Kevin: Place 11

You and Mom are throwing bread to the ducks. You’re still not even as tall as Mom’s waste, not quite half a person yet. You’ve gotten pretty good at throwing bread, though I think at the moment you’re more enamored by the act of throwing than you are interested in whether the ducks get any or not. I can’t feel bad for the ducks though, there’s bread littered all over the Preserve. If they really want some, all they have to do is walk around a little.

The two of you hike up the hillside toward the buffalo pen. Part of the way up is the peacock shelter. You point to it and say something to Mom. A minute later I get a text that says, “She’s asking, ‘where is Kevin, Mommy? Let’s go find Kevin.’” This probably wouldn’t be funny to anyone unless they’d also seen ‘Up’ (a Disney movie where a kid finds a big colorful bird and names her Kevin). I agree, the peacock does look a lot like Kevin. And sounds like Kevin too. We should know. We’ve seen the movie at least a hundred times.

You walk back down the hill. Halfway to the pond you stop to inspect the bread bag in your hands. You look up at Mom and say something with your empty hand palm-side up. Must be a question. I imagine you asking where the swans went, the ones I showed you just a few months earlier. I haven’t seen them for quite some time. I miss them. They were the most unique creatures at the pond. I hope you miss them too. But I’m pretty sure you’re not asking about them. You’re probably asking if you can eat the bread you’re carrying. I only guess that because the next thing you do is pull out a piece and take a big bite. Mom laughs and so do I.

After you’ve eaten and tossed all your bread, Mom decides to take you to the park where you can climb and swing and slide yourself crazy. You stop to say goodbye and I ask if you saw Kevin. You tell me Kevin wants to go outside and I think you’re right. You and Mom head for the car. I stick around to finish writing. As soon as your car pulls away, the peacock trots out of the shelter and into a fenced (roof included) area, a simulated “outside.” He opens his glorious tail feathers. Once again, I don’t have the best words to describe it, nor do I have a poem ready to escape. I am, however, sad that you missed it. I’m also sad that the swans are gone.

In just minutes it starts to rain, but only sprinkle. Maybe that’s why the peacock stopped out, one last stretch before the downpour. I walk over to see him before I leave. When I get to the cage, he’s put his feathers away. Oh well. “See you later, Kevin,” I say. And I walk back down the hill to my truck. It’s time to go watch you slide. I hope it doesn’t continue to rain.