Even Egrets Err
Apr. 8th, 2016 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rayasoWeek 17
Deathbed Regrets
The Egret of Death flew in from a nearby highway and perched on a branch of an oak tree, outside the window of William Jackson’s room at the Shady Oaks Hospice Center. She folded her long white wings against her equally white body, stood perfectly still, and tried to concentrate on her assignment.
Unfortunately, Shady Oaks was next to a busy street. Here comes a car, she thought, turning her head to look. There it goes. Here comes a truck! There it goes. Back and forth the egret’s head bobbed, her yellow, dagger-like bill cutting a semi-circle in the still, hot air, her body otherwise as motionless as death.
Finally, there was a break in the traffic, and the egret remembered why she was there: to help Bill Jackson die.
Already the egret could hear Bill’s thoughts as he neared his end. “I should not have become an accountant.” “I should have taken my kids to more ball games.” “I loved my wife – I should have been faithful.” Bill had a lot of regrets, some small, but many major ones, and all of them painful. The egret gathered them up into her breast, took the burden from Bill, and flew away.
The patient records stated that William Jackson passed away with a smile on his face.
As the egret flew back to the highway, she felt the weight of Bill’s regrets and she struggled to stay aloft. Then she saw her favorite spot at the shoulder of the freeway, a place less than ten feet from the cars, where she could stand with an orchard at her back and look across six lanes of speeding traffic to a dry dirt field. She landed there.
The egret stood absolutely still as the vehicles went by, but with each passing car or truck, she was able to release one of Bill’s regrets. In that instant, the occupants carried away some of Bill’s pain, if only for a few miles.
“I shouldn’t have stolen that candy bar as a kid.” That one attached to a small silver car with a young child. “I should never have yelled at my wife.” This needed a van full of passengers. “I drank too much” was taken by a casino tour bus.
On and on it went -- Bill’s pain was shared for a moment, car by car, truck by truck, until it was all gone.
Now came the egret’s favorite time. All Bill’s disappointments were gone and she could just watch traffic.
From the left! From the right! Slower – now faster! Lane changes were especially exciting, and she savored each one. Back and forth her great beak moved, as if conducting some beautiful symphony, her body erect and motionless on the thinnest of legs. The egret loved to spend hours standing next to the freeway, entranced by the rhythms and colors.
Every day the egret had at least one mission. Her next one was Jennifer Adamson, at St. Luke’s Hospital. The egret arrived early and landed on a railing just outside Jennifer’s window. It overlooked two busy roads and the parking lot. This was one of the egret’s favorite locations. Red lights! Green lights! Stop! Go! Sometimes it was too much, especially when the ambulances came, weaving desperately through traffic without a pattern, flashing their lights, their harsh sirens blaring.
Concentration was hard with so much to experience, but her assignment needed her. Jennifer was a young woman, surrounded by her family, all in tears. So much love, so many regrets, thought the egret. It will be a hard flight back.
“I did not marry my love.” “I did not have children.” “I never saw Venice.” “I never danced naked in the moonlight.” They all poured out, the disappointments of a life half-lived. The egret gathered each one to herself, taking them all. Before she flew away with her burden, she saw Jennifer’s last smile.
The egret felt the pain but could not comprehend it, and she thought she would explode as she carried it away.
“I fought with my sister over nothing” went to a car full of children. “I never rode a roller coaster” latched on to a speeding motorcyclist, while “I did not tell my father I loved him often enough” was absorbed by a school bus. On and on it went, all of Jennifer’s regrets taken by those who could carry them, until it was finally over and the egret could lose herself in the colors and sounds of her beloved highway, free from her responsibilities, completely vacant, nodding back and forth to the patterns that absorbed her.
The egret did not attend every death. Some unfortunate people died too quickly. The very young were too innocent, while a rare few simply did not need her. For other deaths, the egret was never summoned. These were people who would die with all their regrets, people who even in their final hours simply could not let them go.
