The Crane

by Molly McDowell

“So, where are you from?”

Paul looked down to his martini glass, pushing the olive around with a small toothpick for a moment. After clearing his throat he glanced back up at the pretty face staring straight at him. Most of these faces didn’t usually care to know that much detail; there wasn’t ever any need to scratch past the surface.

“I believe they call it Planet Earth. A helluva’ fucked up place actually. You wouldn’t ever want to visit, trust me.”

The face threw back her head, laughing with her mouth wide while maintaining a strong eye connection.

“Oh Mr. Thompson, you’re even better in person!” Bringing a cigarette up to her lips, she inhaled heavily and then exhaled, allowing the smoke to pour out in a trail of grey that drifted up into to the darkness. Then, slowly lifting her wrist to flash some costly piece of jewelry, she rested one hand on her elbow and the other below her chin. “But really, where did this bit of genius come from?”

Looking deep into her eyes with a smug smile, Paul began to speak, “Well, the great life of Paul Thompson began in a small beach town called Pescadero, a quaint little place just down the coast from here. I grew up with my parents who were both ornithologists, studying sea birds mostly.” The face flirtatiously giggled again, trying desperately to maintain her poise. “When I was a kid, I used to lie in the sand and write down thorough descriptions of the birds my parents were analyzing. I’d lie there till dusk, scribbling down the way I saw them sway and dive, the patterns on their feathers, the hue of their underbelly… This was where my interest in writing began.” Paul continued to recite a story that when he told it a few years ago, his eyes would glaze over, briefly escaping back to the place on the sand that drugged him with happiness. Now, they were just words he’d repeat over and over, serving the sole purpose of coaxing desirable damsels back to his home.

Standing on the pier of the bay outside another one of his work’s corporate parties, Paul waited for the endless babbling and ranting coming from the woman in front of him to come to an end. After slipping a small pill under his tongue, Paul reached out his right hand and pulled the woman’s waist close to his.

“How about we get out of here? My place is only a few blocks over.”

The face’s red mouth widened into a mischievous smile. In a spontaneous fling of her wrist, the woman tossed her glass into the bay, leaned against Paul, and began to make her way back through the party and into the dark streets of the city, gloating with Mr. Thompson’s arm wrapped tightly around her.

A half hour later Paul lay beneath his prize of the night, finally feeling the anticipated adrenalin rush through his limbs. Looking up, her pale visage blurred into a silhouette against the white ceiling above just as her “oohs” and “aahs” subdued to a humming in the back of Paul’s brain. With each surge of pleasure Paul fell further into an abyss of deluded joy; sedated until he came down and sleep took him over.

The following morning Paul felt the hot sun leak through his large windows and into his room, creating a blanket of heat on his eyelids. Frustrated by the bright red curtain of skin cloaking his eyes, Paul attempted to open them but was quickly confronted by the shining rays, causing them to shut. Defeated by the sun and the shooting pain in the back of his cornea, he rolled over with a low grumble and frown upon his face. In a second attempt to open his eyes, Paul slowly focused on the scene in front of him. The same pretty face he faintly remembered floating above him the night before rested quietly, but this time he noticed something different.

While lying across from this beautiful woman, Paul noticed her breath calmly inflating her lungs with oxygen and compressing her chest back down. Her lips rested in a permanent smile, not forced, but so natural it looked like she had been born that way and somehow never changed. Glancing an inch above her mouth, Paul’s eyes lay parallel to her closed ones. They too, were entirely still, and somehow perfectly symmetrical from every black lash to the creases in the skin of her lids. Her skin emitted a radiance of its own. The opaque quality he barely saw the night before now emanated with a tenderness so pure and flawless she could have been laying there perfectly still her whole life.

While gazing at her quiet resting face, Paul’s brain began to search through old memories, attempting to find a past event comparable to the present. Nothing however, seemed to match. He found it was even hard to remember anything from before his days in the city, or even any particular memory at all.

Habitually, Paul grabbed a small tube of pills from his bedside table and popped one into his mouth.

“Good morning,” the woman spoke in a soothing voice. Realizing she was awake, Paul quickly put the bottle back on the table.

“Ooo, what’s that there?” Sitting up on her knees the beautiful lady reached over Paul’s bare chest to take the little bottle, slipping a pill in her own mouth. “Mmmm,” she sighed while stretching her arms high above her head, eyes closed and lips still in a smile.

