Chapter Two—Travis

Freedom and a full stomach! What a way to start life. In my first two seconds of out-of-egg existence, I gobbled up four clegs. They could have devoured me if I didn’t get to them first. Horse escaped—an impressive one too—after I tore off one of his legs. I hope he held no hard feelings. He was only playing his role in life, and I mine. I missed him, and wondered where he had gone.

However, there were more pressing concerns. I no longer enjoyed my protective shell. It was urgent to focus on safety. My parents weren’t around much to help. I had no idea why they rarely visited our humble stick, twig, and mud domicile. Maybe things were not going so well. They were not exactly lovebirds. When they did visit, I was grateful, except for the glop they regurgitated into my gullet. “Bring me grub, not grubs,” I would cheep.

My fantasies about food included two large golden arches a few blocks from our nest, which glowed at night. Warm air currents wafted their enticing aromas in my direction. I imagined the arches hovered over steaming portions of tasty goodies that were better than the slim peckings I was getting. The smell hung in the air, luring me with the prospect of a fast-food fix. Maybe they even delivered. Then reality cracked through my skull. Who was I—a potbellied mess with scrawny legs, skinny neck, and huge black beak—to expect such service? I’d have to stick up for myself or I would be left with nothing. I was on my own. “Oh brother, please hatch,” I prayed.

My brother had not emerged from his egg; this was another source of great distress and loneliness. I placed my ear against his shell again, hoping to discern the faintest heartpeep. Again, I heard nothing. I feared, if he did not break out soon, that he might be sickly, deformed—or worse. I really needed a friend; loneliness was overwhelming me.

I shook uncontrollably. I was getting hungrier by the hour. I felt like I was starving to death. Before hatching, my yoke sack had retracted into my abdomen. Not much more than its dissolving nutrients kept me alive. Vestiges of feathers poked out from my sides where mature wings would develop. But for now, I was a mass of fuzz, and not much of that either. I had not seen my parents for days. I subsisted on the occasional insect that entered my nest. I spent countless hours hugging my brother’s egg.
I needed someone to rescue me from this mess—and the sooner the better. I peered down from the edge of my nest. Far below, a disheveled human lay gazing blindly toward me in a drunken stupor; the person who rescued me from my previous fall, saving me from being consumed by predators, or exposure to the elements. At his side, a bottle displayed the name “Thunderbird.” Nearby stood another with the name “Old Crow.” This, I thought, was a man who truly loved birds. My admiration for him was immediate. If he were to be the source of my salvation, we would have to get to know each other.

I wobbled over to a bottle cap, held its crimped edge over the side of the nest, and let it drop. The cap bounced off a limb, and landed inches from my hero’s head. He didn’t move. He had fallen asleep. I dislodged a lipstick-stained cigarette filter from the nest wall, and made a similar attempt to rouse the resting giant. The filter floated off in the breeze and fell yards from the body below.

I considered rolling my brother’s egg over the edge, remembering how my own fall led to my escape, but that action could also have grave results. I plucked up my last hope, an unappetizing, wiggling caterpillar with a nasty, black horn protruding from his posterior. Grasping its head with my beak, I flung it over the side of the nest. The yellowish green worm fell in a long arc, right into the yawning mouth of the snoring man. His eyes exploded wide open, as though a flashbulb went off in his brain. He choked, sprang to his feet, stumbled about, grunting, and flailing his arms. Finally, he coughed out the worm, sputtered, and looked up to see where this creature had come from. Our eyes locked onto each other.
“CROW!” he shouted, looking directly at me,” did you do that?” Then he smiled. “You made it Crow. I was worried about you.”

I smiled back. He had given me a name right off one of his bottles. “That’s me.” I replied.
“C-R-O-W. Not too surprising, wouldn’t you say?”
“Huh?” he muttered, raising a hand to his ear.
“H-E-L-L-O!” I answered, in a clear, unwavering voice filled with excitement. “I’m CROW.”
The man scratched his head in bewilderment, looked in all directions, and then quietly asked, “Is that you talking?”
“It certainly is. Did you think it was God?” I answered. “You know MY name. What’s yours?”
He paused, looked around again, and replied “Travis. My name’s TRAVIS.” Then he stood tall, as if to express pride in himself.
“I was expecting THUNDERBIRD,” I said, “But I like Travis. It’s a nice name.”

I decided to make my case. “Listen, Travis, I’m about to starve to death up here; and the aromas coming from those yellow arches are driving me crazy. Would you please walk over there and bring me something to eat? Anything will be fine.”

Travis didn’t blink. He looked in vain for someone to confirm his apparition. He mumbled to himself, “I can’t believe my eyes and ears. A talking crow! Maybe the booze has gotten me once and for all. First, this crow talks to me, and now he sends me to McDonald’s for food.”
My plan seemed to be working. Travis ambled off. He returned twenty minutes later. In his left hand, he carried a white greasy bag that pictured golden arches. His right hand clutched a crinkled brown bag that contained a bottle. Probably another OLD CROW, I surmised. He swigged from the bottle for several moments, mumbling “a talking crow, a talking crow.”

“Where do you want to eat this stuff?” he asked.

“Could you bring it up to my nest?” I said. “You can climb up here, and join me in my first fast-food feast, if you like. He didn’t say no; in fact, he headed toward my tree. “Can you climb up with those bags in your hands?” I asked.

Travis stopped at the base of the tree and slid the brown bag into his back pocket. He placed the white bag in his teeth, and hauled himself up the 20 or so feet to my nest. The smell wafting up made my beak water. But when he got closer, I caught the scent of rotting berries on his breath, like the ones my parents tried to force down my gullet. Travis opened the white bag, pulling out a round object that gave off the wonderful aroma from the golden arches.
“Your first cheeseburger,” he said, almost proudly, taking another swig from his bottle. I pecked and gobbled it down in several bites, then started on the French fries with equal ferocity. I discovered I could take one into my beak crosswise, turn it lengthwise with a flip of my head, and then swallow the morsel in one gulp. At last my stomach was full. Travis stared at me in total disbelief, and then finished his meal with a gulp from his bottle. When he exhaled, the fumes nearly burned the fuzz off my skin. I hoped the aromas had persuaded my brother to peck his way out of his prison. But alas, the egg sat motionless.

“When you tossed that caterpillar into my mouth, you saved me from an awful reoccurring dream I have been experiencing lately,” he confessed.

“Please tell me about this dream,” I said. I’ve just finished my first hamburger and fries, now I want to hear my first story.”
“We were having a cocktail party at our home in Sausalito,” he began. The martinis were flowing like water, and when I glanced out the back window I saw my wife embracing another man.” He sighed. “It was her boss; I had been suspicious of them having an affair for years and had confronted her on the issue several times, always to her denial. Recently I had begun an affair with my secretary, so there wasn’t much for me to say or do but cry.” Tears ran down his dirty face. “I will have to finish this story later; it’s too painful to continue now.” He took a long swig from the bottle, then turned to go. I was happy the explosive odor was leaving, but I knew I would miss him. “Come back again,” I said. His predicament seemed much sadder than mine, and I gained a certain comfort from his misery.

As he shinnied down the trunk, he called back, “How about breakfast tomorrow?”
Dawn broke cold and dreary. I shivered as Travis arrived with an Egg McMuffin. I downed the scrambled treat quickly. “I knew you would come back,” I said between bites. Travis smiled, and I felt warm at last. He had kept his word; he would be my loyal, first friend.

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