for him, or to go seeking him out. A boyfriend was what she needed, and it wasn’t going to be him. She had been manless for almost a year and surely it was time to do something about it. Maybe she would run an ad on the Internet, but not yet. Her last break up was unpleasant enough and having that space inside herself all to herself again felt still like too precious a luxury to barter off yet. While pausing to smell some fragrant white flowers on a bush, she saw her from the corner of her eye. That large female duck, all plain brown but for a bit of white on her throat came swimming towards Denise. She straightened up and waited as the duck, no longer harassed by randy drakes approached her like a little skiff on the water laden with bounty, blessing and good fortune. Denise smiled and only wished she had something to offer to feed her, then she continued her walk home, feeling all luminous and incandescent as though she would never stop shining and would never ever burn-out. She wanted desperately to tell her mom what had just happened, what she had just experienced, but even now she knew that she would never be able to summon forth the words that would match the experience. But she was going to ask her about Dylan. In the cool and darkening afternoon she returned home, quiet and joyful, and thinking now only about what they were going to cook for dinner.
No ducks were harmed in the writing of this story.
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