A bird got trapped in the lake house. Maniacally, around the room, it flew. Tiny, furious and yellow. It didn’t know how to leave. I opened the door. The bird didn’t seem to notice. It kept flying up. Like it wanted to lift the roof off instead of bashing its little body against the ceiling. 

It was our first romantic solo weekend away, Julie and I. She’d recently moved down south from California. A nurse to the dying, she read the tarot on weekends and sang in the community choir. She’d never been with a guy like me. We’d had a few good dates. One passionate evening after bowling. But I wanted to take things to the next level. An old work buddy suggested I use his uncle’s lake house. It was the off season. October. No one was around. We arrived at sunset. The place smelled of mildew. Stuffed bass lined the walls, their mouths gaping open. 

These fish look like they’re singing, Julie said. 

Or screaming in pain, I said. 

We found old Playboys. Cans of creamed corn from the early 90’s in the kitchen cabinets. An old record player with records. Some Beach Boys, some Beatles, some Stones. A few bottles of cheap whiskey on top of the fridge. I washed two Scooby-doo glasses and we started drinking. I suggested strip poker and Julie smiled. There was a deck of cards on the table, but it was missing all the hearts. We settled into the living room. I built a fire. Julie took her shirt off. I took mine off too and we started to kiss. That’s when the tiny bird appeared. Up in the ceiling. Sudden and golden. We couldn’t figure out how it had gotten inside. 

Fuck, I said. What are we going to do? 

I was really close to the edge of something. I needed that weekend to go right. You see, there had been a bit of distance between me and a good time for going on a solid year. I’d been laid off at Buck Randy’s Ford dealership for putting a couple fast food dinners (that I intended to pay back) on the company card. I’ll be frank, my well was running dry. Julie, I’d met her online, she was my last hope. A ray of light in the wilderness.  

It’ll be okay, Julie said. Sometimes they fly out on their own.

And what if it doesn’t, I asked. Are we going to sleep all night with a damn bird flying around shitting on our faces?

Then this bird, like a little yellow god, came swooping down and it’s wing flapped so close to me I could feel wind on my eyeball. Then it rested on a bookshelf. 

It’s trying to murder us, I said. 

Julie looked at me. I could tell she was examining my fear. There was something in that moment that I’ve thought a lot about since. Something in her look. A mix of pride and pity. Julie’s eyes reflected fire in the fireplace. She smiled. It was the smile of someone who knew what she wanted and what she didn’t. 

Quiet, she said. Sit on the couch and be quiet. 

I took two long sips of whiskey from the Scooby-doo glass and did what she said. 

She knelt down in front of the bird and held her arms out. Topless, she was like a forest queen in a fairytale. The bird called to her tweety tweet and Julie whistled back the same tune. It flapped its wings twice fast and shiffered and sang again. Without warning it flew down and rested on Julie’s nose. 

When I get to this part of the story people always say I’m telling lies. Perhaps they’re right and I should’ve questioned the whole scene more as it was happening. Investigated the magic I was witnessing. But at the time I was still trying to comprehend who Julie was. Why had she come all this way with me, some horny stranger, to a cabin by a lake in October? It made me feel alive in a way I still don’t fully understand. Was she really there? Was I? The bird flapped its wings once and relaxed. I wonder what those tiny bird feet felt like on Julie’s nose. 

 The door, Julie said. 

What, I asked. 

I’m going to walk out to the porch. You get the door, she said. Close it behind us so the bird won’t fly back inside. 

Good idea, I said. 

Julie got to her feet and walked with the bird on her nose, her head cocked back, through the doorway and on to the porch. I shut the door softly behind us. The bird shivered away into the night without saying goodbye. 

Wow, I said.

Julie came over to me and I wrapped my arms around her. There was an orange feeling in the air. We were half naked in October. It smelled of death and smoke and turkey sandwiches. Finally I could feel the good miracle surrounding me. 

Let’s go inside, she said. I’m cold. 

We walked back to the door holding hands. I turned the doorknob. It was locked. 

Shit, I said. 

What’s wrong, she asked. 

Door’s locked, I said. 

Unlock it, she said. I’m freezing. 

Key’s inside, I said. 

Move, she said. 

She took my wallet from my pocket. Tried to jimmy the lock with my credit card but it wouldn’t budge. 

Now what, I asked. 

What are you asking me for, she said. I got the bird out. 

What do you want me to do, I asked. 

Climb up into that window, she said. 

I’ll break my neck, I said. 

She shook her head and began to climb up the side of the cabin. A topless dream. 

So is finding a bird trapped in your house, I asked. Is that good luck or bad? 

I’m trying to concentrate, she yelled down. 

Many thoughts were running through my mind. I thought that in fact finding a bird trapped in a house was bad luck and soon Julie would fall and break her neck and I’d have to explain myself to the police and to her family. Why had I let her climb up there? Why was she half naked? Why go to a lake house in the off season? Why did I use the company card from Buck Randy’s Ford to entertain women who would never love me at a combination Pizza Hut/KFC/Taco Bell? Why? Why? Why? There were always these questions with bad luck. And then I thought maybe the bird was good luck afterall and me and Julie were living inside an important story that we didn’t know was important yet. The story of our first wild night of love. Of our beginning. Everything was held there in the balance as Julie climbed higher. The universe was still deciding how much I deserved. Julie reached the window. Then she was gone. Disappeared inside the house and when she reappeared at the front door she was fully nude. 