And then there was Mark Willoughby.
The egret should never have visited him. Willoughby was in prison and she had never been there before. The buildings were old, gray, and hard, surrounded by barbed wire, and they reeked of regrets. It was hard to find a place to land, and there was almost no traffic.
From the top of the north guard tower, the egret could barely see into the cramped infirmary. Willoughby was shackled to a bed, still watched by guards, even though he would soon die from a vicious attack by another inmate.
It began as soon as the egret landed. “I should have knifed Billy when he took my bike.” “I wanted more money – I should have stolen more.” “I could have killed Eric – why didn’t I?” “I should have used that bat to teach Trish a lesson.” “I should have killed Ed before he turned me in.”
The egret was assaulted by all the evil which Willoughby regretted leaving undone, and it was a lot. The records do not reveal whether he died with a smile.
It was a mistake for the egret to have attended Willoughby’s death. There were other ways to handle people like him. The egret had never had to bear such a load before -- she could hardly fly away from her barren perch.
Willoughby’s vile “regrets” threatened to overwhelm the egret, and she almost didn’t make it to the nearest highway, far from her regular spot. She desperately needed to disgorge the venomous thoughts, but who could take them away? Not the family in the red car. Not the tired truck driver. There was no one, and they stayed lodged in the egret.
She could find no peace in the traffic patterns, and soon she saw no order at all. The egret began imagining things. Cars were careening out of control, and worst of all were the accidents as the freeway became a kaleidoscopic pinball machine, with all the vehicles bouncing off of each other.
The egret was on the verge of fainting when a sheriff’s bus bound for the prison finally passed by, full of new inmates. Oh, thank goodness! she thought, disgorging Willoughby’s regrets as quickly as possible. Even so, the bus was nearly out of sight by the time she finished. She collapsed, panting, by the side of the road.
The prisoners carried Willoughby’s regrets until his evil faded away. The warden found them unusually subdued when they arrived for processing.
The egret knew she would never go to the prison again.
Before too long, the egret was standing in her favorite spot next to the freeway, but it wasn’t the same. The traffic did not absorb her, and her beak barely moved. She was restless and distracted.
Fortunately, her next visitation was easy. It was Paul Franks’ time at last. The egret found a spot in an old cherry tree outside his bedroom window. It still carried a few cherries, which she ate after her long flight. Paul was with his children, having outlived his wife and friends whose pictures surrounded him.
The egret could barely hear Paul’s regrets, almost too few to need her, and he was already smiling. Paul was one of the lucky ones. She quickly gathered his regrets, and returned to her special place by the freeway.
The egret was in no hurry to release Paul's sorrows, not after her experience with Willoughby. Those minor regrets from a kind and much-loved man had an almost cleansing effect. She savored each small hurt before letting it go, and before long she was able to find new patterns in the traffic rushing past her again and lose herself in the dazzling display she so loved.
It took the death of a good man to fully heal the egret from the sickness of a bad man, but she was whole again.
She could finally carry out her helpful duties without fear, and enjoy the beauty of traffic once more.
* * * * * *
I would like to thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
halfshellvenus for beta reading this entry.
The title of this story was taken from a poem of the same name by John Updike.
Deathbed Regrets
EVEN EGRETS ERR
The Egret of Death flew in from a nearby highway and perched on a branch of an oak tree, outside the window of William Jackson’s room at the Shady Oaks Hospice Center. She folded her long white wings against her equally white body, stood perfectly still, and tried to concentrate on her assignment.
Unfortunately, Shady Oaks was next to a busy street. Here comes a car, she thought, turning her head to look. There it goes. Here comes a truck! There it goes. Back and forth the egret’s head bobbed, her yellow, dagger-like bill cutting a semi-circle in the still, hot air, her body otherwise as motionless as death.
Finally, there was a break in the traffic, and the egret remembered why she was there: to help Bill Jackson die.
