Inventions for Jim and His Dead Bird

When I was 17, I babysat for a family that lived in a tiki-themed motel located behind an industrial complex in the small beach town where I lived in South Florida. While sitting by the pool I met the motel manager, whose name, I think, was Jim. He was wearing a straw sun hat, a tropical print shirt, its front pocket stretched out from jamming and retrieving soft packs of cigarettes, khaki shorts, and beat up sandals. His skin was darkly tanned and leathery. His face was almost red.

While chatting with Jim and another motel dweller, we discussed the tropical birds that lived in the parking lot trees, which led him to tell us about his late pet parrot. Jim told us the details of her last weeks—her funny and lethargic behavior and of feathers that kept falling out. He asked if we would like to see her. We said, “sure,” assuming Jim was going inside to find a picture to show us. Instead, Jim returned with a plastic freezer bag full of a large frozen parrot.

This project is a proposal for Jim. In the years since we met I have thought of him often, and mostly thought of better ways for him to deal with the issue of his late pet’s mortal remains.