Paul looked up at the naked woman, her long white limbs elongating further towards the ceiling. As his mind attempted to flip through events of his past, his eyes stayed fixed on the swaying ivory figure.

And there, in an instant, it came to him.

Paul’s entire body suddenly began to quiver. He quickly reached over to the table to grab the white bottle and with tremoring hands, slipped two pills into his mouth and dropped the rest on his bed. She was she crane. His eyes were now staring directly across the room on the bleached white wall. She was the fucking crane.

. Nervously giggling, the woman spoke up again, “why the funny stare? You look so, serious.”

Paul’s face cringed. It was all coming back in a sudden, heavy, foul overload. Not even just that one day, but it was all there. His hands clenched tight on the blanket.

“Everything was still,” Paul spoke almost in a whisper. “The water on the coast, no breeze, no clouds in sight. I was driving back from my parents’ house. It was right after I moved to the city. And everything was just still, and beautiful. My car was the only thing moving in a 100-mile radius. And, somehow, I hit her.” Paul took a long breath out. “I stopped. I tried to stop as fast as I could and I ran out of the car and gently picked her up, but she was just still.” His eyes began to soften, now simply gazing at the wall in front of him. “She was young. Grus leucogeranus- a Siberian crane. The likelihood of finding one on the west coast is, well I thought impossible.” Paul paused again for a moment. “Just like I’d seen in my parents’ books, she had white feathers and jet black eyes. Her beak was a deep red, and her legs were long and bony. It must have been only a few seconds until her entire plume was soaked red and all over my arms.”

“Ew,” The woman’s face winced. “… I don’t do too well with blood and guts stories in the morning.” Looking off into the distance, removed, she spoke again, “Pass me one of those cigarettes will you?”

Paul’s eyes slowly drifted over his right to see the woman’s face that spoke to him. His hands were still quivering, and he couldn’t speak.

“What?” She starred back at him. “No one told me you’d be this fucking emotional in bed too. I thought that was only in your books, a sentimental writing style. Jesus Christ.”

Reaching over Paul’s body, the woman grabbed a pack of Camels off the same bedside table. She sat back against the wall, lit the cigarette, and exhaled a long drifting cloud of dirty smoke. He now realized her lipstick was smudged outside the lines of her mouth, and her eyes were bloodshot. Her dark hair was brittle and the white skin on her cheeks had been layered on with face makeup.

Throwing back the covers, Paul stood up and strode over to the other side of the room. Rummaging through a mass of disarray on the floor, he grabbed the first pair of jeans and shirt he could find and quickly threw them on.

“Excuse me for being so inquisitive, but where the hell are you going?”

Checking his pockets for his keys, Paul strode over to the front door and swung it open. But before walking out, he took one last glance at the woman sprawled out on his bed.

“You’re filthy. You. My work. This city. I’m done. You’re all fucking sick.”

The door slammed and Paul ran down the several floors of stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Throwing open the heavy metal doors onto the street, the putrid smell of sewers and piss filled Paul’s nose. He ran across the street without any hesitation to check for traffic, pulled out his car keys, and slipped one into the door of his black Alfa Romeo. Paul stepped on the gas and sped into a lane. Along endless streets without following signs, he just continued to drive. He weaved in and out of cars, raced past other vehicles on the freeway, and floored his engine, dying to get out of there.

The roads’ grey asphalt blurred in Paul’s eyes. The pain of acknowledging all those years wasted filled every atom of his body, unable to notice anything substantial around him.

Tick tick tick. Paul heard his fuel meter running low, and decided to exit the freeway. On new streets, he found himself in an unfamiliar place, but for the first time was ok with being lost. Pulling around a corner, Paul parked his car in an empty lot and got out. A salty breeze gently blew across his face and cooled the rising heat inside of him. Slowly taking one step at a time, Paul walked down a staircase and took off both shoes. He dropped to his knees, dug his hands into the expansive blanket of sand around him, and sat looking out at the view of sea birds in the sky flying over the ocean. The wetness in his eyes began to collect into drops that poured over his cheekbones and onto his lap.

“I’ll never go back,” he said.

Paul then continued to stand up and walk towards the water. Taking off his clothing, he tossed his shirt, jeans, and watch onto the ground. As he stepped into the ocean he felt the cool liquid wrap around his bare feet and legs. He let his body fall forward, plunging into the sea that enveloped every limb. With the flow of the current, Paul's arms rotated in cycle, and he began to swim towards the still horizon ahead.