Already the egret could hear Bill’s thoughts as he neared his end. “I should not have become an accountant.” “I should have taken my kids to more ball games.” “I loved my wife – I should have been faithful.” Bill had a lot of regrets, some small, but many major ones, and all of them painful. The egret gathered them up into her breast, took the burden from Bill, and flew away.
The patient records stated that William Jackson passed away with a smile on his face.
As the egret flew back to the highway, she felt the weight of Bill’s regrets and she struggled to stay aloft. Then she saw her favorite spot at the shoulder of the freeway, a place less than ten feet from the cars, where she could stand with an orchard at her back and look across six lanes of speeding traffic to a dry dirt field. She landed there.
The egret stood absolutely still as the vehicles went by, but with each passing car or truck, she was able to release one of Bill’s regrets. In that instant, the occupants carried away some of Bill’s pain, if only for a few miles.
“I shouldn’t have stolen that candy bar as a kid.” That one attached to a small silver car with a young child. “I should never have yelled at my wife.” This needed a van full of passengers. “I drank too much” was taken by a casino tour bus.
On and on it went -- Bill’s pain was shared for a moment, car by car, truck by truck, until it was all gone.
Now came the egret’s favorite time. All Bill’s disappointments were gone and she could just watch traffic.
From the left! From the right! Slower – now faster! Lane changes were especially exciting, and she savored each one. Back and forth her great beak moved, as if conducting some beautiful symphony, her body erect and motionless on the thinnest of legs. The egret loved to spend hours standing next to the freeway, entranced by the rhythms and colors.
Every day the egret had at least one mission. Her next one was Jennifer Adamson, at St. Luke’s Hospital. The egret arrived early and landed on a railing just outside Jennifer’s window. It overlooked two busy roads and the parking lot. This was one of the egret’s favorite locations. Red lights! Green lights! Stop! Go! Sometimes it was too much, especially when the ambulances came, weaving desperately through traffic without a pattern, flashing their lights, their harsh sirens blaring.
Concentration was hard with so much to experience, but her assignment needed her. Jennifer was a young woman, surrounded by her family, all in tears. So much love, so many regrets, thought the egret. It will be a hard flight back.
“I did not marry my love.” “I did not have children.” “I never saw Venice.” “I never danced naked in the moonlight.” They all poured out, the disappointments of a life half-lived. The egret gathered each one to herself, taking them all. Before she flew away with her burden, she saw Jennifer’s last smile.
The egret felt the pain but could not comprehend it, and she thought she would explode as she carried it away.
“I fought with my sister over nothing” went to a car full of children. “I never rode a roller coaster” latched on to a speeding motorcyclist, while “I did not tell my father I loved him often enough” was absorbed by a school bus. On and on it went, all of Jennifer’s regrets taken by those who could carry them, until it was finally over and the egret could lose herself in the colors and sounds of her beloved highway, free from her responsibilities, completely vacant, nodding back and forth to the patterns that absorbed her.
The egret did not attend every death. Some unfortunate people died too quickly. The very young were too innocent, while a rare few simply did not need her. For other deaths, the egret was never summoned. These were people who would die with all their regrets, people who even in their final hours simply could not let them go.
And then there was Mark Willoughby.
The egret should never have visited him. Willoughby was in prison and she had never been there before. The buildings were old, gray, and hard, surrounded by barbed wire, and they reeked of regrets. It was hard to find a place to land, and there was almost no traffic.
From the top of the north guard tower, the egret could barely see into the cramped infirmary. Willoughby was shackled to a bed, still watched by guards, even though he would soon die from a vicious attack by another inmate.
It began as soon as the egret landed. “I should have knifed Billy when he took my bike.” “I wanted more money – I should have stolen more.” “I could have killed Eric – why didn’t I?” “I should have used that bat to teach Trish a lesson.” “I should have killed Ed before he turned me in.”
The egret was assaulted by all the evil which Willoughby regretted leaving undone, and it was a lot. The records do not reveal whether he died with a smile.
