death of a bird.
When I was a teenager, I engaged in a vast amount of stupid activities involving motor vehicles that were dangerous, reckless, and could have ended in the deaths of myself, my friends, and innocent bystanders. But I don’t think that I am too unique in this regard, at least when it comes to those of us who grew up in America.
I think about that now. Here in Taiwan, kids don’t get their licenses until they’re 18, and even then, they all just usually drive mopeds. It’s probably for the best, but still, those years in high school, where my friends drove first, and then I finally drove. I didn’t even particularly love it, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have a big impact on growing up.
Anyway, that’s not what I intend to write about. This story does take place in high school though, probably senior year but we could have been juniors, too. I was driving by then, and I couldn’t get my license until my birthday in junior year, so it was definitely after that. I had my 4Runner, Big Blue, although at the time she wasn’t called that.
After I started driving, sometimes, when I’d spend the night at my dad’s house during the week, I’d wake up early, and go get breakfast at Camp House Grill at 6:30 or whenever they opened. I’d eat and then head off to school. It would still be early then. I don’t know why I would always try to go to school so early.
I suppose part of it is that I am just a nerd. School was comfortable for me. I also just definitely have anxiety about being places on time. It’s why I prefer to be an hour and a half early to places, even now, rather than chance even being one minute late. I don’t like the feeling of rushing, I guess. And I hated the rush hour traffic heading into town that came with going to school later. Going early meant I could beat all that, get a good parking space, and just chill out and study or goof off at school.
Getting back to the main story, John would also sometimes join me for a Camp House breakfast at the time. I’m not sure why he would be up and headed to school so early too, but he was. I don’t think the things I just described in the previous paragraph were true of him, at all. I want to guess that it had something to do with his girlfriend at the time, something like that she was there early too and they could hang out more easily in those school mornings since her parents were strict, but I could be completely wrong on that.
So yeah, this wasn’t a very regular occurrence, since at most I was at my Dad’s house in Kalaheo once a week, and John wasn’t there every time I went. But we did the Camp House breakfast every so often. Then afterward, we would both drive to school, each in our respective vehicles.
I don’t know why, but we would sometimes try to “race” each other. I use the danger quotes because really neither of us were going anywhere fast. My V6 SUV couldn’t get anywhere fast and John’s V4 Civic wasn’t necessarily a speed demon, either. Don’t get me wrong, I am pretty sure both of us loved our respective vehicles, but they weren’t tricked-out, souped-up race cars. But we had a habit of doing these stupid little fake drag race-esque things, usually wherever there was a truck bypass lane or something, since most of Kauai’s roads are just one lane.
It was stupid, and it was probably unsafe, too. But especially in these early mornings, where the roads were clear, we couldn’t help ourselves.
And I remember one such time, we left from Kalaheo and headed down into Lawai valley. Right after the intersection with Koloa Road, when you headed back up the hill on the other side of the valley, there was that truck bypass lane. I started out ahead, staying in the left lane. John ducked out on the right hand side, into the slow lane and pounded it. His car was light, and pretty quick at accelerating up the hill. On the other hand, my heavy beast of a vehicle was doing its best to pull itself up, but there was no doubt I was falling behind.
It was a nice, crisp Thursday morning, and despite the fact that I was losing, there wasn’t much wrong in the air as I watched the green hatchback pull away from me in the right hand lane. It was just good fun. Then, suddenly, there was something in the air.
No really, it was a bunch of birds, taking flight. They must have been resting on the side of the road or something, and were startled by the sudden approach of two cars with their engines roaring. Like I said, the roads were quite empty at those times. So they all were taking off. I was further behind, so I wasn’t too close to them, but I also got to watch the whole thing unfold.
John’s Civic was passing through the flock, and for a moment it looked like everything would be fine—that all the birds would make it through clearly. But we were going pretty fast. And I guess he was going too fast for one of the birds to make it.
All I saw from my car was a sudden plume of feathers erupt from John’s car.
“Holy shit!” I yelled to myself as I witnessed it.
I remember we pulled off into the parking lot of K-Mart when we finally made it to town, and inspected the surprisingly little remains of the bird that had been splattered on his windshield. He told me it sounded like a rock when he hit it, and he had thought the windshield itself might break.
Fortunately for him though, the vaporizing body of a bird that size apparently does not carry enough mass or force to shatter a windshield. I think we tried to clean it off as best as we could in that parking lot, although that mostly consisted of pulling away stray feathers and whatnot.
It wasn’t a major thing. It was just some pigeon or a bird like that, tens of thousands probably get run over every day by cars. It wasn’t like either of our lives were in danger or anything, either. So I don’t know why it stuck with me so much.
I admit I always have had a soft spot for birds, but I don’t think that was really why, either. I felt bad for the bird, surely, and it was a death of an animal as a result of our stupid driving behavior. But it didn’t hang heavy on my soul or anything like that.
Yet I always remember it. I still think about it. The memory of the feathers just erupting in a cloud around his car, when both of us had our pedals to the metal, I don’t know, it stuck with me.
So here it is.
