A Murder of Crow

A tale of two deaths . . .

On one of the girls’ last days of school, the bus is late dropping them off.  Not that late, just ten minutes or so, but the bus is never late.  And then the bus is fifteen minutes late, and I am beginning to worry . . . just a little.

And then the phone rings.  It’s Kallan, and there is chaos and noise behind her as she speaks, “Mom, we are going to be late!  There are police everywhere, and we are going to be late!”

My heart skips a beat, “What do you mean, there are police everywhere?”

She is yelling into the phone now, “They are everywhere, Mom!  A police officer got shot, and the police and fire trucks are everywhere!  The bus is stuck!  We’re going to be late!”

OH MY GOD. My mind is racing.  I cannot believe that we left Vallejo and all of its violence, only to place our daughters in the middle of what is probably the only police shoot-out in the history of Lake Oswego.  OH MY GOD.

I work to keep my voice calm, “You are in the middle of this, Kallan?  Is the bus driver telling you what to do?  Is she in charge?  Is Maj OK?”

Kallan is still yelling, but now I hear that some of the chaos in the background . . . is laughter . . . “OK, we are in the bus and we are stuck outside of the cemetery.”

And then it clicks . . . the Chief of Police who died in his sleep just a few days earlier, just a few days short of retirement.  The girls and their bus are stuck in the funeral procession into the cemetery.

“Kallan?  Kallan?”

“Yes?”

“He wasn’t shot.  No one was shot.  Do you mean that you are in the middle of the funeral parade?”

“Why would they have a parade for a dead guy when he can’t even enjoy it?”

“Never mind that, I just want to be clear . . . there is no emergency?”

“Well, I am hungry.  Does that count?”

“I will get a snack organized.  And no, that doesn’t count.”

“Then no, there’s no emergency.”

“Ok, then I will see you when you get here.  Thank you for calling to let me know you are going to be late.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t murdered?  I think he was shot.  That’s what the big kids said.”

“No, he wasn’t murdered.”

“OK, bye!”

A funeral.

No murder.  Only grief.

Flash-forward to this afternoon . . .We are driving home, making the last lazy loops through the residential streets that lead to our house.  Ahead, we see four enormous crows hanging out on the right-hand side of the road.  The crows here in Orgeon?  They are enormous.  Huge and shiny and coal-black.

As our car approaches, all four of the big black birds take flight and nonchalantly fly up and over our car.  Except for one, who tragically miscalculates and flies smack into our windshield with a loud thud.  His body is then swept up and over the top of our car.  He crashes to the street behind us.

Kallan is astounded, “You killed a bird!  Daddy, you killed a huge crow-bird!”

“No, I am pretty sure it will be OK.  I didn’t hit it that hard.”

Kallan is all matter of fact, “Daddy, it smacked into our windshield and then tumbled over our car into the street.  It is all crumply and dead.”

Maj agrees, “It’s so dead.”  She cranes to look out the back window, “It is so dead.”

Kallan starts to sing a little song, and after a few repetitions, Maj joins in . . .

I was a bird, flying all happily
But then a car hit me
And now I’m dead and crumply.

Mark tries to explain that it was the bird’s fault, “Listen, all I can do is drive the car.  I am not supposed to swerve to avoid animals.  The birds are supposed to get out of my way.”

You remember that Seinfeld episode where George runs over the pigeons with his car and is all incensed that the birds have broken their deal with the humans?  “The pigeons are supposed to get out of the way!  That’s our deal!”

That’s what Mark sounded like . . . What about our deal?

Mark goes on, “Totally the bird’s fault.  He should not have been so careless.”

“OK, but Daddy?  You so murdered him.  You should feel at least a little guilty for being a bird killer.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

Kallan is delighted, “Maj!  Daddy just apologized to a dead crumpled bird!”

The girls laugh happily.

No grief.  Only murder.