Conversations With Ray, part 2

Apologies to everybody reading this on their LJ flist. Blogger farted when I posted the first part of this story and published it three times. Anyway. If you missed part one, just scroll to the next post (or click here if you're lazy).


Conversations With Ray



by Jean Marie Cousins



2.



"So if I try to show you off to people, I suppose you'll just make like that frog and stare at me in silence?"



Amy sat on the edge of a stone planter in the garden in front of her office building. It wasn't as nice as her usual spot--there was no calming fountain, for one thing, and no shade trees to protect her fair skin or her eyes from the sun's harsh glare--but it was still quiet enough this time of day to get in a good hour of reading. At least it had been until the raven showed up. "There you are!" he'd said as he dropped down onto the bush behind her. "Did you forget our appointment? Hope you at least remembered the cucumber."



She had. She'd told herself as she made the sandwich that she simply had a craving for cucumber. That's all. But she'd felt a pang of regret as she settled in the company courtyard. The memory of yesterday had taken on a hazy, dreamlike surreality, and she knew it couldn't be real. But a small, secret part of her wanted it to be real. When the raven appeared, that part of her had breathed a small, secret sigh of relief.



Now, as he swallowed another bite, he shook his tiny head. The sun shone brightly on the spot where he perched, lighting up his feathers with a bluish sheen. "First you call me a crow, then I'm the devil. Now you're comparing me to a frog. Bloody hell."



"No, I just mean, you know, that frog." Amy made jazz hands as she sang, "'Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal....'" The raven blinked at her. Amy looked at her jazz hands and primly folded them in her lap, feeling like an idiot.



The raven gobbled down a slice of cucumber. "Won't be your bloody meal ticket, if that's what you mean." His beak was still full.



Amy smiled, rueful and amused. "Oh, so it's all right for me to be yours?"



The bird had the good grace to look a bit sheepish--if birds could look sheepish. This one certainly came close, at any rate. He swallowed. "Well it's not like I eat that much, is it?"



"Mmm," she said non-committally. It occurred to her, as it had every few minutes since the raven landed, to check and make sure no one was watching them. The coast looked pretty clear. She shook her head at herself. "I don't know why I keep sitting here talking to you. This is really freaky, you know."



"What's freaky?"



"You're freaky. You know, contrary to the evidence, birds don't talk. At least not conversationally. I shouldn't be encouraging it."



The raven scoffed. "That's awfully narrow-minded and speciesist, you ask me."



"Says the racist raven. Tell me again how much you love the pigeons and the crows."



He shook his feathers in a huff. "Well then, you got all the answers, I'll just be keeping my beak shut." With that he tore off another bite and ate in silence.



Amy half turned away from him and opened her book, grateful for the quiet. This was what she should have done in the first place: ignore him until he goes away. Even if he was all in her head. Hell, especially if he was all in her head.



After reading the same sentence over at least five times, she couldn't take it anymore. She needed to hear the raven speak, to prove to her senses that it wasn't a delusion, that she wasn't losing her mind. She shut her book and turned back to him. "Say something profound."



"Squawk," quoth the raven.



Amy rolled her eyes. "Don't be like that. Look, I'm sorry I called you freaky. Now say something. Please?"



The raven picked a mite out of his feathers.



"Fine," said Amy, pretending to go back to her book. "Whatever. It's just as I thought. You can't really talk. I imagined the whole thing." She glanced sideways at him, but so far her reverse psychology had no effect. "Anyway, in the stories, talking ravens are usually ominous and profound. So far you've been neither. If you said something profound, I might believe in you."



She heard an exasperated sigh come from the bird. Then he opened his beak and squawked, "Nevermore."



Amy glared at him. "That's imaginative."



"Oh, sod off," said the raven, bringing a smile to Amy's lips despite his insolent tone. "Do I look like some philosopher or bleeding poet? You want profundity, go read a book."



"I was reading one, until you got here," she reminded him.



"Well there you go, then."



Amy considered the little guy for a moment. It was nearing the end of her lunch hour, and she wondered if she'd ever see him again. Birds were migratory, after all. He might be ready to move on. She wondered if she should invite him to meet her again tomorrow, even though she knew it would be best if she never saw him again. He was simply too controversial. She enjoyed her mundane life, reveled in her status quo. When she wanted something out of the ordinary, she had simply to crack open a book. She didn't need the complications a talking bird would bring. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but what came out instead was, "Would you like to come home with me?"



"Got any cats?"



She blinked. "Um, no."



"You sure? You look like someone who'd have cats."



"What's that supposed to mean?"



"Nothing. Right then, so let's get this straight: I won't be kept in no cage. You keep the window open, and I come and go as I please. Got it?"



"Sure, no problem. I'll take the rest of the day off and show you the way. God knows I've got plenty of vacation and sick time saved up." As she spoke her heart began to race at the prospect of breaking her routine. She felt both excited and anxious. The logic center of her brain went into full protest mode, and the I in her INFP-ness railed against the interruption of her habits. But that small, secret part of her finally spoke up for itself. It had been craving change, had been hungry for adventure and romance and anything out of the ordinary, for the things she'd come to believe that she would only ever read about. That part of her rejoiced.



She gathered her things and stood up to go. Then she looked down at the raven, realizing something. "I don't even know your name."



"Pfft. Names. Why do you humans got to slap ruddy labels on everything? The rest of us got no use for them."



"Well I've got to call you something. I can't just keep calling you 'the raven.'"



"Don't see why not. Not like you've got any other ravens in your life to keep track of."



"Fine," she said. "But it's a mouthful. How about I just call you Ray for short?"



"Ray? Now who's the imaginative one? Hope you didn't exert too many brain cells coming up with that one."



"You'd like something better?"



The bird waved a dismissive wing. "S'all the same to me."



"All right, then." Amy smiled. "Let's go home, Ray."






That's all I'll be posting here. If the story goes where I think it wants to go, I'll need to make a few changes. Possibly including the bird's name and the title. But this is what I've been working on in the writing department, when the boy department and the moving/cleaning/organizing department and the job hunting department all let me have a little time off.

~~~

In other news, for the past two weeks I've completely forgotten to either watch or record Smallville and Supernatural on Thursday nights. And Wednesday night, since I had to tape World Poker Tour on my VCR for Matt, I set the TiVo for Veronica Mars and somehow, in the process, screwed something up to the effect that we missed Lost. Bah and humbug. Having a life is sure cramping my TV junkie style.