Lovebirds

While we were 10,000 miles apart and waiting, waiting, for the visa which may never come, he sketched out our dream life. We would live by the beach, there would be laughter and two lovebirds. It was corny but cute. At last, the visa came through, I flew to Australia, to my freedom. The beach house was rented and the birds collected.

We let them fly free in the house, no, free wasn’t right.  They belonged in nature, not in a cage, not in a lounge room. We knew this.

We bought a house, the first house either of us would really truly own. He kept asking was it right for me, to be 10,000 miles away and setting down roots in foreign soil. Yes, I said, the homesickness has gone, this is my home now.

I chose the house. He never liked it: the energy, the décor, the yard, the neighbours. He didn’t like the area either, too far from the beach. I said it had everything we wanted, he had to imagine it finished, we could never get such a big house on the beach, the suburb was a sleeping giant.

On the day we moved in, our lovebirds escaped, wriggling out from their impenetrable fortress. I was so happy they had their freedom, happy but jealous. He said they stood no chance against the local sparrowhawk. I said you had to dream.

I also feared it was an omen and so it seemed when our house was burgled, then vandalised; things started to break and break down. And there I was caged in the stupid house.

Then, in winter, we painted the house, covering the negative vibes. We lit fires and drank red wine. He planted a rose garden which bloomed.

And one day it happened: we spotted them above, flying for all their little lives were worth. They had freedom and at last so did we.

By Anonymous