It was a mistake for the egret to have attended Willoughby’s death. There were other ways to handle people like him. The egret had never had to bear such a load before -- she could hardly fly away from her barren perch.
Willoughby’s vile “regrets” threatened to overwhelm the egret, and she almost didn’t make it to the nearest highway, far from her regular spot. She desperately needed to disgorge the venomous thoughts, but who could take them away? Not the family in the red car. Not the tired truck driver. There was no one, and they stayed lodged in the egret.
She could find no peace in the traffic patterns, and soon she saw no order at all. The egret began imagining things. Cars were careening out of control, and worst of all were the accidents as the freeway became a kaleidoscopic pinball machine, with all the vehicles bouncing off of each other.
The egret was on the verge of fainting when a sheriff’s bus bound for the prison finally passed by, full of new inmates. Oh, thank goodness! she thought, disgorging Willoughby’s regrets as quickly as possible. Even so, the bus was nearly out of sight by the time she finished. She collapsed, panting, by the side of the road.
The prisoners carried Willoughby’s regrets until his evil faded away. The warden found them unusually subdued when they arrived for processing.
The egret knew she would never go to the prison again.
Before too long, the egret was standing in her favorite spot next to the freeway, but it wasn’t the same. The traffic did not absorb her, and her beak barely moved. She was restless and distracted.
Fortunately, her next visitation was easy. It was Paul Franks’ time at last. The egret found a spot in an old cherry tree outside his bedroom window. It still carried a few cherries, which she ate after her long flight. Paul was with his children, having outlived his wife and friends whose pictures surrounded him.
The egret could barely hear Paul’s regrets, almost too few to need her, and he was already smiling. Paul was one of the lucky ones. She quickly gathered his regrets, and returned to her special place by the freeway.
The egret was in no hurry to release Paul's sorrows, not after her experience with Willoughby. Those minor regrets from a kind and much-loved man had an almost cleansing effect. She savored each small hurt before letting it go, and before long she was able to find new patterns in the traffic rushing past her again and lose herself in the dazzling display she so loved.
It took the death of a good man to fully heal the egret from the sickness of a bad man, but she was whole again.
She could finally carry out her helpful duties without fear, and enjoy the beauty of traffic once more.
* * * * * *
I would like to thank
halfshellvenus for beta reading this entry.The title of this story was taken from a poem of the same name by John Updike.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 06:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 09:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 02:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 08:10 pm (UTC)GREAT work here. Really tightly written! And so thought-provoking.
(egret and regret = brilliant!)
no subject
Date: 2016-04-09 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-10 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-10 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-10 09:27 pm (UTC)The choice of which regrets when with which vehicles was perfect, and then the poor bird being saddled with regrets over not having done WORSE things... I did not see that coming at all, and it was exactly the kind of thing that might destroy a creature whose job was intended to bring about goodness and spiritual grace.
There was a serendipitous feeling to how these concepts all came together, and I can look at highway egrets now and think that perhaps there's something beyond self-hypnosis or ADD happening there. :)
no subject
Date: 2016-04-10 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-10 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-10 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 06:36 pm (UTC)Perfect!
no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 07:11 pm (UTC)In my part of the world (Northern California), egrets are a common sight along rural (and not so rural) highways. They just stand there by the side of the freeway, like little solitary sentries, watching the traffic, even though prime egret habitat is nearby.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-11 11:54 pm (UTC)That you took a pun ("Egrets... I've had a few... but then again... to few to mention...") and turned it into a story with depth and pathos is no mean feat. I'm glad the egret was able to get over Willoughby. That's a heavy load to bear.
Bitter ex-New Order bass player Peter Hook thinks this was their last great song. I don't know that I agree with the "last" part, but I do agree with the "great" part.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-12 12:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-12 12:24 am (UTC)I didn't catch the reference to Paul Franks, but I think that's brilliant.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-12 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-12 12:33 am (UTC)