Dove, #13

I quickly threw down the money onto the counter, grabbed the off-brand black and yellow disposable camera without even waiting for the clerk to place it in a bag, and ran the three blocks home. I had to hurry because it would be getting dark soon. And I just had to get to the roof top when there was still daylight lingering in the horizon.
Running those 3 blocks from the local pharmacy back home to Jupiter Apartments was like going to the bathroom in the middle of the night- a routine so familiar, I could walk it half asleep. I soared through the apartment doors leaving the cold air sealed outside where it belonged, skipped up the six flights of stairs, and rounded the corners of the mildew smelling hallways until I reached the one and only red apartment door, number 611.
Swinging open the door didn’t even manage to slow my cadence-much thanks to the broken lock.With one step through the treshold of the door, I was dumped smack dab into the middle of our apartment; I didn’t even have to announce myself to Mom as the apartment basically only had one room. The same moment I swung open the door, Mom, sitting across the living room with the dinner table set, grinned. I glanced up at the clock on the wall behind her. 5:30 on the dot.
“Hey bumblebee. Right in time for dinner I see. Another minute and I would have been worrying. You know how much I worry about letting such a young girl run around town, like I’m not a good parent or something. But you are here on time as always, angel, so let’s eat,” mom said placing a generously portioned plate on our ever-so-elegant card table which we prefer to refer to as our dinning table. The source of the delicious smelling garlic aroma that filled our tiny apartment was sitting there staring at me. Mmm... pasta, my favorite.
I glanced out the window and could see the sun quickly lowering, so I gobbled down the rest of my plate, quickly helped my mom hand wash the dinner plates, and ran to my room. Yes, I did have my own room. At that point, my love-hate relationship with my room was currently on the loving part. I had previously hated my room because my mom wouldn’t take it for herself. She made the living room, which was also our dinning room and kitchen, into her own room by sleeping on the couch and adding a small dresser. She gave me my own room because she loved me so much and wanted to give me what she could, and I knew that it would have hurt her to see me without even a room. So I learned to love my room. It was a world just for me. I could play with my dolls for hours and hours, but as always, the night time was for bigger and better things to do than just play my childish games.
As always, after dinner I needed just a few moments of privacy to pack up my little purple bag which I kept safely tucked away under my bed. Naturally, I slipped in a journal, pen, watch(never reading real time), and the unused disposable camera. Zipping it up tightly, I flung the purple bag over my small shoulder and headed out. I didn’t even have to tell Mom where I was headed. She knew that every night I always walked up the 7 flights of stairs to the roof top exit. But Mom never did know exactly why I went to the roof. I guess she just assumed I liked the view, which was not all wrong. I mean, yes I could see most of the town from the top of all 13 stories of Jupiter Apartments, but the town view was hardly of importance.
Out on the roof top, the chill of the wind was prevalent. Luckily my body was used to the 7 story climb, so at least I wasn’t cold and out of breath. I set my bag down and took out its contents. I looked up and there it was- the large metal bird cage.
The cooing doves inside started flapping around to greet me. It was time. The sun shone low across horizon, the city streets buzzing, I opened the small door to the bird cage. The doves rustled around until the chosen one stepped forward. I put my finger out, and the white dove gently and confidently climbed on. After snapping a picture of the dove that I would later pin up on my bulletin board along side the pictures of the first 12 doves, together we walked over towards the edge of the building. Good thing I had never developed a fear of heights, but I assume that doing this same routine day after day would get me over any such fear.
My eyes traced over the dove's body once more, studying the curves of its body and feathers. I took once last glance into its yellowish eyes and then swung my finger upward to give the dove momentum for take-off. Its winds spread and began flapping off into the distance. I picked up my journal and pen from beside me. Studying every movement of the dove, every slight turn, every drop, and motion, I noted everything. I couldn’t get any detail wrong. Each precise movement was telling of a specific detail. I never was scared, but always confident and curious in my note taking ability. Afterall, every detail I noted was precious, imperative for understanding, and so far I had never been wrong.
As the bird disappeared into the dwindling red and violet light of the horizon, I checked my watch showing the inncorrect time, noting the exact time of its disappearance. 4:17.I packed up my little purple bag, walked back to my room, and could only wait until the events would unravel the following day. I could only wait until my notes in my journal came alive by some unknowing stranger.