February Fourteenth

I should have known something was going to be off on that particular Valentine's Day, when it began with the discovery of a dead pigeon in my oven. In that early post-sleep fog of morning, you're never quite sure of what is going on till that first cup of coffee kicks in. So as I stood there, looking into my oven, I couldn't help but wonder if the dead bird inside was real or not. I closed the door, shook my head, and opened it again. It was real alright, and resting on a rack in the upper third of my oven. 

I sat down at my kitchen table, and tried to wrap my head around what could have transpired that would result in a dead pigeon in my oven. I had not been out the night before, nor did I own any pet birds. The cat's birthday was still a few months away, and I doubt that any doors or windows would have been open long enough for a pigeon to make it's way into my home. I called my friend Casey, he is something of a bird expert. Birds, and video games, are his two passions. He combined the two beautifully into the famous book A Few Facts About Birds, and By the Way, 'Super Mario Brothers' is Pretty Friggin' Great, Right? 

Casey came over, walked into my home wearing his “Zelda was a bird man” t-shirt, and went straight to the oven. He opened the door, and with a pair of latex gloves on, removed the bird from the rack. Casey examined the bird with his hands. “It's an alpine squab, common, easily acquired. Have you wronged anyone lately?” Startled by that last question, I took a moment and told Casey, “I don't keep a journal of people I've wronged, so I can't really say”.

Casey left to dispose of the bird. I sat at my desk and pondered what could be 

going on, given that my mind tends to get a little—far fetched—I came up with a list of three possibilities. One, someone is trying to “gaslight” me. Two, someone is trying take out some form of revenge on me in a Hitchcockian manner. Three, my oven is a harbinger of plague. With the obvious fact that there was a dead animal in my oven, I decided to get out of the house for Breakfast. 

I decided to go the new popular coffee shop, Le Oiseau. I ordered a latte and a breakfast sandwich. I sat down at the table and did what all twenty-somethings with smart phones do. Obsessively check Twitter and Facebook till my food arrives. Yet, something was amiss when my food did arrive. Perched next to the plate of tasty bacon, and eggs on toast, was a blue canary night light. This restaurant was not in the custom of giving everyone night lights that reference songs by They Might Be Giants. So again, I began to look around. Someone was continuing the bird motif to my day, and this person knew that one of my favorite songs is “Birdhouse in Your Soul”. 

My phone rang, it was Casey. When I answered it, I heard the sounds of sirens in the background. “The bird exploded.” Casey said, in his every calm manner. “What!?” I exclaimed, in my slightly hysterical manner. “I was going to toss the bird away, and as soon as I did, it exploded.” This situation had quickly turned from puzzling, to downright fowl. Casey had phoned the police about this, our mutual friend Detective Hawk was coming by the house to figure this out. I dashed off back home in order to tidy the place up a bit before he arrived, but as I began to open my front door, I found a tiny package on the doorstep. It was unmarked, in plain brown paper. Inside was a DVD of The Maltese Falcon. 

Detective Hawk arrived at my house with plenty of gear. Dusting kit, laptops, tablets, black lights. I'll spare you the details of what he found with the black lights, but houses aren't as clean as you think they are. We began pouring over who, outside of Casey, in my life is obsessed with birds. There had to be some connection to something from my past, or current life, that was causing this feathery bash to be happening. 

Soon my living room was filled with electronic devices, all scanning, measuring, and processing ideas as to who, or what, could be conjuring this conundrum. As I stood at the large bay window in the dinning room looking out it, there was a loud crashing sound, followed by pain. Someone had thrown a rock with note tied to it through the window, and it hit me in the leg. The note was written on simple notebook paper, and all it said was “421 West Plot Development Street, 10:00 PM.” 

I knew the area well, it was down by the docks, the old warehouse district. I worked with Detective Hawk, and Casey, to set up an ambush that night. Clearly, whoever was behind this, would reveal themselves to me. I was measured and fitted for a wire and hidden camera. While all the happy couples were out having rich meals and getting cozy, I was in the back of a swat team van, having a battery pack shoved down my pants. 

Naturally, the warehouse in question was an abandoned one, and as time ticked closer to ten, the building was under observation. It was about a quarter till time came for me to walk into the warehouse, how did I know where the entrance was? There was a trail of birdseed to the correct door, naturally. I stood outside the van with Detective Hawk, and Casey soon arrived. Casey walked over wearing a costume of the Hanna Barbera character, Birdman. Needless to say, this was one way to make an entrance, and oddly fitting to the day. “Why are you dressed like Birdman?” I asked him, and in his calm and easy manner, Casey said “I had the costume, and since this is an ambush, I thought 'why not?'”. 

The clock hit ten, it was time to go in. After a last double check that all the gear strapped to me was transmitting, I went in. It was cold inside, the windows had holes in them, broken long ago by bored teenagers with rocks. The hanging lamps were on. Those industrial kind that you sometimes see in trendy restaurants. They were dirty, and the burned a slightly dim yellow light. With the earpiece, I could hear all the activity going on in the van. I heard Hawk say “The Eagle is in the nest”. 

I heard the sound of a rattle, then a door at the back of the massive space opened. Slowly, someone walked towards me. It was dark in that part of the warehouse, and hard to see. I heard a voice say “Hello, Andy”, and I recognized it immediately, it was one of my exes. “Anita Birdwell!” I exclaimed. I could hear commotion on my ear piece, the sound of shuffling and Casey saying “Anita Birdwell!? Away!” followed by Hawk asking “Where'd he go!?” 

“Anita, how long as it been?” I pondered.

“Eight years!, Eight years since we were together. Eight lonely, miserable, years.” 

“But, aren't you a big CEO at a solar panel company? Live in a nice penthouse apartment?” 

“That's besides the point! You put an end to our love, and now I'm going to put an end to you!” 

Anita pulled a gun. At this point, I realized something. You never watch the movie Fatal Attraction thinking it's gonna be training for something later on in life, but this day proved that wrong. The more you know, kids. The more you know. My brain got back to the threat at hand. I pondered how to get out of this situation, I was trying to come up with a witty retort, but my brain was concentrating more on not wetting myself. 

Just as Anita stood poised to fire, there was the sound of breaking glass coming in from above. Casey zip lined in from above, calling out “Biiiiirrrrrrdddddddman!!!!!” He knocked Antia down, took her gun, and turned to me. “Looks like this bird's been caged!” he said, as he put on a pair of sunglasses, and I could have sworn I heard Roger Daltry screaming “Yeah!!!!!!”  The police swooped in, and took Anita into custody. As they led her by me, she stopped, turned to me and said “Will we always have Paris?” I said “Sure kid, we'll always have Paris.” 

It was creeping close to midnight as I made my way home. I didn't do anything else to mark this day, I just drank a six pack of Fiji water, and watched episodes of “Dark Shadows” on Netflix (I know, I know. I gotta stop this hard living before it catches up with me). It was one the more eventful Valentine's Days I've experienced on this earth, and one I hope to not repeat anytime soon.