Tomorrow is my mom’s 50th. My twin & I go home to celebrate, and when we arrive, we are met by our little sister and a dead bird on its back on the kitchen counter. It’s a little sparrow still in perfect condition, perched as if it had instantaneously frozen and fallen off a tree branch.
My little sister said she found it in the cats' bed outside and didn’t know what to do with it. “Don’t you think it will upset Madre?” I ask. My sisters agree it will, but then we get distracted.
Our mom enters with a bag full of gifts from a day of teaching two-year-olds. She gasps when she sees the sparrow. We tell her it probably just had a heart attack, even though Em found it in the cats' bed.
Madre strokes the lifeless feathers, and Courtney jokes that Emily wants to dress it up and play with it. Em says, “No! I wanted to put it in a jar... with...”
Me: Formaldehyde?
Court: Resin?
My mom interjects, “Take it outside and bury it! Stop prolonging its...”
Me: Its what? (it’s already dead)
Court: Journey down the River Styx?
Madre: Bury it, Emily! You can’t dress it up and play with it.
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