Old Broken Wing
In the 10 years we’ve lived in this apartment, I had rarely gone up to the roof. But in the early pandemic, a new routine emerged. You see, we couldn’t go to our movement class in person anymore, and Rec and Park had closed off the pull-up stations in the nearby park. Not to be outdone, I’d hung gymnastics rings off the fire escape outside our bedroom window. Might sound dangerous, but the only real risk was the downstairs neighbors opening their blinds first thing in the morning to find an unkempt me hanging off the fire escape - breathing heavily, but looking determined.
Post-workout, it became part of my routine to go up the ladder, beyond the bedroom window, up to the roof - to soak in the sun (and those endorphins) for a few minutes. And that’s when I’d meet my raven friend - Old Broken Wing.
She would coast overhead daily, seemingly unaffected by the large swath of feathers missing from one of her wings. I wondered if she wondered what I was doing lying on the roof. I wondered if she felt the urge to swoop down and gouge my vulnerable underbelly which lay exposed to the sky (I did keep my eyes just a tiny bit open as a precaution). Throughout the day I’d catch glimpses of her through the living room window and exclaim - “look it’s OBdubs!”.
Over the next few months my routine slowly changed. I stopped going up to the roof as much. I didn’t even notice that I hadn’t seen old OBdubs in a while. I started to look for her but could only see two shiny juveniles flying around with perfectly healthy wings. I wondered if they had chased her from this neighborhood. Was she even still alive?
This morning as I sipped on my decaf (ugh, that’s another story) I thought I caught a glimpse of her on the neighbor’s roof. I couldn’t get a clear look, but I am optimistic. What do you think - is that her?