The first time Kate saw it was on a sunny June afternoon.

She ascended the ten-step staircase to her room, ears burning red from her mother’s relentless criticism of her “reckless behavior,” yet the wooden floorboards barely creaked under the six-year-old’s light feet. All at once—embarrassed, affronted, resigned—Kate plopped face-first onto her pillow, gripping the sheets with her fingers.

When she finally raised her head, Kate’s eyes landed on a creature past her window. It resembled the tiny brown birds she often saw outdoors. Sparrows, she thought, but it wore a pelt of pink that scintillated under the setting sun, and its beak and talons were luridly orange.

With fizzling curiosity, she abandoned the comfort of her bed and stepped toward it.

“Hi, Miss Bird!” Kate greeted, keeping her voice level as she carefully slid her window open to address the feathered creature idling meters away. “You’re very beautiful. Will you fly away?”

As though the teeny fowl could actually give her an answer, Kate waited. In those few seconds, it merely held her gaze—and what a wonder in itself that the bird did not fly off.

Kate felt her heart titter with awe and her veins buzz with excitement. Words then poured in a stream from her mouth.

“Mom got super-duper angry at me today. I just climbed that tree!” she began, pointing to the branch where the bird was perched. “She was so angry; it was so scary. Won’t your mom get angry if she finds you here?”

As she spoke, Kate’s hand hovered with the intent of running her fingers over the bird’s feathers. But before she could commit the feel of that coralline sheen to memory, the bird broke their impasse and soared off, taking Kate’s accounts of her day with it.

It left her slightly dejected, yet the kid felt lighter as she waved goodbye at its retreating figure. She felt that they would meet again.

And so, a year passed.

The second time Kate saw it was on a gloomy June evening, proving her hunch at the end of their first encounter right. As she had done before, Kate sat by her open window and recounted her days, basking in the nostalgia that returned with an old friend.

“A doctor, but only ‘cause that’s what everyone says. Miss Bird, I really want to be a knight and rescue a princess from her tower someday, but they’d laugh at me if I said that.”

As if softly coaxing its opinion on the matter, the little girl kept a keen gaze on the bird. Its pink feathers glinted just as elegantly as she remembered—perhaps a tad bit brighter. The silence did not discourage her.

“I know the sky is so big and scary, but if we go to the princess together, I think we can win,” Kate offered, smiling from ear to ear with an unspoken promise of more.

And so, the Earth kept spinning.

The seventh time Kate saw it was on a humid June noon. By then, she considered Miss Bird her best friend—a companion who arrived at the halfway point of every year and responded to her venting with rapt attention.

“At history class today, we talked about great women…”

“Miss Bird, if I want to become like them, would I need a husband, too?” Kate contemplated, wearing a grave frown.

Again, her fingers drew closer to the bird. This time, it allowed her to stroke its feathers, and it stuck its gaze to her countenance—showing no signs of fleeing.

As if invigorated by their upgraded camaraderie, Kate concluded with great conviction, “No, that can’t be right. I don’t want a husband, but I do want to be great.”

For the first time, the bird responded in a shrill chirp. It sounded like approval; Kate’s relief outweighed her shock.

And so, seasons turned.

The 21st time it was supposed to arrive was a chilly June midnight. Up the stairs of 27-year-old Kate’s childhood bedroom, a woman named Tracy dashed, stubbornly clutching onto her hand and sweeping Kate into her eager orbit.

“I can’t believe you’ve never thought to talk to Miss Bird under the midnight sky!” Tracy exclaimed, sounding thoroughly affronted.

“My sweet Tracy, unlike you, I try not to stew in my problems past bedtime,” Kate argued, wearing an unwavering cheeky smile. “Because I’m asleep by then.”

“You’re no fun,” the latter huffed.

In response, Kate placed her palm atop Tracy’s head, her cheeky smile evolving with smugness as she carefully drew her hand back. All throughout, she maintained its altitude, and it landed just above her chest, accentuating the difference in their heights.

“You—”

“And I doubt she’ll show up tonight. She only does when I’m troubled.”

A comfortable quietude followed. Tracy’s cheeks slowly deflated. She wordlessly occupied the bed, and her face lit up with further conversation.

“But aren’t you curious about how she looks now? Maybe her feathers turned into a different color,” she suggested.

“I’m sure she’ll be pretty as always. But if she appears now, I don’t think I’ll notice her.”

“Why’s that?”

Kate kept her gaze on the other woman, answering her question with meaningful silence.

Tracy’s relaxed posture gave the impression that she owned the room. It was a quiet testament to how far the two had come, stirring flutters in Kate’s heart—so she teased: 

“Take a guess.”

And if there had to be a prized aspect to their dynamic, it would be their tacit understanding. Red in the face, Tracy averted her gaze and shuffled beneath Kate’s blanket. “I’m going to sleep,” she finalized, spreading her arms in a cordial invitation.

Kate could not quash her grin even if she tried, drawing closer. “Right there with you.”

Deep in the night and with the loveliest lady she had ever met in her arms, Kate dreamed of soft feathers, flushed pink yet kaleidoscopic, and a beak like sunset. She watched that avian soar—unrestrained by mundane affairs below and welcomed by infinite possibilities above—and finally thought that they were one and the same.

And so, life went on.

Art slider by Natasha Audrey Ordinario