Harry
woke up that morning to the racket of that goddamn rooster. It was 4:15 am and
the rooster was prompt with his call to the sunrise. Harry had not slept
through to his alarm for almost a month.
“GoddamnmuthahuckingdamitBIRD!”
Harry threw the
covers off, his arms and legs getting caught in the midst of the grey goose
down comforter. When he finally escaped, his feet hit the cold wood floor. Instead
of getting up, he remained seated for a minute. He rubbed the sleep from his
eyes and sighed. There was a moment’s peace before the rooster crowed again.
Resigned to start his twenty-seventh day without a full night’s sleep, he
lumbered to the bathroom in a zombie-like daze.
Standing
underneath the hot shower, he plotted the death of the rooster. It was
something he had done almost every morning since the damn thing had arrived,
cock-a-doodle-doo-ing his way into Harry’s peaceful slumber. At first, Harry
did it just as a joke – something to make him feel better about the whole situation.
Now, it was serious. Harry’s thoughts
were consumed with thoughts of neck cracking. He would eat the damn thing, savoring
the meat and his triumph. There was
really nothing stopping Harry from pursuing the grisly end of the bird…just
time and opportunity.
He stepped out of
the shower and looked around the tiny apartment. Harry had lived in Denver his
whole life. He’d spent his childhood in a two-bedroom bungalow in the
highlands. His parents slept in the room across the hall from him and his
brother, Adam.
Adam.
They had shared
that space for almost 20 years. When Adam moved to New York, Harry had reluctantly
moved out of the house he loved and into a little apartment right down the
street. It was a one room, attic
apartment, the bed separated from the rest of the space with a faded, blue,
woven cloth that you might buy at a summer festival. It was ragged with wear
and time, but it served its purpose well enough. The kitchen was miniscule –
one person could barely fit in the space – the cabinets went all the way to the
ceiling, and most of the doors were falling off of the hinges. The whole space
was crammed with books.
Water dripped off
of Harry onto the faded, braided rug he had inherited from his grandmother. Everything
in the room belonged to someone else, everything a hand-me-down. Light barely
filtered through the only window, cracked and dirty with age and time.
Harry lived a
hand-me-down life.
Most days, he felt
as if it was nearly impossible to get out of bed. He was obese with the weight
of his monotonous life and in some deep part of himself, yearning for an
escape. Somehow, he thought, if he could murder the rooster, his life would be
back on track. He would be able to show the universe that he was still in
control.
Harry
decided that since he was up so early, and didn’t have to be at work for three
more hours, that he would spend a little time researching. He sat down at the computer, pushing aside
the mail that had piled up next to his keyboard, and opened his web browser to
Google.
He
typed in: “How to kill a rooster?”
The
list of web links was pretty extensive.
There were even several hundred YouTube videos. Harry clicked on the
first link. It was a brutal
demonstration of violence. It was perfect.
Next, because he felt that just watching videos was less productive, he
clicked on a link about farming – one that discussed a humane way to kill a
rooster. He glanced at the directions and quickly decided against it – because
right at that moment - the damn thing started squawking again.
It was 5:30 am.
Hanging was too
good for it. Burning was to good for it. Being chopped into little pieces starting
from its damned feet seemed like the only way to satisfy Harry’s blood lust for
the cursed fowl.
While
he was searching for more information, he opened his email and saw yet another
message from his brother Adam. He added it to the folder that was already
filled with emails from him. The total
was twenty-three as of today. Adam had been sending him an email or calling
Harry’s phone nearly every day for the last month. Harry stood up from the desk
and walked over to the window.. Harry just wasn’t ready to forgive Adam yet. He
stood there for a long time, thinking.
One
year ago, Harry and Adam were sitting together in the waiting room of the
hospice care center where their father was living. For most of their father’s
battle with cancer, the two brothers had made every decision together. They
didn’t argue, they didn’t fight, and they didn’t bicker. It was the first time in years that they had
gotten along so well. Their mother was destroyed by their father’s illness, and
so all decisions were left to her two sons. They spent every free moment
together at the hospice and the family home.
Two hundred and sixty-five days ago, they were the best of friends.
Two hundred and
sixty-four days ago, their father died. At the funeral, everyone patted them on
the back or shook their hands.
“You did a great
job with your dad, Harry.”
“It was so much easier
for your dad to pass with all your support, Adam.”
“Your dad really
felt he could finally let go.” Their friends and family were solemn and proud. The
brothers carried out their tasks with grace and dignity and everyone said how
much easier they had made the last days of their father.
Two hundred and
sixty-two days ago, when their mother died, Adam finally fell apart. It was two
days after their father’s funeral and Harry and Adam were at the house. Harry
had picked up some take out for dinner. The house smelled like Pad Thai.
“I have a small
headache, boys. I think I am going to go
lay down. Thanks again for taking care of everything. I am so grateful for it
all. I love you both.” Their mother smiled and patted their heads as she walked
by each of them. Harry and Adam gave each other a look that said “we are not
little kids anymore.” But neither of them really minded. They loved her. A few
hours later, Harry went upstairs to check on her, and he found her gone,
peaceful, looking as if she was sleeping.
