Avian Fever
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman

We stepped into the elevator with our charming young neighbors, who live together and seem filled with that youthful optimism that permits the very young and very much in love to find happiness and fulfillment in chores like folding one's beloved's undergarments and basketball jerseys just-so. You remember that. It must've been decades ago. Maybe it was decades ago; but in any case, he held the door open, and we got on. He asked what floor number he should press for us as he punched their floor number. Our hands were full, you see. Your Darling, Your Diva, Your One True Love was returning from the laundry with two armfuls of her handsome companion Paulie Gonzalez's freshly Dryel'd wool slacks. The young neighbor, who during an earlier elevator ride sheepishly confessed that his lovely girlfriend did all their laundry, stared at the heavy wooden hangers keeping Paulie's pants rigidly in place, crisp and unrumpled until such time as Paulie rumpled them. The young neighbor said, "That's what I need to keep my dress pants nice, you know?"
 
As this conversation proceeded, Your Dearest sensed something unusual was transpiring, but couldn't put a finger on what it was. She stared at the laundry. She blurted out, "Well, wooden hangers are handsome, but they're heavy and they take up a lot of room in the closet -"
 
"Yes, they take up a lot of room in the closet," echoed the neighbor.
 
"- and that's a real bird sitting on your head, isn't it?"
 
The young neighbors burst out laughing. The dewy beauty said, "Yes, it's a real bird."
 
"Oh good," said Your Delight, gazing at the green parakeet pecking silently at the young woman's elaborate up-do. "I was going to wonder all day if I hallucinated that."
 

©2004 Robin Pastorio-Newman