L I T T L E   C U R L E W

too little too late…

“Are you certain?” the cloaked figured standing in front of the little bird asked for the last time.

All its life, the bird had felt unworthy and plain. Uninteresting and unremarkable. With its beak too long, its feathers a drab color, it felt utterly worthless.

The only solace it knew came from the daily visit of one human girl. Every day, she would come to the clearing and every day it would meet her. The little bird would sing to her even though its song was nothing special to offer—it was all it could give her.

He had a wish, only one wish—to be human. If it were to be human, it could interact with the girl and be accepted and seen and loved and cherish instead of only being observed and most probably judged. The little curlew was nothing special to look at and it knew it. The human girl must have seen it too.

If it became a human, it wouldn’t be an it anymore. It would be a he. It would matter.

That was why the little bird wanted to strike this deal, wanted to become human. And the price to pay was not a price per se. There was no price for the gift the cloaked figure was to give to the little Curlew. Nothing to pay, only something to gain.

To have what he most desired, the little Curlew would also have to be given understanding. To the little Curlew, it was two wins.

“Yes,” the Eskimo Curlew answered without faltering.

            “Then it shall be done.” The cloaked figure waved its hands and the little bird was struck in the middle of its chest by a blinding light.

This was what death must feel like, the little curlew thought as its body shattered into million of particles to be reconstructed into something else—something better.

The change was quick. After all, the price for this gift had not been the pain of the transformation. When the change was completed, the now human lay down on his side, panting, trying to move his new muscles and foreign limbs. The change was tremendous and unsettling but it was necessary. And so, as he gained control of his motor skills he got on his feet.

He did not have a lot of time. The girl would be back from school soon, and she would head for this very clearing. Because he was a human now, he knew he could not meet the girl in the same environment. He had to leave and meet her in her human world.

Taking a deep breath with his new lungs, the once little curlew got ready to take his flight but realized too late that he had no wings anymore.

He fell back on the ground. Groaning—a sound he had never made before—he got back on his feet and this time, tried the complex and straining task of putting one foot in front of the other.

He was walking. As he trekked to the girl’s house, he tried to form words with his mouth, instead of a song with its beak. If he wanted to speak with the girl, this was vital. The sounds did not glide the way they used to, but after a few minutes, with a groggy voice, he was able to form complete sentences without breaking into coughing fits.

Soon, too soon, the girl’s house came into view. He was glad now that he had followed her back many times after their countless meetings.

Using the knowledge he had been able to collect over the years, and taking his time as he climbed up the stairs, he came to stand in front of the door and knocked. The girl was not the one who answered the door—his mother did. Clearing his throat, the once little bird said, “Excuse me, I don’t want to bother you, but I’m lost. May I use your phone?”

Phone. The little bird had observed enough of the humans to grossly understand the use of that object.

The woman was slightly reticent at first, but being a kind soul, she opened the door wider and told him to wait.

It was then that the girl walked out of a room, clearly on her way to their clearing. She jumped in surprise when she saw him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, frowning.

“I am lost. I asked to borrow your phone,” he explained.

The trust he had been so used to see from her eyes was nowhere to be found then. She looked at him as if she were gazing in the eyes of a stranger—and for all intents and purposes he was a stranger to her.

And just like that, she practically ran past him, not so much as glancing back at him.

This was unacceptable.

He got ready to leave and follow her, but as he turned his body his eyes caught something hanging on the wall.

The Eskimo Curlew stopped dead in his tracks.

On the wall by the door, there was a drawing hanging there.

And it was of him—well not him, but it. It was the bird, the Eskimo Curlew, and for some reason, it did not look ugly and plain on that pictured. It was… beautiful. His traits that had seem out of place and awkward before, looked elegant and right on the drawing. He wanted to touch it, to absorb it, to look at himself and see what was on that paper. It was as if it was shining in the drawing, glowing, like a beacon.

It must have been how this human girl was truly seeing the little curlew.

And now that image was no more.

The once little bird left the house without another word and ran for the first time with his new legs.

Too much, this was all too much. Why had he seen that drawing? Why did the girl have to see more in him that he had ever seen in himself?

Talking with her might set things straight, the bird thought. After all, this was why he had made the change—to be worthy of speaking with her.

And he knew exactly where she would be.

He ran back to the clearing. And there she was, sitting in the middle of the field, still frowning, and looking disappointed.

When she heard him come closer, she turned her head and her eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”

Same question again, the bird thought. “Going back home. I was given directions.” The girl turned back around but the once little bird would not have it. He was not done speaking with her. “What are you doing here?”

At first it seemed that she would not answer, but then with a defeated sigh, she spoke in a rush. “I come here everyday. There’s a little bird, an Eskimo Curlew, that usually comes and sings.”

His heart tugged in a painful way at those words. “A bird?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you care?” he pressed.

“How could I not,” she answered, looking in his eyes with painful ones.

“An Eskimo Curlew you said?”

“Yes. And now he’s not here. Something must have happened to him…” Her voice got stuck in her throat. “Maybe he’s… maybe he’s dead.”

Suddenly, the once little curlew got angry. Why was she talking about the bird he had been when there was the human he was standing right in front of her. “And what if it is? What would be the problem? It was ugly and unimportant!”

The girl got one her feet and glared at him. “Don’t you dare say such things!” she shouted, pointing at him. “That little bird was beautiful and he mattered, more than you and me.” He inhaled sharply at her use of the he. “For all we knew, that little bird was the last of his kind. And he was my friend. Even if he did not know it, even if he did not even understand it, even if he didn’t remember me, he was my friend, my only friend and now he is lost and I’m alone.” Tears had gathered in the girls eyes as she spoke.

Why was she telling him this now? Why now? “You’re not alone. I’m here,” he said with a heavy heart.

“It’s not the same!”

And she was right—it was not the same. Because even though he was looking in her eyes, it wasn’t with its own eyes. It was with his new eyes. And he couldn’t sing to her, however pathetic his songs had been. But they were its songs, they belonged to it, unlike this body he was now walking with instead of flying with.

Aesthetically, it had not been the most beautiful bird, but its beauty came from its strength and from the eyes of the person looking at it. And it should have been enough to be beautiful in the eyes of someone, to be cared for by someone. It should have been enough for the bird to make it love its own self. Because now how could he ever love himself. This human body, it was not who he was. It would never be.

And with this understanding, the little curlew realized the true price of the deal he had stroked. It was not understanding so much as self realization. By grasping what it was he had actually traded, he realized he never should have done it. And there was nothing to do about it now.

For the Eskimo Curlew, it was too little, too late…