We made love on the green couch in a serious way, Julie and I. She did things to me I’d only heard legend of. The night grew quiet except for the katydids electric song. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, peaceful as God on the seventh day. 

Then there was a knock at the door. It woke us up. 

Did you hear that, I said. 

Who would come here, she said. You told me no one was around for miles. 

That’s what I thought, I said. What should I do? 

Answer it, she said. 

What if it’s an ax murderer, I asked. 

Best not keep him waiting, she said. 

I put my pants on and walked to the door. 

Who is it, I asked. 

Sorry I know it’s late, a voice said. But I need to speak with you. 

I cracked the door a little. It was a kid in his 20’s. He was wearing a white shirt and black tie. I opened the door wider. 

I hope I’m not interrupting anything, he said. 

Who are you, I asked. 

I was wondering if you or anyone in your family is studying in a school or college, he asked. 

What, I asked. Like right now? 

Or do you or anyone in your family have curiosity about the world, he asked. A general thirst for knowledge perhaps? 

I’m sorry, I said. Are you lost or something? 

My name is Finch Jones. I have an offer for you and your family, he said. It’s the gift of learning. 

Who is it, asked Julie from the couch. 

I’m talking about encyclopedias, Finch Jones said. For a small fee each month you can have a complete set. 

This sounds strange but the thought that ran through my head was this: Somehow, who knows how, something spectacular had occurred. That bird had transformed into the last encyclopedia salesman on earth and had returned to our doorstep. 

Who is it, Julia asked again from the couch. 

It’s Finch Jones, I said. He wants to sell us learning. 

Well tell him to come inside and shut the door, she said. 

I opened the door up all the way and Finch Jones walked inside. I put another log on the fire. He noticed that Julie was naked. 

I’m sorry, he said. Is this a bad time? 

Hell no, Julie said. This is a great time. The perfect time. 

Grab a seat, I said. Want a whiskey? 

I should confess something, he said. I’m not really selling encyclopedias. 

I knew it, I said. Ax murderer. 

Ok, Julia said. What’s going on? 

I’m here on a different kind of mission, he said. A mission from Jesus Christ. 

So what was all that about encyclopedias, I asked. The gift of learning and so on. 

People shut the door in my face if I say the word Jesus, he said. Encyclopedias. People think that’s funny. 

I turned to Julie. For the first time I noticed she had a small mole under her left breast. 

So, Finch Jones said. 

So what, Julia said. 

Do you want to hear more about Jesus, he asked. 

I’m a big no thanks on Jesus, she said. And I assume so is he. 

I nodded. 

But if you want to stay and drink, she said. We might as well get out Monopoly. 

The three of us played Monopoly most of the night. Finch Jones beat the shit out of us. Then it got late and Julie and I had almost finished off the booze. I was nice and shitfaced and so was Juile. She turned to Finch Jones. He was counting his fake money. She was still completely naked. 

So you’re like a Jesus freak, Julie asked. 

Sort of, Finch Jones said. 

That means you’re a virgin, she said. 

I plan to remain so until marriage, he said. 

So have you ever even touched a boob, she asked. 

I don’t understand, Finch Jones asked. 

A breast, she said. A tit. Ever touched one? 

She’s drunk, I said. She’s messing around. 

No I’m not, Julie said. I want to know if he’s touched a titty. You’re mom’s doesn’t count. 

Finch Jones was bouncing his leg up and down. 

No, he said. I’ve never touched one. 

Want to touch mine, Julie asked. 

Ok, I said. Maybe it’s time to go to bed. 

This doesn’t concern you, Julie said. I’m talking to Finch Jones. 

I sat down and Julie went over to where Finch was sitting. Her breasts were out right at this eye level. 

Grab them, she said. It’s okay. 

I can’t, Finch Jones said. 

Why not, Julie asked. Don’t you like them? You’ve been eyeing at them all night. 

Finch Jones looked to the floor. 

It would be a sin, he said. 

A sin, Julie said. Are you saying I’m a sin? 

No, Finch Jones said. Touching any unmarried woman would be a sin. 

I won’t tell, she said. 

Finch Jones was trying to look at her without looking at her. Julie took his hands and guided them towards her. 

Ok, I said. This isn’t funny anymore. 

Finch Jones was shaking. It looked like he was going to cry. He closed his eyes. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own. When they reached Julie’s breasts he opened his eyes. He seemed different. Julie smiled. Then Finch Jones snatched his hands away from her. 

I have to go, he said. 

He walked out into the night and didn’t look back. A new man. 

I sat there not sure what to say. I realized a bird trapped in a house meant nothing at all. That was the last time I saw Julie for a long time. Maybe a year or two. Then I heard she quit nursing and reading tarot and quit the choir too. She got sober and ended up working part time at Copy Time, the copy store downtown. I went in there once to print out some copies of my resume. I smiled at her when she rang me up but she didn’t seem to remember me.