He called Adam upstairs and before he could tell him what happened, Adam
lost it. He started screaming and clutching at their mother. He kept saying
“NO! NO! NO!” over and over again. Harry tried to pull him off of her, and Adam
punched him.
Blood dripping
from his nose, Harry went to the kitchen and called their neighbor, John.
“John, can you
come over. Mom, ugh… mom passed. Adam is freaking out. Thanks, see you in a
second.”
The next few hours
were a blur. Harry and John finally got Adam calmed down and into bed. They
called the funeral home and they came and got their mother. When Harry went to
bed, at around 1:30, he was exhausted, but didn’t feel like he had anything to
worry about, other than another funeral.
The rooster crowed
again, and jarred Harry from his memory. He still couldn’t believe that both of
his parents were dead. The rage that had been focused on the rooster was now
focused on remembering the final fight with his brother.
Two hundred and
fifty-four days ago they were speaking with the family lawyer. They were in the
living room of the house they had grown up in; the house they had shared for twenty
years.
“Harry, Adam, I’m
sorry to have to meet like this. I can’t believe that both your parents have
passed so close together.”
“Thanks, it’s been
pretty tough, huh Adam?” I glanced at my brother – he still said nothing. “What
needs to be done?”
“Well, I have a
few papers for you to sign. We will take care of the house and the funerals and
insurance to cover everything, ok?”
Adam just stared.
“That sounds good,
sir, I am curious about the house. We
grew up here you know. It means a lot to me.”
“Well, actually, that
is one thing that is not so straight forward. You have to decide what to do
with the place. There isn’t really anything written out, so it goes to you and
Adam. What do you boys want to do with it?”
And finally, for
the first time in days, Adam spoke. He and Harry said at the same time: “I want
the house.”
Harry looked at
Adam and asked, “What do you mean? You live in New York. Why do you want the
house? Are you moving home?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all your
going to say? ‘”Yes?” You don’t even like the house. You’ve never liked it. Why
now?”
“Because I need
it. Can we talk about his later? Let’s just sign the papers and get that out of
the way. Please.” Harry gave in. They
signed the papers and the lawyer left them to figure out the house situation.
The fight that
ensued was epic – lasting for hours – Adam certainly made up for not talking
for so many days. There were even a few flying fists. Adam was steadfast. He was NOT giving up the
house. When Harry walked out of the living room and knew he wouldn’t ever go
back. He had called the lawyer and told him he never wanted to speak to his
brother again – he asked him to just take care of everything, just to sell the
house and split the proceeds. Their lawyer wasn’t optimistic. “He’s moved in,
Harry. He doesn’t want to leave.”
“I don’t want to
talk to him. Just take care of it.”
Harry and Adam
hadn’t spoken since.
It had been two
hundred and fifty-three days.
Harry looked
around the apartment he hated, and thought about the life he hated. He couldn’t
help but blame Adam. Life was always difficult with Adam but, without him, it
was impossible. Harry’s hand-me-down life was barely a life at all.
The next day, when
that goddamn rooster woke him up at 4:15 again, he decided today was the day
that he would do something about it; about his life and about that f-ing bird. He
grabbed the sharpest knife in the kitchen and headed out the door. Harry
thought he knew where the rooster was living; the sound was definitely coming
from near his parent’s house. He thought the best chance he had to find the
thing and kill it would be to go out when it was squawking. He wandered around
the streets for a while, listening for the crowing, and moving in the direction
of the sound. The dawn was barely breaking over the city and Harry wandered
through the morning mist. The rooster called a few more times and after about
fifteen minutes, Harry found himself right in front of his old house.
“No.” He stood
outside the red door of his childhood home and just stared, dumbfounded that
the damn bird belonged to his damn brother. He sat down in the road and
contemplated what to do. “That asshat. What the heck is he doing with a rooster
in the middle of Denver?” Harry could feel the laughter coming from deep inside
his stomach, and the anger leave him. He
was doubled over. Tears were streaming down his face. When he finally pulled himself together, Harry
sat cross-legged on the asphalt, twisting the knife’s point into the ground, and
he came to a decision. If the universe was really out to get him, well - he just
refused to let it happen.
The coincidence was just too much. He looked
to the bedroom window in the house that they had shared for twenty years. He
looked for his brother’s face, but of course it wasn’t there. That would be too
perfect. So, Harry got up and walked home, smiling to himself the entire way.
He wanted to read
the emails first.
He sat down at his
computer and opened the first one.
“Bro, I’m sorry I
wigged out…I didn’t know how to tell you I was broke. I just didn’t have the
words at the time. Mom dying was the last straw. I just lost it. Please get at
me. I have this crazy idea for the house and I totally want you to be a part of
it…call me, dude.”
The rooster, with
ever-perfect timing, crowed loudly, and Harry just smiled. He picked up his
phone and dialed.
