The Rhythm Of Rescue

001 | Angry Bird.

"You don't go out much, do you?"

Thomas lived in the next apartment.

He stood at my doorstep in his heavy coat with his messy brown hair that poked out from under a beanie.

He was probably my age, maybe a year or two older. His scrawny cat, whom I was pretty sure I fed more than himself, would often hang around my window, meowing pathetically until I snuck him some tuna.

"Come on. It's just skating at the ice rink, Casey. It'll be fun."

Here we go again.

It was a routine we'd fallen into since I moved in last November.

Invitation, polite decline, awkward silence. This time was no different.

"Actually, I'm headed to ... the park ... to meet a friend," I stammered out a lie.

I'll admit, my social life wasn't really bustling - my friend circle had dwindled to almost non-existent. To be honest, I was never the most outgoing person, and the thought of mingling with new faces made my anxiety spike; it was like trying to find my way through a crowded room blindfolded, never knowing when I'd trip over someone's ego or awkwardly spill my drink.

Give me a cozy corner with a familiar friend and a piping hot cup of coffee, and I was in my happy place. But, as time went on, I realized I'd become complacent, never putting in the effort to nurture those friendships, and before I knew it, work and family commitments had slowly eroded those carefree hangout sessions with the few friends I had left, leaving me with a social calendar as dry as the Sahara desert.

At 24, my life felt like a well-worn sweater - comfy and familiar.

Maybe too familiar sometimes, but it was peaceful enough.

"Oh," Thomas mumbled, disappointment in his eyes.

"So ... I better get going, I don't wanna be late," I chirped, practically slamming the door shut before he could even consider tagging along.

I stood at the door, staring at my tidy, tiny apartment, a strange restlessness settling in my stomach.

I drifted towards the window.

Peeking out the window after wiping away a condensation streak, beyond the fire escape, I saw a splash of color against the white canvas of snow. A group of teenagers, bundled in bright jackets, were having a snowball fight, their laughter probably echoing through the crisp air.

As I gazed at the teenagers, a surprising pang of nostalgia struck me, transporting me back to the carefree days of snowball fights with my brother and dad in New Hampshire. I couldn't help but smile, reflecting on how quickly time passes, just like my own journey from childhood to adulthood, now finding myself in the midst of a bustling work life.

Maybe a bit of fresh air wouldn't hurt, I thought.

I bundled up in my favorite peach turtleneck, my warmest coat, and my knitted mittens and headed out into the 3-degree weather.

____

Twenty minutes later, I stumbled upon an empty bench in the park and plopped down, clutching the box of muffins I'd snagged from The Crema Café that filled me with a thrill of excitement.

I peeled off my mittens, letting the warmth of the pastry seep into my chilly fingers.

As I bit into one, I exhaled, watching my breath form frosty clouds.

Just then, a scruffy brown dog appeared out of nowhere at my feet.

He sat in the snow, head tilted, and emitted the most adorable whimper I just couldn't resist.

I broke off a piece of my muffin and offered it to him. His tail wagged furiously as he devoured it, and I couldn't help but grin.

It's the little things.

When he was done wolfing down the rest of the muffin I'd helplessly given, the little brown dog cocked his head again, staring expectantly at the box on the bench.

His collar read "Brutus."

I chuckled. "We better share this equally then." As I reached for the box, a mitten tumbled off the bench. Before I could grab it, Brutus snatched it in his tiny jaws and darted away.

"Hey!" I laughed, taking the other mitten as I chased after the furry bandit.

My boots crunched in the snow, and I nearly collided with unsuspecting people in the park.

Somehow, Brutus always veered toward people, slowing me down.

Breathless and with my other uncovered hand freezing, I halted not far from where Brutus stopped.

Brutus placed my mitten beside a guy who, at that very moment, shoved a kid, sending the poor boy tumbling into the snow. The guy, sporting a scruffy beard and towering over the teen, bent down to retrieve what appeared to be a crumpled dollar bill from where the boy had stood, nonchalantly pocketing it.

As he turned away, unapologetic for his actions, another guy - less imposing but clearly not happy about what he'd seen - approached him.

I edged closer but not too close, joining the other onlookers who sensed the tension.

The second guy confronted the tall, angry bird, landing a punch squarely on his face. Angry Bird retaliated without hesitation, his own blow equally forceful. He bellowed, "Tell him not to purposely stomp on people's money!"

"So he was standing on your worthless money! Doesn't give you the right to bully him!" He didn't seem too fazed by Angry Bird's height, puffing out his chest like a scrawny rooster.

"𝘚𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯 here to save the fucking day! Why didn't you turn up when this same kid was picking on that little girl?!"

The guy, likely the teen boy's father, shoved Angry Bird with violence while Brutus added to the chaos by barking.

Before Angry Bird could retaliate, two bystanders restrained him.

Finally, they released him as he muttered something foul and walked away. Brutus then picked up my mittens and trailed behind him.

And there goes the very first thing Mom knitted after mastering the art of knitting.

I slipped my cold, mittenless hand into my jacket pocket and trudged back to my original spot, only to recall I'd left the box of hot muffins there - now gone.

"So much for fresh air," I sigh. "Why do I even bother?"

I head home to sink into the comfort of my sofa and binge-watch all my favorite Netflix series instead.

***

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